


Grace Period is Over

by KomakiTigerDrop



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: A very long journey, And despite it all, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asami's past is not going to be pleasant, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BDSM, Bad Parenting, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Feels, Family Issues, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I love them too much, It's not all darkness, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Other: See Story Notes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Separation, Suicide, might hurt your heart, there is a happy ending, tho some parts will be definitely very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 79
Words: 570,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomakiTigerDrop/pseuds/KomakiTigerDrop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asami Ryuichi is a man who has always managed to keep his inner demons on a tight leash. That is, until the day they break free and things go south. Now that grace period is over, can his relationship with Takaba Akihito survive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pervert Extraordinaire

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Newbie here: this is my first time writing Finder fanfiction! And because we can never choose what our muses will whisper in our ear, this turned out to be a LOOOONG story with 34+ chapters drafted so far! 
> 
> I would like to dedicate this work to all the authors in this fandom. You are fantastic and beyond inspirational! Thanks for sharing your art with us. :)
> 
> That said, this story will also contain references to characters from the game Yakuza-Ryuu Ga Gotoku. They do not belong to me (obviously) and I will be using them very freely. As in, they will most likely be quite different from their game counterparts!
> 
> Ah, and of course. The Finder series and all of its characters belong to Yamane Ayano, not me!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy! The first chapters will be told from Asami's POV.

 

The first thing Asami Ryuichi noticed when the first rays of light hit his eyes in the morning, was that he was alone in bed. Judging by the warm sheets next to him, he must have missed his beloved Akihito by minutes. _Shame._ He would have loved to pin him down for another round or two before heading to the shower. As it was, he would now have to wait one week to pound that delicious ass again.

 _A shame indeed._  

He stretched, and then brought himself to a sitting position. The muscles in his thighs protested for the fraction of a second, reminding him that he might have gone a little overboard last night, what with fucking Akihito in positions and levels of intensity that left no room for proper recovery. He was lucky his fitness level was way beyond average – as to his young lover, he was not so sure.

How Akihito had managed to stumble out of bed and actually walk out of the room was a mystery to him.

A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. He had absolutely _no regrets._

It would be a tough week, Asami thought, as he headed to the shower. To say that he was not looking forward to meeting Fei Long in Macau was an understatement. Expect that man to take one week of his time to sort out issues that would be solved in two days by other reasonable people. But, unless he was very wrong, he knew that the head of the Baishe was going to test his patience by mixing business and pleasure (or lack thereof, in that case), as usual. 

_That man never learnt._

 As warm water ran down his body, he looked at the empty bottle of his Russian Amber Imperial Shampoo, and then at its unopened twin – the one that he had bought Akihito, and that had been immediately returned when the young man learnt about its immodest price of roughly 15 thousand yen.

 _‘Only a snob like you would spend so much money in shampoo!’,_ he had protested before throwing Asami the small black container and grabbing his own 486ml bottle of apple peach shampoo bought at the local discount shop, which - he had insisted on repeating many times - had been a real bargain.

Oh, and apparently it could be used as body wash too. Extra savings.

Asami shook his head as he remembered how proud Akihito had sounded when defending his purchase. His little lover was too frugal for his own sake.

He was about to make use of his “ridiculously expensive” Imperial Shampoo when his eyes fell on the half empty bottle next to it. 

He smirked.

Oho, Fei Long was in for a little surprise.

++++++++++

 

Less than 20 minutes later, Asami was stepping outside his front door in his impeccable Dormeuil Vanquish II suit – a personal favourite.

“Is something wrong, Kirishima?” he asked, barely able to hide his amusement at his first assistant’s raised eyebrows as he caught a whiff of cheap apple and peach that seemed to emanate from him, from the very top of his head to the soles of his new pair of Testoni shoes.

“No, sir,” the other man answered, pushing his glasses up his nose after clearing his throat. “Nothing wrong at all.”

“Good,” Asami replied, with a smirk in his lips. “What is our ETA?”

“10 minutes, sir.”

Asami lowered his eyes to the reports he had been handed by Kirishima as soon as they entered the limo.

“What is the situation with Dojima?” he asked, flipping pages as with a slight frown.

“He wants to schedule a meeting with you as soon as possible.”

“He won’t give up, will he?”

“He seems to be determined to gain access to the power station at Zuhai.”

For years, Asami had been able to coexist with a variety of syndicates that insisted on spreading across Japan despite his iron grip on the main routes of all drug and weapons that entered the country. More than once, thugs of all sorts and sizes had approached him in an attempt to forge alliances. But he knew better than making oaths of loyalty to the likes of people like Daigo Dojima.

There was only one person Asami Ryuichi would swear loyalty to – _himself._

“Do you think he has approached Fei Long?” Asami asked, after lighting a cigarette with his eyes still scanning the contents of the files he was holding.

“He might have.”

“So the virtuous chairman of the Tojo Clan is getting greedy…” he whispered. “Who would have thought…”

“Asami-sama…”

Even without looking at Kirishima’s face, Asami could feel the tension in his assistant's voice.

“I also got a report from our men in Sapporo,” said the man, pushing his glasses up his nose for the second time in very few minutes – one of the most obvious signs that something was making him uncomfortable.

“And?”

“They… moved.”

Asami’s face remained impassive, but his heart skipped a beat at that piece of information.

“Where?” he asked, and his baritone voice carried a distinguished tone of threat.

_Silence._

“Kirishima?”

“Tokyo. The report shows that Hayashi rented an apartment in Kabukicho.”

Another slight frown found its way to Asami’s usually very calm and collected face. Sapporo was good. Sapporo was far from him and far from Akihito. Tokyo is not what he had planned. _Tokyo was not an option._

He took a deep breath and pretended to focus exclusively on the spreadsheet he was looking at.

“What is Hayashi’s current employment status?” he asked.

When the other man did not reply, he forced his eyes up and they glinted with anger.

“Kirishima?”

“Unknown.”

There go the glasses again. Apparently, the sequence of bad news was taking its toll on his first assistant.

“As in, access to employer details is restricted by a non-disclosure agreement,” Kirishima added. “But I have already allocated a team to crack all the files open.”

“Send me all the updates as soon as you get hold of them", Asami replied, handing the reports back to his assistant.

He took a long drag on his cigarette, waiting for that hit of nicotine to soothe his concerns. Today, however, his Dunhills might not be enough.

He lowered his eyes to the exclusive IWC on his wrist. 8:33.

“What about Takaba?” he asked.

“Shinada reported that he arrived at work almost one hour ago.”

“Where?”

“In a jewellery studio in Ginza.”

Asami smashed what was left of his cigarette on the ashtray Kirishima held towards him and knocked on the screen divider.

“Suoh, change route,” he said, meeting the blond man’s eyes on the rear view mirror. “We are stopping somewhere else.”

++++++

 

“What are you doing here?” Akihito hissed, after being dragged to an empty room adjacent to the one where his photo shoot was taking place. “I am working, you can’t just-“

“You left without saying goodbye,” Asami interrupted, pulling the struggling young man closer to his body.

“Huh?” Akihito’s eyes went wide. “Who are you and what did you do to Asami?”

“Oho, make sure you understand what I mean by ‘ _saying goodbye’,_ Akihito.”

With that, he kneaded his lover’s jeans-clad butt as he pushed his back against the wall.

“Pervert…”

Their lips were about to touch when the younger man pulled back.

“Oh, that reminds me,” he heard Akihito say as he fumbled in one of his pockets. “I got you something.” 

Asami looked at the outstretched hand in front of him, on top of which rested a tiny pouch adorned with an elegant red bow. He raised an eyebrow as he looked from the photographer’s hand to his mischievous face, and then fished for the content of the pouch while his eyes never left Akihito’s. The light-haired rascal appeared to be struggling with the desire to laugh.

 _‘Asami Ryuichi, Pervert Extraordinaire,’_ read the golden nameplate. Asami allowed his eyes to linger on every word, before raising them to the young man in front of him.

“You, giving me a gift?” he asked, as he spun the nameplate between his fingers before putting it in one of the pockets of his pants. “I am flattered.”

 “D-Don’t look so full of yourself,” he heard Akihito stutter back. “It was a 2 for 1 offer and I had already gotten mine and didn’t want the other one to go to waste.”

“What does yours say?”

 The photographer bit his lip, before searching his pockets and handing him his nameplate.

_‘Takaba Akihito, The Astute’_

A sharp intake of breath was Asami’s first response to what he had just read. He bit the inside of his cheek not to laugh.

“The astute?” he said, his voice firm and serious despite his extreme amusement. “You really had the nerve?”

“Hey! I _am_ astute!” Akihito replied, before taking back the nameplate and putting it back in his pocket. 

“If you say so...”

Covering the distance between them, Asami resumed his assault on his favourite victim.

“Don't pout,” he whispered into his lover’s ear as he pushed his back against the wall. “It makes me want to do things to you and I really don't have the time.”

“Good,” Akihito whispered back, his voice trembling slightly when Asami’s teeth grazed against his earlobe. “B-Because I am still sore from last night.”

“Are you?”

“Y-Yeah…” the photographer stuttered when one of Asami’s hands sneaked under his T-shirt, his slender fingers making their way up his chest. “You went too hard on me.”

“You seemed to be enjoying it.”

“I was...” Akihito’s voice was nothing but a moan when the older man’s fingertips circled his nipple. “I mean, I was _not!"_  

“Liar,” Asami whispered in response, letting the tip of his tongue dip into Akihito’s ear. “You are too cute.”

Their mouths crashed together, Akihito’s lips promptly parting to receive his tongue. He always tasted so _sweet._ One of his hands held the photographer’s chin as he explored every inch of the delicious flesh offered to him, licking, biting, sucking. He felt a hand go up his neck and grab his hair, and then Akihito pulled back.

“Did you… Did you use my shampoo?” he asked, looking surprised.

“I might have, yes. “

“W-Why?”

He observed the faint smile on his lover’s lips and pondered if he should reveal his motives or just leave it to Akihito’s imagination.

“I am meeting with Fei Long and I want him to smell what he can never have,” he answered, matter-of-factly. After all, imagination could take people to very dangerous places.

The young man in front of him seemed to deflate a little. He was still flushed and his slightly dilated pupils left no doubt he was still aroused, but his smile had faded away. 

“You both need treatment,” Akihito said at last, trying to break free from Asami’s grasp.

 “Yes,” the older man simply tightened his grip on Akihito’s arm, turning him around so that his back was pressed against his chest. “I agree.”

 One of his hands resumed his caresses under the photographer’s T-shirt, pinching his left nipple as the palm of his hand searched for that spot on his chest where his heartbeat was the most evident. The soft vibration of Akihito’s heart beating under his touch soothed him in a way he would never be able to explain.

“A-Asami...” Akihito whimpered. “You said you had no time...”

 Once again, their lips searched for each other, and this time Asami made sure to deepen the kiss, his tongue claiming Akihito’s strong and hard as one of his hands roamed down his lover’s stomach, until his fingertips grazed the growing bulge in Akihito’s jeans.

 “I can't leave you in this state, can I?” he whispered, pressing his own erection against the photographer’s back.

 Akihito’s breath became more labored when Asami’s fingers slid from his stomach to his belt, unbuckling it and opening the fly of his jeans with incredible ease.

“So hard...” Asami grunted as he freed Akihito’s erection from inside his boxers. “You are too good to me, Akihito.”

How he wished he had time to bend Akihito over the desk behind him and just fuck that perfect body until they both were spent. His own cock was impossibly hard, but he really had no time for a quickie – especially because his definition of quickie was not exactly the same as other people’s.

“Will you miss me while I'm gone?” he asked, while his teeth nipped at Akihito’s ear and his hand stroked his hardened length with growing speed. 

“Nnn…”

“Will you miss my hands on you?” Asami whispered, watching the younger man throw his head back in abandon as he pumped his cock. “My mouth?”

Obviously, the only response he got to his questions was a string of loud moans.

“My cock in your tight little hole? Huh? _Akihito?”_

At his words, Akihito’s cock twitched furiously and leaked thick drops of precum into his hand. Asami had to bite back a groan as his lover galloped towards his orgasm, eyes shut tight as he panted.

“A-Asami... Nnnn” 

“Say it.” 

“Asami...p-please…”

The young man whimpered even more when Asami slowed his strokes to a torturing slow and soft motion.

 “Say that you will _miss me_ ,” he whispered into Akihito’s throat, and saw his lover’s eyes shoot open.

“I-I will... I w-will…” he heard the young man stutter, after a few seconds of hesitation. “I will miss you.” 

“Good boy,” Asami hissed back, his pupils blown back with the intensity of his desire. His mouth moved to Akihito’s throat, biting and sucking the skin over his pulse, as one of his hands pinched a nipple and the other wanked his lover fast and hard. “Cum for me, Akihito.”

The photographer didn’t need to be told twice.

Asami watched as some thick ropes of semen hit the wall in front of them, while others coated his fingers. Akihito's face was all shades of red, perhaps because he was not exactly quiet when it came to sex and his employer in the next room had most likely heard every single moment of his rapture.

He took out a handkerchief from one of his pockets and cleaned his hands as his young lover searched for tissues around the room, with a mix of mortification and urgency in his eyes.

“Here,” Asami said, offering him his handkerchief. “Use this.”

He kept watching the photographer go about his business after mumbling what he supposed was a combination of a thank you and a curse. And then he heard another curse followed by another curse.

He realized it was time to take his leave. Glancing down at his watch, he saw it was 8:52.

 _Perfect_.

Despite that little detour, things were still running according to schedule.

He kissed the flushed blonde one last time, and left.


	2. A moment of weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting with Fei Long meant drama was guaranteed - that was something Asami knew.
> 
> What he had not expected, was the younger man to get the upper hand and hit him where it hurts.

Not many hours later, heads were turning in a casino somewhere in Macau to watch a tall, golden-eyed man make his way to a private gambling room. 

Asami Ryuichi dismissed every look and whisper, his steps strong and graceful as he moved past the crowd ogling him. He could feel a soft vibration under his feet - a reminder of the music blaring on the floor below. Maybe he would check the nightclub later, if only to breathe in the faint scent of drugs, alcohol, sex and sweat that he knew would permeate the place. 

That was one of the things he liked best about owning clubs. It was about provoking chaos, and then controlling it. It was pushing people towards the edge, teasing them to bare their desires - either under the dazzling lights of the dance floor or in the darkness of one of the VIP booths - letting them take the plunge, but stopping them before they drifted too far. If someone could play that game, it was him. No wonder his were the best and most exclusive clubs in Japan.

He dismissed his assistants with a discreet nod after walking past the doors being held open to him, and waited until they were closed to address the man waiting by the window.

"Fei Long," he said, taking in the figure of his slender counterpart and his dark blue _changshan_ embroidered with gold.

"Asami," he heard Fei Long reply as he walked towards him. "Thanks for coming."

Asami took his time studying the face of the man before him. Fei Long's brown eyes were cold and dismissive, and the courteous words were somehow tainted by the barely-hid contempt in his voice.

"I am happy to see we are both displeased by this meeting," he responded at last, taking slow steps to fill the gap between them. "As usual."

He smirked when Fei Long's pupils dilated slightly as he seemed to detect the familiar scent that was now filling his nostrils.

"A delightful scent, don't you think?" Asami asked, reaching for the Dunhills in his pocket.

The leader of the Baishe was glaring daggers at him.

"Such childish antics, Asami..." Fei Long's voice dripped venom as he spoke. "If only I had known you actually enjoyed making a fool of yourself…"

"This is a reminder, Fei Long. Not antics," Asami glared back, despite the calm in his voice. "As to making a fool of oneself, I leave that to you. In many occasions you have proved that is a job you do well."

"Good," the younger man's voice matched his in lack of emotion, despite the anger in his eyes. "Now that the flatteries are out of the way, can we start talking business?"

 _'Ah, Fei Long...'_ thought Asami, as he took off his jacket and placed it on the back of the armchair next to him. What a strange dynamic he had ended up developing with that man. Despite the mutual hatred, they seemed to understand each other very well, and he had to concede that the leader of the Baishe had potential. He was manipulative, intelligent and a skilled fighter. 

Too bad he had such a flimsy temper.

"From what I understood, you intend to break into the Snake Flower Triad compound in Cotai," Asami said, rolling up his sleeves as a cigarette dangled from his lips. "And you would like me to review your strategies."

He noticed Fei Long's eyes had drifted from his face to the Ceska Zbrojovka resting in its holster, then to his chest, and then back to his face.

"You are not one for foreplay, are you?" he asked, passing him an ashtray.

Asami merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You would be impressed," he replied, tapping the tip of his Dunhill on the ashtray before taking a seat by the table. "Where are the blueprints?"

++++

As expected, the Snake Flower Triad never saw it coming. With Asami's help, both strategic and operational, the Baishe had wiped its adversaries in no time.

He and Fei Long had been diligent in the past seven days, studying the compound in the island, recruiting spies, and attacking when the time was right. Asami had taken a highly qualified team of operatives with him to Macau. It was in his best interest to keep Cotai safe from any hostile triad, given its strategic proximity to Zhuhai and its port of entry. If that region fell into the wrong hands, his business would suffer huge losses.

He looked at the dead bodies scattered on the floor around him as he walked into the main hall of the now deserted compound. Fei Long was sitting at an armchair, looking thoughtful as his QSZ-92 pistol rested on his lap.

"There is something else I need to tell you," he said, his eyes avoiding Asami's as he spoke. "Daigo Dojima approached me."

Asami sat in the couch across from him, and searched for his cigarettes.

"What did he want?"

"Zhuhai," Fei Long responded. "He offered to help me defeat the Snake Flower Triad."

"In exchange for…"

"…not dealing with you anymore."

"That is bold of him," Asami replied with a sneer.

"He wants you out of business. From my understanding, you have been a thorn on his side for years now."

"I am a thorn on everyone’s side."

"Yes," Fei Long stood up, gripping his pistol as he walked towards the window. "That is the problem."

"A problem that I have always handled very well."

"Because the Omi and the Tojo had always been a bunch of fools, too busy fighting each other to pay any proper attention to you," the younger man replied, turning around to face his counterpart. "But times have changed, Asami."

 _'No, they haven't,_ ' Asami thought. He was still on top and he was still pulling all the strings. But for now, he would let Fei Long make his pitch.

"Dojima, just like you, is a skilled businessman," he crossed his legs as the head of the Baishe spoke. "So is the Omi’s Lieutenant, Katsuya. For the first time in decades they are beginning to use their common sense."

"They have an enemy in common and a combined headcount of over 50 thousand men spread across Japan," Fei Long continued. "If they decide to work together…" he said, taking one step closer to Asami and looking into his eyes. _"...you will go down."_

"If I go down, I take all of them with me," Asami replied, matching Fei Long's gaze in intensity. "It took me more than ten years to build my network of connections, anyone thinking that they can surpass that is making a fatal mistake."

"They have connections too."

"Not as good as mine."

"Still," Fei Long's voice was quieter when he once again walked towards the window. "You don’t have the manpower to fight back if they charge in the…" he paused, ". _..traditional_ way."

It was Asami's turn to stand up, his eyes holding a glint of suspicion as he approached the other man.

"What _exactly_ did Daigo Dojima tell you, Fei Long?"

There was no response. Instead, Fei Long merely crossed his arms, studying the man in front of him.

"It is what he _hasn’t_ told me that worries me," he said at last. "On the surface, the Tojo has been modernized. It’s playing by the rules of your game. Power. Contacts. Subtlety. Being in good terms with the media and with their business partners."

"But their ranks are still filled with brainless goons that are easily seduced by the promise of easy money and immediate power," he continued. "I believe you are aware of last year’s purge?"

Asami nodded as he lit another cigarette, looking unimpressed. It is not as if the Tojo had ever been known for its integrity. It had always been plagued by traitors, and its lack of cohesion and strategy was one of the main reasons why it never posed a serious threat to his business.

"Over one thousand rats either expelled from the organization or killed, and I don’t think they got even _close_ to locating all the rotten apples."

"Get to the point, Fei Long."

"What I think Dojima hasn’t told me, is that he will stick to the rules, but he knows that there people under him that thrive on bloodlust and chaos..."

Fei Long's eyes darted back and forth as he looked at him, and he couldn't help but realize the brown orbs were neither cold nor calculating. The man actually looked... _Concerned?_

"And those people will deal with you by putting a bullet through your brain, _or worse,_ " he concluded, his eyes never leaving Asami's.

He held the stare, feeling waves of heat emanating from the other man. It felt like a combination of hate, concern, resentment, passion - with Fei Long, he never knew. He knew, however, that he had declined Dojima's offer for help, otherwise he wouldn't be the one to assist the Baishe in the compound.

Whether or not Fei Long intended to accept the Chairman's proposition to cut ties with him in the near future, however, was another story entirely. He knew that only a very stupid person would change his solid and high quality trading services for a bunch of power hungry rats of a decaying syndicate, but much to his dismay, when it came to him, Asami Ryuichi, Fei Long had a remarkable track record of making very stupid decisions.

They were still staring at each other when Asami got closer to the younger man - perhaps a little too close, but he was not going to pull any punches if he intended to get Fei Long to tell him the truth.

"Why not take him up on the offer?" he asked, his deep baritone voice low and full of threat.

"And switch sides?" Fei Long raised an eyebrow. 

"You have nothing to lose, do you?" Asami whispered into the other man's ear. "You would still get the goods and the routes, you would only be switching suppliers."

Fei Long whipped his head around, and his eyes were fierce when he spoke.

"Were you even listening to me?" he hissed. "For the past half an hour, I have been telling you how the Tojo is a ticking bomb that might never be defused. Why would I want to work with them?"

Instead of answering, Asami merely smirked, taking another cigarette and leading it to his parted lips with a look of disdain that made the other man snap.

"You really don’t trust my judgment, do you?" Fei Long's voice, by then, had lost all of its cool. "You think that I would switch sides to get revenge on you? And drag the Baishe into the mud because of my own personal predicaments?"

"It wouldn’t be the first time," Asami replied, his eyes and voice loaded with even more disdain.

And _that_ , apparently, had broken the proverbial camel's back.

"You know, I am still impressed that Akihito puts up with you."

 _'Ah… And so, it begins,'_ Asami thought. _'Took you long enough to keep your emotions out of this...'_

"By the way… Can you believe that he finally answered one of my emails?" Fei Long continued. "He asked if I knew where you went to school. Like, really," he chuckled. "He could have asked you, but I guess he didn't want to look like an idiot for asking."

Asami pinched his temple as Fei Long spoke. Clearly, the business part of that conversation was over. From now on, the only topic in Fei Long's agenda would be his relationship with Akihito.

"I guess that is your special talent, Asami... To make everyone around you feel like an idiot," he heard the man say, "Even the man you supposedly care so much for."

Asami had to force himself not to roll his eyes. After all, Fei Long was still clutching his pistol and he was not planning to get shot again.

He decided to let Fei Long continue with his monologue.

"But then... You have never said that you love him, have you?"

 _'It is almost amusing to see him trying so hard to get under my skin'_ , Asami mentally remarked, as he reached for yet another Dunhill - just to find out he had run out of cigarettes.  

"You haven't. And it's either because you don't, or because you don't want him to know. Probably the first..." Fei Long went on, apparently unaffected by Asami's insipid response to his taunting. "You almost fooled me that day in Hong Kong. What was it, again... Something about him _tossing your heart around?_ "

And those words, _those specific words_ , took less than a second to sweep away any trace of amusement from Asami's face. That moment in Hong Kong was one that Fei Long had no right to violate, or to taint with his tasteless remarks. 

_That bastard had a death wish._

"Pfff...Such a corny line for a man of your stature."

In his mind, Asami saw himself covered in Fei Long's blood. He would tear his tongue off with his bare hands and shove it down his throat. 

"Alas, the poor kid must have believed you had a heart," he heard the other man say, looking prouder by the moment now that he had finally pushed the right buttons. "I hope that you, at least, are not foolish enough to believe your own lies."

"Are you done, Fei Long?" Asami asked, when he was finally able to void his facial expression of any emotions. "I am not in the mood for your teenage angst."

"I just hope he realizes soon you are not worth the trouble..."

_No, he was not done._

"... and that he comes to me when he does."

"As if you were worth the trouble," Asami knew he shouldn't give Fei Long the pleasure of having him engage in such a stupid conversation, but he couldn't help himself. "May I remind you of what _you_ did to Akihito?"

"Oh, I know I did him wrong. But I let him go, Asami. I gave him freedom the to leave me and hate me, if he had to."

Fei Long was clearly enjoying it far too much.

"And that is the kind of courage you do not have, do you?"

Asami’s smirk fell back in place. _Oho,_ how rich of that man, of all people, to talk about _courage._

"Now aren't you noble?" he said, making sure his voice was as scornful as it could get. " But... If I remember it right, you let him go because he _rejected_ you. You sit here to lecture me on my personal affairs, Fei Long..." he continued, with a poisonous sneer on his lips, "...but it seems to me that _you_ are the one _still_ having problems with your love life."

“Love life? Asami...”

He saw Fei Long laugh. It was a heartless, mirthless laugh though, which matched the coldness in his eyes.

“You and I belong in the same place,” he said, no longer laughing. “ _Hell._ ”

It was his turn to close the distance between them.

“The fact a man like Akihito finds it in him to even... “ he paused to size Asami up, nothing but contempt in his eyes, _“…tolerate_ your presence, doesn't make you worthy of heaven. I don't have a love life, and _neither do you_.” 

 _Well…_ That was an argument he could not exactly disagree with. Asami knew he was no saint. And to expect Akihito to love him after everything he had done to him was, if anything, unrealistic.

“You have seduced Akihito, you made him crave you. You became his favourite drug,” Fei Long rambled on, missing the mark on when to end his dull speech and making Asami, once again, lose interest in his words. “You are nothing but an addiction, Asami, you know that. He is not with you out of _love,”_ he spat, _“_ He comes to you out of _need_. How could he love someone that shows such little care for him, anyw-“

“You and your ridiculous obsession with love,” said Asami. If Fei Long did not know when to shut up, then it was up to him to do it. “Why are we having this conversation? This is not even about Akihito, is it?”

Fei Long heartless smile widened.

“Oh,“ he replied, eyes still glistening with anger. “You bet it is.”

Asami put on the blood-stained jacket he had discarded before the shooting began, and took one final step towards the younger man.

“Fei Long,” he whispered, grabbing the man’s chin as he spoke. “I hope you are not foolish enough to believe your own lies.”

“Throwing m-my own words back at me?” Fei Long stuttered, clearly disturbed by their proximity. “I am flattered, so you _were_ paying attention.”

 “Certainly not nearly as much attention as you would hope,” Asami replied, before kissing the corner of the other man’s lips and shoving him backwards.

 “And does _anyone_ get the attention they want from you, Asami?”

 He was about to answer that _no, probably not,_ when a beep coming from Fei Long’s phone caught both men’s attention.

 The look of triumph that appeared in Fei Long’s eyes as he looked at its screen was unnerving.

“I guess not,” he said, throwing the phone to Asami.

 

_Mail_

**_Takaba Akihito_ **

_Slide to unlock_

 

He lifted his eyes from the screen to Fei Long’s face. The man was _beaming._

Asami would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious to see what Akihito had written, but to succumb to that curiosity in front of his adversary would be the ultimate humiliation.

He was _pissed_.

Mainly, because for the first time in an argument with Fei Long, the younger man had gotten the upper hand.

Asami hoped none of those feelings had transpired onto his expression as he crushed the man’s phone in his hand, and threw back what was left of it.

Without a word, he spun on his heels, and left.

 

++++

 

_“No matter what, don’t open the door. OK?”_

_“OK.”_

_“Look at me.”_

_He did._

_“I love you so, so much.”_

_He loved her too. A lot. So he nodded, and did as he was told._

_It was very dark, but he stayed put, and quiet._

_Just as he was told._

_And then, he heard her scream._

_Again._

_And again._

_And **again.**_

_There were other noises too, but he didn’t know what those were. Wet, wet noises. Ugly noises._

_He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut._

_When he opened his eyes again, the cupboard was even smaller, because he was big._

_So big._

_He felt his heart was about to burst out of his chest._

_He needed to save her._

_He felt the door frame, looking for the locks. Were they inside?_

_Why couldn’t he find them?_

_He was **so** angry._

_He reached for his guns. He could do it. He just had to shoot those stupid locks._

**_Where are the fucking locks?_ **

_The screaming stopped, and so did his heart._

_Was it too late?_

_He kept feeling the wooden door, his nails digging into its surface as he searched for the fucking locks._

_His fingers were already bleeding._

_It was too late._

_**No.** No no no._

_He stumbled backwards when something was thrown against the door he was trying to open._

_A-Asami?_

_How many times could his heart stop?_

**_Akihito?_ **

_A-Asami…_

_And then he screamed._

_Again._

_And again._

_There were other noises too, and now he knew what those were. Wet, wet noises. Ugly noises._

_No._

**_NO._ **

 

Asami woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. It took him a moment to get a bearing of his surroundings – for a very long minute, his eyes were still playing tricks on him and he was seeing things… hearing things… that he knew were not real.

Not anymore, at least.

He forced himself to breathe, hating himself for that moment of weakness, hating that his mind would not let it go. It had been years since he last had a nightmare. And oh… it hadn’t been for lack of nightmare material. He had seen things and done things that would traumatize any ordinary man.

But he was no ordinary man. He was in absolute control of _everything_ in his life.

And that included his stupid dreams.

He disentangled himself from the heap of sheets he had probably wrapped himself in at some point of his hallucination, and headed to the balcony of his hotel room.

It was chilly outside, and he was still naked, but he really didn’t care. Bangs of dark hair covered his eyes as he looked at the skyline ahead, his mind slowly returning to its normal, sharp state.

_He wondered why Akihito had been in that dream at all._

He turned on his heels and entered the room again, returning to the balcony a few moments later – this time, with his cell phone in hand.

He stared at the device. It had been a week, and Akihito hadn’t called him a single time. Whatever he chose to do at that point would be a mistake. It would be bad for him if he called, but it would be worse for him if he didn’t.

He pressed the button, and waited.

He heard the phone ring once, twice, three times. More times after that, and then voicemail.

Perhaps he should give Akihito the benefit of doubt? He dialed again.

Again… There was no response.

Asami rested his elbows on the railing, leaned forward, and let the phone touch his forehead. He had often pondered how strong of an emotional leash he had been able to keep the photographer on. Apparently, not strong enough, if Akihito was finding it in him not to call him, then ignore his calls, and turn to Fei Long instead. He didn’t know if he should feel relieved or disappointed that Akihito’s _addiction_ to him was merely physical.

He knew he should be relieved, because emotions were nothing but an inconvenience – his whole entanglement with Fei Long being a prime example of that. However… he was currently leaning towards disappointed, and that was something he was not remotely willing to admit.

He reminded himself that there was nothing between him and Akihito but excellent sex. Yes, that was better. And if the young man needed a reminder of whom he belonged to, Asami would be more than happy to provide one when he got back to Tokyo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asami is not made of stone, after all. BUT, he promised a reminder, and a reminder he *will* provide. XD
> 
> Next chapter is Akihito’s POV. Why the heck didn’t you answer your phone, kid?!


	3. Two Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anything, the man with the whip was the one that should apologize.
> 
> What for, Akihito was not sure. Maybe for everything. Maybe for just being that insufferable, heartless bastard.
> 
>  
> 
> But especially, for making Akihito fall so hard for him, and then daring not to reciprocate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had to add some tags due to the unforeseen amount of physical pain and emotional distress I put Akihito through in this chapter. I apologize in advance – it’s a tough chapter for our beloved photographer! And it’s super long. I did not expect the sex scene to be as long as it turned out to be, but… who am I to complain! XD

 

 

**_That same night, somewhere in Kabukicho, Tokyo..._ **

 

Sometimes, it was not easy to be a friend of Takaba Akihito’s.

 _‘Especially now that Takato got married...’_ a desolate Kou thought to himself, as he watched Akihito mumbling something incoherent into his own folded arms, the side of his drunken head resting against a small dish of peanuts.

 _Great._ So now he was the only one still leading a solo career in love, and left alone to deal with his friend’s legendary binge drinking episodes.

_Just great._

He took another sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the crowded nightclub with a slight frown.

Like, _seriously._ What was he doing wrong? How come everyone was finding their significant others but him?

“Well…” he muttered, eyes dropping to his Shochu Highball. “Good things come to those who wait, right?”

He really, really hoped that was the case.

_All we need is somebody to lean on_

He really…

The music around him blared, as his eyes fell upon the figure of a girl.

Really hoped…

_All we need is somebody to lean on_

She was tall, and her thin frame moved graciously to the beat. He found himself shamelessly checking her out, from her black combat boots to the tip of her pierced nose, his eyes making a stop at her faded black jeans that clung snuggly to her hips and then at the sleeveless top showing the black and gray mandala patterns that wrapped both her upper arms from the middle to the shoulders.

A layer of very short hair covered the right side of her head, as if it had been shaved recently. Long, silky black hair cascaded down her left shoulder and back.

She was a work of art, but what really got him were _her eyes._

Those eyes were _hypnotizing._ The flashing lights made it hard for him to identify what color they were exactly, but they were probably the most beautiful he had ever seen.

He could _drown_ in those eyes.

 

_Blow a kiss…_

She saw the girl blowing him a kiss.

 

_Fire a gun…_

Then pointing at him.

 

Like, wait, was it _really_ him? He looked behind him just in case.

Apparently, it was. And she was walking towards him.

_Oh shit._

He shifted on his seat. By his side, Akihito was still dead to the world.

 _‘Keep cool,’_ Kou mentally told himself when the girl finally reached him. _‘Just act cool. Stay cool.’_

“Hi,” she said, leaning towards him to scream in his ear, beautiful white teeth exposed in a ridiculously bright smile.

He swallowed.

 _Shit!_ What was he supposed to say now?

“H-Hi,” he replied, trying to return her warm greeting with a smile of his own.

Problem was, he was so nervous that his attempt left him looking like he was constipated.

“Guess your friend had a little too much to drink, huh?” she screamed in his ear again, her warm breath making him shiver.

“Yeah…” he snickered, in a slightly higher pitch than usual. “He always does that.”

She laughed, and how was that even possible – she looked even more attractive!

“Wanna dance?” she asked.

His head automatically turned to where Akihito was sitting.

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere,” he heard the girl scream.

When he looked at the girl again, she was smirking. _How odd._ She reminded him of someone, maybe a celebrity he had seen on TV or in a magazine. He filed that piece of information for future reference, and decided to follow the girl, who was already heading back to the dance floor.

The girl danced happily in front of him, every choreographed step in tune with the song. He, on the other hand, felt his feet had been replaced by two blocks of concrete.

She saw her turn her back to him, still dancing. _What now?_

He was not sure where to put his hands, or if he was supposed to put his hands anywhere _at all._ Unsure, he went for her shoulders. _Oh great, now they looked like two little kids dancing!_ Should he try… the hips, maybe?

He did, and the girl immediately whipped her head around. He removed his hands as if he had touched fire, but only then did he notice that she was actually smiling.

He blushed, and just as he was about to put his hands back on her hips, she leaned towards him, making him blush even harder. She smelled fresh and crisp, like leaves washed by rain.

“I think your friend needs help,” she screamed in his ear, pointing to the figure of a blond young man sprawled on the floor near the bar.

“Oh, shit. Aki!”

He rushed to the bar as fast as he could, the girl following closely behind.

“I really like that soooong,” he heard Akihito drawl as he tried to stand up. “I wanna dance too.”

“I am sorry about this,” Kou said, his heart about to jump out of his throat when the girl caught one of Akihito’s arms and helped him up.

_Count on his best friend to cockblock him the one time he had real chances of getting lucky with a girl!_

“ _Fire_ a kiss… Fire a gun…” a very drunk Akihito had the nerve to sing. “Hahahahaha!”

“I should take him home,” Kou whispered apologetically.

“Need help?” the girl asked, her voice casual and amused.

“Nah… I think… I think it’s…” he swung one of his friend’s arms over his shoulders and tried carry the other man on his own, forgetting that he usually had Takato to help. “Ugh!”

He nearly stumbled backwards, and he would have, if the girl hadn’t gotten a grip of his arm and Akihito’s.

“Here,” she said, throwing the blond man’s other arm over her shoulders. “Just tell me where to go.”

“I am so sorry,” Kou said. “Trust me, this is not what I usually do with my dates.”

“What, make them drag your drunk friends home?” she asked with a giggle.

“Exactly,” he replied. _Maybe he still had a chance?_ “You just happen to be very unlucky.”

She simply smiled.

 

++++

 

 

When they finally reached Kou’s apartment, Akihito was giggling again.

“Fire a gun…Hahahaha! It’s funny… “ he said, wiping happy tears from his eyes as he tried to focus on the face of the girl looking at him. “It’s funny ‘cause… My boyfriend once fucked me with a gun.”

The girl looked positively horrified.

So did Kou, whose eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“A-Akihito!” he spluttered.

“Like…” he took a very unsteady step towards the girl, whose jaw had dropped a little. “He literally…” he raised his fingers mimicking a gun, “…put a gun… in my a-“

“ _Ge!_ Akihito!” Kou yelped, yanking his friend backwards and making him stumble onto the couch.

Kou saw the girl blink several times, as if trying to delete an unwanted image from her brain.

“Wow,” she whispered, when she seemed to have finally recovered from the shock.

Behind him, he heard Akihito’s cell phone ring, but he couldn’t possibly care less.

_So much for his chances with that pretty lady!_

“We won’t be seeing each other ever again, will we?” he asked, shoulders slumped in defeat.

The girl, he was quick to notice, was studying the other man currently passed out on the couch with a mix of fascination and confusion on her face.

“You never know,” she said, with a little smile on her lips as she walked towards the door, and then turned around to look at him. “Take care of your friend.”

And with that, she took her leave.

The phone that had stopped ringing rang again – but not loud enough to wake up a completely wasted Akihito.

Kou let out an angry sigh as he searched his friend’s pockets until he found the buzzing device.

“Oh shit. Akihito,” he poked his friend on the shoulder after looking at the screen. “Akihito, answer your phone,” he said, shaking the other man’s arm, to no avail. “It’s Asami.”

At the mention of that name, Akihito’s eyes finally snapped open, but it was too late.

The phone was no longer ringing.

 

++++

 

The next morning, Akihito woke up feeling he had been to hell and back. Then hit by a train. Then back to hell. And then hit by a train again.

His entire body heart hurt and his head… Maaaan, his _head._ How _heavy_ could a head be?

He did not remember how he had gotten back to Kou’s place. His friend had mentioned something about him being helped by a girl and Akihito saying things about his sex life but he could not remember that either.

Blessed be his alcohol-induced amnesia, then. It was embarrassing enough as it was.

He let out a sigh. He really should stop drowning his sorrows in alcohol. Last night had been about traumatizing strangers but last week had been even worse.

He had drunk texted _Fei Long,_ of all people! And to talk about his feelings for _Asami,_ of all people!

And speaking of the devil, in all the days Asami could have called him, he had to choose one when Akihito has too drunk to even answer his phone.

He covered his eyes in shame with one hand as he reached for his phone with the other, ready to torture himself again.

Four missed calls. All from him. Two from yesterday, two this morning.

He should have answered, but he knew the knot in his throat would prevent him from speaking.

What if Fei Long had told him? Oho, he would never be able to live that one down! The ultimate humiliation. What had he been thinking?

 _Oh, he knew_ what he had been thinking during that night of May 5.

Sure, he had received all the birthday gifts that Asami must have asked one of his assistants to get eight months prior, so that he wouldn’t have to bother doing so himself. A new camera, flowers, chocolate, three VIP passes for any of his clubs in case he wanted to party with Kou and Takato.

And that was it. Not a single phone call. Not even a text message.

The man he had spent the past two and a half year of his life with, had forgotten his birthday.

Takaba Akihito, grown-up man that he was, had spent the entire evening crying.

And getting drunk, of course.

Until a message popped up in his phone.

 _Fucking Liu Fei Long_ was wishing him a happy birthday.

 _Fucking Liu Fei Long,_ also known as, _“not Asami”_.

And he had written back.

Then Fei Long had written back.

His inebriated brain had faintly shouted “bait!”, but he ignored it and walked right into the trap.

He had written back and worse: he had poured his heart out.

That email, his now sober self realized, would come back to bite him in the ass someday, _somehow._

He scrolled over the next email he had gotten, tried to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth, and moved on to read the most recent messages he had exchanged with the leader of the Baishe:

 

_L.F.L._

_I am meeting with Asami in a few hours. Any messages?_

 

His eyes slipped to his very elegant reply:

 

_Tell him to go suck a dick._

 

That, he thought, had put an end to their exchange, but a few minutes later came the man’s reply:

 

_L.F.L._

_Mine or yours?_

 

And then he read his last email, his _pièce de résistance_ , the one he had sent hours later yesterday, when he was already at the club with Kou:

 

**_FUCK YOU!_ **

 

Ha! Now that was a message he wouldn’t mind Fei Long showing Asami.

 

++++

  

He had ignored Asami’s calls for three days now.

 _‘Akihito, if you don’t come home **tonight,** I will send Suoh to pick you up **by force**. I know you are staying at Kou’s’_ , read the text message.

Knowing Asami, he knew he meant every single word. It was better not to take any chances.

He headed to the penthouse, bracing himself for whatever it was Asami had in store for him. It wouldn’t be good, he knew – the man _hated_ being ignored.

When he opened the door, he should not have been surprised to see that slender figure sitting in an armchair, legs crossed, with a whip firmly secured in one of his hands, and a glass of whisky in another.

He should not have been so fascinated by the way the moonlight cast half of his face into shadow, adding more mystery to his already menacing aura.

He should not have been aroused by those golden eyes piercing a hole in his soul, eating him alive; by the smirk in those lips, by those four undone buttons of his shirt, that allowed him to catch a glimpse of his perfectly-sculptured chest.

Oh, hell no, _he should not._

He steadied himself, and walked into the room with his head held up high.

“I will pretend I didn’t see you sitting there to give you time to get rid of that thing,” he said, waving a hand dismissively at the whip. “And then we will pretend it never happened.”

His bravado was met with a raised eyebrow.

“Excited?” he heard Asami ask, looking deeply amused.

_The nerve!_

“As if!” Akihito snapped, trying to fight the heat in his body as he looked at that man’s impossible face. “Are you out of your mind? Ten days and not even a phone call, and then you decide to show up _with a fucking whip_ and just assume I am up for it?”

He took a step back when Asami stood up in all his glory.

“First,” he heard the man say, and noted he was the definition of calm and cool as his lips moved – the very opposite of him. “Phones work both ways. You could have called too.”

“Yo-“

“Second,” Asami interrupted, taking another step towards him. “I _did_ call. Many times. _You_ didn’t answer.”

“Bu-“

“Third…” Asami’s stare was beginning to make him feel hot. _Way too hot_. “You are the one showing up, after disappearing for _three days_.”

 _OK..._ That one he couldn’t dispute.

“And lastly…” he squeaked like a little girl when Asami grabbed his arms, filling the gap between them to whisper in his ear. “Yes. I am going to assume you are up for it because… “ he felt the man bit his earlobe and another part of his body decided to make a statement by tenting his pants. “ _…you are._ ”

Akihito felt that tingle in his loin that usually lasted for about two minutes before his clothes disappeared into thin air and both he and Asami materialised in bed. But tonight, he felt like teasing the other man a little more.

“If you want it that bad,” he said, breaking free from the man’s grasp and walking backwards, “… then _earn_ it.”

Judging by the look in his lover’s eyes, he had accepted the challenge and he would take no prisoners.

He saw Asami unbuttoning his shirt and responded by licking his lips instinctively. It should be a crime to look _so hot_ doing something _so trivial_.

“You think you can earn it just by undressing?” he asked, trying to sound unimpressed despite the revealing bulge in his jeans.

“Maybe…”

 _‘What an impossible man!’_ Akihito’s mind screamed when Asami smirked, his eyes full of promise.

“Look behind you,” he heard the man say as he took another step backwards.

Behind him, displayed on the dining table, were all of his favourite foods. Grilled Kobe beef. Sushi. Seaweed salad. Pocky. Many other things his brain could not even process.

Akihito was speechless.

“Oh,” he muttered. “ _Oh…_ Wait a minute,” he finally woke up from his trance, and raised an inquisitive finger. “Were you planning this meal to happen before or after we… you know?”

“Does it matter?” Asami looked intrigued when he asked.

If he was trying to bribe him with food, _hell yeah,_ it mattered.

After all, with Asami, it was all about the main dish, _always_ \- not that he ever had to make much of an effort to get _that kind of service_ from him.

His heart skipped a beat, and he could not pinpoint why he was so upset or why he was about to say the things he was about to say.

“So now you are trying to bribe me with food?” Akihito’s voice was shaky. “So not only do you think I am a whore, but a starved whore at that?”

He let out a shocked gasp when he realized the words that had just left his mouth, and he hated himself for the prickling, burning sensation at the corners of his eyes.

In front of him, the look in Asami’s eyes had changed from playful to downright murderous.

He wondered, for a moment, if he should apologize, but then his inner self slapped him back to reality and he let out a breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. If anything, the man with the whip was the one that should apologize.

What for, Akihito was not sure. Maybe for everything. Maybe for just being that insufferable, heartless bastard. But especially, for making Akihito fall so hard for him, and then daring not to reciprocate.

He felt tears trickle down his cheeks, but his eyes were still defiant as he held the stare. When Asami moved forward, he tried to back away, just to find out he had unconsciously cornered himself against a wall – he couldn’t possibly be further from the door and he knew there was no escape.

He struggled when hands forced him out of his T-shirt with a powerful tug, but judging by the absolute anger in the other man’s face, he was fighting a losing battle.

He saw this T-shirt being tossed away. He tumbled to the side when his jeans were stripped off him with the same amount of anger. Soon enough, he had been swung over the other man’s shoulder wearing nothing but his boxers.

He had to stifle a sob. On any other day, he would be kicking and screaming, but tonight, he just didn’t feel like it. No physical pain could be worse than the one crushing his heart.

At what point of his life he had become the man he was now, he did not know. He just wished he could forget the road he took to get there, he wished he could forget all the faces and words and… humiliation.

And this time, strangely enough, it felt wrong to blame Asami for what he was feeling. He was so confused. Despite everything, he had missed that man so much, and he was craving that touch so bad, and his kisses, and his… he blushed when he realized that yes, he had missed being fucked too.

 _Fucked by Asami,_ and Asami alone. He would never want anyone else to do those things to him.

_No one but him._

He was not a whore, was he? For wanting it?

If only he knew what Asami felt for him. _He had to feel something, right?_

He didn’t even notice that his hands had been bound above his head, and that he had been placed on the mattress, on his knees, facing the wall of the secret room.

And that his boxers were gone.

He felt more tears fall from his eyes, but he straightened up his back regardless.

“Do what you gotta do,” he said as he stared at the wall, without turning around to face the other man. He was impressed at how steady his voice was despite his uncontrollable shaking.

And then it began.

He hissed when the first lash made his back sting, the immediate pain making his muscles clench. He was glad he hadn’t eaten – his stomach had tightened so fiercely he was sure he would have thrown up.

He barely had time to catch his breath when the leather of the whip made contact with his skin again, this time striking part of his ass and the back of his thigh. He had to bite his tongue not to scream at the burning sensation – his eyes were shut so tight he saw stars.

And then there was a pause. The silence in the secret room made him shudder, his body throbbing painfully as he waited. He was about to turn around to look at Asami when the whip connected with his back again, and this time he could not contain a pained wail.

“Don’t you ever…”

He heard Asami’s voice, and his moist eyes shot open.

_“…ever…”_

The whip connected with his right shoulder blade, and then his ass, then his shoulder again, and he screamed so loud that the man behind him had to raise his voice to be heard.

“…call yourself a whore again.”

His mind was spinning, partly because of the terrible pain spreading across his limbs, partly because of the other man’s words. He realized he was no longer crying – somehow, the physical pain had surpassed his emotional turmoil and all he wanted, all he needed, was to turn around and see him.

“A-Asami…” he panted, his heart racing as he stared at the floor. “P-Please…My arms… ”

He felt the mattress shift when the other man kneeled behind him, releasing the cuffs above his head. His numb arms would have probably fallen limply by his side if larger hands hadn’t held his wrists, bringing them down gently as thumbs massaged his wrists. 

Before he had the chance to turn around, he felt Asami’s warm breath against his neck.

“Why can’t you understand…”

 _'Understand what?'_ Akihito’s mind screamed in return.

He could have asked. He _should_ have asked. But instead, he merely turned around, to try and find answers in the other man’s face.

And maybe he was merely seeing what he wanted to see, but there they were, right there, in those impossibly strong eyes, all of a sudden not that strong…

Saddened.

_Vulnerable._

Maybe, really, he was just projecting his own emotions in those eyes. He really didn’t know and the fact that his heart and his mind kept sending him conflicting messages really did not help.

He saw the man lower his eyes, and when they were raised to him again, that hint of something else was gone. The golden orbs now gleamed with other things.

Power.

_Lust._

Akihito swallowed, his treacherous body responding to the piercing gaze that studied every inch of his naked body.

How that man could drag him into that insane emotional roller coaster was something he could not understand.

What he could understand was that he _wanted_ it. He wanted it all, with all its complications.

Before he knew, Asami’s tongue was inside his mouth, and he moaned. The man seemed intent on swallowing him, and Akihito complied, drinking in his taste, the lingering nicotine on his lips, the faint scent of whisky in his saliva. He felt that familiar stir in his groin as he shifted his hips unconsciously, seeking the other man’s body. He felt it all with blinding clarity: the familiar tingling, the racing pulse, Asami’s fingertips trailing soft patterns along his sides, as if looking for spots that hadn’t been tainted by his flogging.

Even the flogging itself felt like a hundred years ago now, despite the dull throb coming from the swelling welts on his back.

He was falling prey to his basest desires, his mind shutting out any thoughts and becoming this white canvas for Asami to do as he wished. Even without looking down at himself, Akihito could tell he was hard as steel as they kissed, his body responding to every sway of the man’s tongue inside his mouth.

He was sure he would come untouched if Asami kept that going. 

_It wouldn’t be the first time._

His breath was coming in short gasps. He was _so close_. His fingers slid up Asami’s arms, until he reached his shoulders. He dug his short nails into his flesh, feeling his muscles ripple under his touch, and he threw his head back when they parted for air.

By then, he was already straddling the older man, shamelessly humping his erection against Asami’s abs.

“A-Asami,” he panted, his hands grabbing the man’s hair and swiping the trails of sweat in his temples with his thumbs. Those fucking golden eyes were so feverish, he felt he would burn just looking at them. “Asami…”

He couldn’t stop calling out that name – it was as if he was falling into the abyss and that name was the only thing he could hold on to.

“Akihito…”

His eyes fluttered closed as that velvety baritone voice sent shivers up his spine. When slender fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock, all it took was a tug and he was spilling his seed all over Asami’s stomach.

“ _Fuck_ … Asami…”

He was still trying to catch his breath when the man attacked his mouth again, his own erection still restrained by the fabric of his pants and underwear rubbing against his thigh.

“Turn around,” Asami whispered, using his fingers to scoop up some of the cum in his abs.

Akihito complied despite his trembling legs, and the older man positioned him so that he was facing the wall, while straddling one of his muscular thighs. He could hear him unzipping his pants, and his breath hitched when the warmth of Asami’s cock touched one of his buttocks, the tip wet and sticky with precum.

“My beautiful Akihito…” 

He shuddered when Asami’s slick fingers probed his entrance, his heartbeat getting even stronger. How he had missed those fingers, opening him up, twisting and turning and rubbing that sweet spot inside him…

Asami’s lips pressed soft kisses to the sore spots on his shoulders while one of his hands hovered over a nipple and the other continued to work wonders on his ass.

How lucky was he, to have a lover that could do _so many things at the same time..._

The older man twisted his nipple between his fingers.

...and so _fucking well…_

“A-Asami…” he panted, as the man’s digits slid easily in and out of his slick channel, going deeper each time. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come ag- _aaaahh_!”

His cock was still oozing cum when he felt Asami lift him off the mattress, and he yelped in pain when the man’s fingers pressed against his injured lower back.

“Ride me,” he heard Asami groan, after turning Akihito around as gently as he could while holding his own throbbing sex upwards. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Akihito nodded with his lips parted as he gasped for air. His thighs were shaking, but he wanted Asami inside him and given how bad his back had hurt with the man’s touch, he knew no other position would work except the one with him being on top.

Akihito looked into the man’s fiery eyes, and then let his gaze slid down to his chest and his perfect abs, glistening with sweat and cum. Asami’s breathing had become more laboured, and judging by the rippling of the muscles under him, his lover was really using all of his self control not to roll him onto his back and fuck his brains out.

He licked his lips at the sight of the man’s thick cock leaking precum, and crawled backwards so that his head was leveled with Asami’s hips. Without much preamble, he guided the wet, swollen head to his lips, his pinkish tongue sneaking out to lick it in slow, circular motions.

“Akihito…”

 He heard Asami hiss his name, and lifted his gaze to the man’s face. His golden eyes carried a silent warning that he understood very well.

He led the throbbing cock into his mouth, as far as he could without gagging, and made sure it was coated in saliva when he repositioned himself so that his ass aligned with the thick length.

That part was always the hardest.

He squeezed his eyes shut when the familiar pressure sent jolts of searing pain up his spine, and he inhaled deeply to force his muscles to relax. He lowered himself another inch, and repeated the process until he felt the back of his thighs touch Asami’s.

 He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was Asami’s blown back pupils. There was sweat dripping down his forehead, and his jaw was clenched.

“W-wait…” Akihito muttered, when he felt Asami moving his hips. “Don’t… yet…”

When Asami’s cock was fully lodged inside him, he lifted himself off the other man’s body, and that appeared to make Asami snap. He felt the man throw his hips upwards in a forceful thrust, and he saw stars with the surge of pain and pleasure that ripped through his body.

Soon, they had built a steady, noisy staccato as Asami pounded his ass with abandon. Even though he was the one on top, Akihito had no doubt whatsoever the older man was the one controlling the moves of their sweaty lovemaking.

Again and again, he felt Asami’s cock stab his prostate, and his mouth went dry when his whole body gave in to another orgasmic wave. Below him, the thrusts had grown irregular and shorter, and the warmth spreading inside him was the last thing he felt before passing out.

  

++++

 

When he woke up, unsure of how many minutes, hours or days later, he realized he was on the bed, lying on his stomach. At some point, they had made had their way to the master bedroom.

Akihito turned his head to the side, and saw Asami sleeping with a serene expression on his face. When he sat up, he felt his ass and the back of his thighs sting, but not as bad as before. He touched his shoulder, and noticed it was slightly moist with something that smelled like aloe. The sheets had gotten stuck to the back of his legs, so he assumed Asami had applied whatever lotion that was to all of the other welts in his body.

He looked at his naked legs, and then his groin. Apparently the man had bathed him as well, or at least cleaned him thoroughly – there didn’t seem to be any residue of sweat or bodily fluids on his body, and he was certain that at some point in time he had been a sticky mess.

And then his stomach rumbled and he remembered they hadn’t eaten yet.

He was about to leave the bedroom when Asami’s phone buzzed. He looked at the voicemail notification, and unlocked the phone screen. It looked like Kirishima had tried to call his boss several times, and given up after the third try.

 _'But Asami looks so peaceful,'_ he thought, looking at the man’s face and choosing to let him sort out his business with his assistant the next morning. He looked at the phone again – how many times had the man called him that afternoon? 

He scrolled down, finding five logs with his name on it. A small smile curled his lips. He imagined that the oh-so-powerful Asami Ryuichi was not one to even try to call a second time if someone didn’t pick up his calls – he was too important for that.

The fact that he clearly thought Akihito was worth five attempts made him all warm on the inside.

And then, he scrolled down again, to find more logs of calls Asami had made that day.

 

_08:57 - Miyuki._

_08:58 – Miyuki_

_09:10 – Miyuki_

 

He had to swallow a knot in his throat when he scrolled further down and realized that there had been someone Asami had called _way more_ than five times.

 _Eleven,_ to be precise.

He put the phone down, his heart thumping loudly inside his ribcage.

 _‘Don’t go there, don’t go there, Akihito, don’t,’_ his mind begged him.

_He did._

He decided to check the man’s text messages.

 

_11:12 Miyuki_

_My place or yours?_

_11:13. Mine. Call me._

_17:56 Miyuki_

_Just to let you know: you will look for me again, eventually. Mark my words._

 

Akihito felt like screaming. What _the fuck_ was that? What. The. FUCK.

To think that Asami seemed clueless about what the problem with their relationship was.

 _That_ was the problem. _That_ was what that bastard would never understand.

Akihito always gave him everything he had, be it in bed or out of it. And what did he get in return? Nothing but the crumbs from the man’s table.

And now _that._ A third player. Or fourth, or _fifth._ Hell if he knew how many people he shared Asami with!

He felt used. And stupid. And _pissed._

He looked at the phone in his hand one more time. Perhaps he was reading too much into it? He clearly had, that time with Sudou.

But Miyuki was not the name of a business contact., and there was nothing businessy in those messages. Miyuki was the name of a _woman._ And he knew Asami used to go out with women.

_Apparently he still does. Fuck, did they do it here? In this bed?_

“Ugh, what the-“ he mumbled, hating his own thoughts.

Of course, confronting Asami was out of the question for a million reasons. The first one being, he would have to admit he had been checking his messages like an insecure, jealous waifu.

_Never!_

Screw him, and screw his secret mistress.

He was done. _Done._

“Enough of these… shenanigans,” he muttered as he limped out of bed and collected his clothes that were scattered around the penthouse, “…enough of the silly games…” He got dressed, still talking to himself and hissing every now and then when fabric rubbed against his bruised back. “…enough of guessing… and of… of…”

He couldn’t bring himself to complete that sentence aloud, so he did mentally.

_MindMotherfuckingBlowing sex._

He headed to the door, still wobbly and cursing under his breath. When he finally touched the doorknob, he felt defeated.

 _What a bunch of lies._ He was just acting mad because deep inside, he was _scared._

What if Asami had grown tired of him?

What if, the next time he showed up in the penthouse, he found out that his stuff had been sent back to some hole-in-the-wall apartment?

He could already see how it would all go down…

 _‘Akihito… we need to talk…’_ he imagined Asami telling him, with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He snorted at the thought, and ignored the hot tears that began pooling in his eyes again.

“No,” he told himself. “Man up. Enough of tears.”

Only after he opened the door did he remember all the glorious food he hadn’t even touched. He looked over his shoulder.

_Not hungry anymore._

And with that, he left and closed the door behind him.

Just to open it again five seconds later.

“But I might be later…” he whispered, rushing to the kitchen to grab all the bento lunch boxes he could find and pack all the food in display.

 

++++

 

One hour later, Akihito finally got to his destination.

He had taken much longer than usual to get there for the simple fact he had decided to re-read all the messages he had exchanged with Fei Long the week before.

In particular, the response he had gotten after that _one_ email he regretted so much sending exactly seven days ago.

 

_Dear Akihito,_

_Regardless of what you **think** you feel for Asami, be honest with yourself. Are you happy? Is your life better with him? I doubt it. That man is a lifetaker. He will consume you and then spit out whatever is left of your soul and body. I will concede: maybe he has feelings. Maybe he has a heart. But he probably locked everything away ages ago and lost the key. These days, he can't bring himself to care for anything or anyone, I saw it in his eyes when he got here three days ago. I get the feeling that whenever he tries to feel, a part of his soul fights back and makes him even more cruel. Either something bad happened in his life or he was simply born that way. Maybe both things. It doesn't really matter. I don't think we will ever find out, anyway._

_Whatever is wrong with him is not your responsibility. Don't burden yourself with it. The only possible outcome of your relationship with Asami is you going down with him._

_Break free from his grasp while you still can._

_And then come visit._

_Yours,_

_L.F.L._

_(Come visit, really. I mean it.)_

 

Right... Spoke the voice of reason. The man who had used him as a human shield, abducted and raped him in more than one occasion in his unexplainable need to get back at Asami.

Akihito simply shook his head as he put his phone back in his pocket.

They were all crazy, _all of them._ No wonder the past few years of his life had been such a clusterfuck.

He was glad he had at least one safe haven left.

He knocked at Kou’s door. There was no answer, so he knocked again, until he heard footsteps rushing to the door.

“Oi, Akihito!” his friend’s eyes were barely open. “It’s 3 in the morning!”

“Uh, yeah, sorry man…” he replied, scratching the back of his head. “Listen, Kou…Can I…crash at your place… again?”

His friend did not look amused.

“I brought food!” Akihito replied, holding the all the plastic bags filled with bentos in front of his face.

Kou’s eyes went wide.

“How long are you planning to stay?” he asked, sleepily. “Never mind, come in.” 

Truth is, Akihito didn’t know how long he intended to stay.

He went in.

That was something he would think about tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)The title of this chapter was inspired by the poem “The Triple Fool”, by John Donne: “I am too fools, I know/For loving, and for saying so.”
> 
> 2)The scene in the club is long and apparently useless, I know, but trust me: we will be revisiting those events.
> 
> 3) I have to say, I feel sorry for Akihito but Asami’s take on the situation (next chapter) made me so, so sad! The amount of miscommunication going on is maddening.
> 
> 4)Next: Miyuki, also known as, "not who Akihito thinks she is".


	4. Side effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami's iron grip on his carefully controlled environment (and mind) begins to slip.

_Sion Headquarters, Tokyo, 5:45 am_

 

Asami Ryuichi was mystified.

It was _not_ a feeling he enjoyed.

He gazed out of the window, recalling the events of the night before, one of his hands in his pocket as he watched the city below.

He had gotten his lover's favourite foods - _all_ of them. Also, he had been so certain the young man would enjoy the whip - after all, in other occasions, he had showed so much enthusiasm with the rope and all the other bondage paraphernalia...

He had planned every single moment - he had wanted their night to be a blast.

But not _that kind_ of blast.

Talk about a plan backfiring... He was still trying to understand why Akihito had had that meltdown. He was positive he had never called him a whore. A little slut... Well, yeah, but that day doesn't count. And after everything they had been through, why would he even cling to that specific memory of their first time together, out of all the others they had?

And then there were all the accusations that he hadn't called, that he was the one being unreasonable.

Last time he had checked, it was Akihito that hadn't even bothered to call him in ten days. Sure, he was expecting the photographer to ignore his gifts, as he always did, but the card?

Did that insufferable brat even know how rare it was for Asami Ryuichi to even _sign_ a birthday card? Let alone _write_ one?

He let out an annoyed sigh, and his thoughts drifted back to the events of the night before. He should not have used the whip. He had meant it to be fun, but in the end Akihito was in no condition to have fun last night. He was upset. And so _he_ had gotten upset _too,_ and that was a gigantic red flag in itself. When had Akihito’s feelings started to matter?

Turns out he had been caught off guard with all the contempt, with all the coldness in the young man's eyes. He was used to his little lover's temper tantrums, but _that one_ had bothered him.

It had bothered him to no end, and he could not explain why.

Perhaps he was going out of his mind.

A slight frowned wrinkled his forehead. When had it happened? _When had he handed his sanity to Akihito?_

Because he clearly had, at some point.

That blond breeze of chaos in his perfectly controlled environment had apparently turned into a typhoon and he got caught in the middle of the storm.

_Willingly._

Maybe... Maybe his little lover was finally breaking under his clutch?

But then... Wasn't that what he, Asami, had always wanted? To have the boy's heart, soul and body at his feet?

Shouldn't he be proud of it, of the boy's misery and his own triumph?

_Then why wasn't he?_

That internal monologue was so annoying. Perhaps it was a side effect of the medication?

"Speaking of which..." he muttered, glancing at his watch as he reached for a small bottle in his pocket. "It is time." 

 

++++

 

_The day before…_

 

The island of Tsumino was a modest strip of land sitting quietly 289 miles west of Tokyo, in the middle of the Harima-nada Sea.

It was home, and property, of a woman that was currently saying her goodbyes to a wrinkled man who was wiping his tears away with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Get some rest, Choo,” she said, her calm, imposing voice a stark contrast to her docile and childish face – a remarkable feature, given the fact she was already approaching her 40s. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Behind her, the only satellite phone in Tsumino rang for the eleventh time that morning. It was squeaking indignantly in the hands of her first assistant, a tall, long-haired Chinese woman who was eyeing the device with equal amounts of calm and curiosity.

That phone hardly ever rang, mainly because _very few people_ had that number.

Even fewer people knew her boss’ real name was not Miyuki, although most of them addressed her as such.

The man calling for the eleventh time was one of those few people.

“Were you able to confirm the caller id?” asked the older woman, who had made no effort to reach for the phone.

“Yes, Majima-sama.”

“Is it really him?”

Her assistant nodded.

“Text him: _‘my place or yours?’_ ” Let me know when he responds.”

One minute later, they heard a soft beep.

“Ah, he already did,” said the assistant.

“And?”

“ _’Mine. Call me.’_ ”

Majima Makoto, former yakuza wife, currently a counsellor, whose clientele ranged from crime lords to politicians and celebrities, whom the rest of the world referred to as Miyuki, the masseuse, took a deep breath.

_And so, she had been summoned by the man himself._

To say that the prospect of having one of the most powerful men – if not _the most powerful man_ \- in Japan as her patient was exciting was an understatement. For a counsellor, to get a call from Asami Ryuichi was the equivalent of winning a Nobel Prize.

It was _better_ than winning a Nobel Prize, actually.

_And she had been waiting for it for almost twelve years._

“Call him we shall, then,” she said, bringing the phone to her ear.

A few seconds later, she was greeted with a moment of silence on the other side of the line.

 _“You are a very difficult person to get hold of,”_ the man finally said.

She was quick to notice the voice was carefully stripped of emotion.

“Good morning to you too, Asami-san,” she replied gleefully, showing very little care for her counterpart’s demonstration of self-control. “You're on speaker.”

Another moment of silence.

_“Who's with you?”_

“Li Jiao. She is my Kirishima Kei.”

Again, there was no response. It appeared that she would be the one doing all the talk.

“I apologise for not getting back to you any sooner,” she continued. “I was in the middle of a consultation…”

 _‘…with my gardener,’_ she completed mentally. Surely a man with an ego as big as Asami Ryuichi’s would not be pleased to find out his status as undisputed crime lord would not guarantee special treatment as one of her patients.

If it hadn’t been for the very faint and quiet sound of a man breathing on the other side of the line, she would have assumed he had hung up. But, apparently, he was at least listening.

“So… I understand that you would like me to meet you at your office?”

_“Yes.”_

His voice had finally made another brief appearance.

“When?” she asked.

_“4 pm, today.”_

“Let me check my sc-“

_“Makoto...”_

Her eyes narrowed at the threat contained in the use of her first name.

“Ryuichi?”

She, however, was not one to back down.

 _“My private jet will be in Tsumino in two hours,”_ the man said, his tone slightly more amiable.

“I still n-,” was all she had time to say before he hung up.

Makoto handed her phone back to her assistant, and let out a sigh.

“Proud, confident and controlling,” she said. “Just the way I like them.”

She stood up to get ready for the impending trip, and continued.

“Asami Ryuichi... You wait for it, Li. We will get to Tokyo, he will ask for a prescription for whatever it is he is struggling with and send me back home,” she paused, and a little smile curled the corners of her mouth. “Well... Let him believe he is control for now.”

 

\--

 

Four hours later, Majima Makoto was already sitting comfortably on an armchair at the man’s office, after dismissing her assistant.

At four o’clock sharp, Asami Ryuichi made his triumphant entrance, making the air around him move with each powerful, elegant step. It was what she called the _stride of confidence_ – the soft sound of his shoes hitting the ground displayed grace but strict control of each movement.

The scent that filled the air as he approached only reinforced that the owner of Club Sion (and three quarters of Japan) was no ordinary man. In any other person, the faint smell of cigarettes could have come across as undesirable, but in him, it seemed to be the perfect addition to a musky fragrance that was neither too potent nor too discreet.

“Majima-san,” she heard him say, as he held her hands in a cordial greeting. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” Makoto replied, her fingertips briefly exploring the warm, slender fingers of her counterpart. “Though I am not quite sure _‘inviting’_ is the right word…”

She heard a slightly sharper intake of breath, and then the metallic click of a lighter as the man took a seat across from her.

 Soon enough, she found herself wrapped in a cloud of Dunhill.

 “You know…” she said, after waiting for a conversation starter that never came. “I have always tried to keep a strict no smoking police in my practice but it never seems to stick with my patients… How old were you when you began smoking?”

“15,” came the short response.

“Ah… I see.”

The man’s breathing patterns were so regular and quiet that she couldn’t help but be impressed. It was clear he had prepared well for that encounter, and had trained his own body not to give away any hints as to what he was feeling or thinking.

_A controlling personality indeed._

“So...” she laced her fingers together, taking a deep breath herself. “How may I help you today?”

“I need a prescription.”

_Ah… What a surprise._

It was her turn to be silent.

“Are you sure?” she asked at last.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Asami-san...” she continued, “…but you can get whatever drug you want, anytime you want, with or without a prescription.”

Her words were followed by the sound of high quality fabric rustling against the surface of the armchair across from her.

“Why am I here?” she asked, sensing the heightening discomfort in her counterpart.

“I am not sure as to what drug to take,” was the calm response.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Prazosin or Paroxetine.”

 _‘Both for anxiety…’_ she made a quick mental note, before speaking again. “What are your symptoms?”

“Nightmares.”

“What are they about?”

There was a moment of silence, in which she could hear nothing but the soft sound of the man blowing smoke out of his nose.

“How do I stop them?” he then asked, his voice calm and collected as usual.

“First, by telling me what they are about.”

She had to suppress a smirk when the man’s breath finally seemed to hitch for the first time since her arrival. His determination to keep her unaware of his emotions was remarkable, but if he really thought he was dealing with an _amateur,_ she would prove him horribly wrong.

“I am going to make this easier for you,” she said, leaning forward. “Wh-“

“I know you are a specialist in death therapy, whatever that is,” he interrupted, his voice losing a tiny fraction of its cool. “Let's just say, I have been dreaming about _death_.”

“Your death or someone else's?”

“Someone else's.”

“Someone who is alive, or someone who's already dead?”

She narrowed her eyes, waiting for his response as she drew all kinds of scenarios in the back of her head for a possible diagnostic.

“Both.”

“In the same dream?”

“Yes.”

_That narrowed down the options._

“Are the circumstances in the dream familiar to you in any way?” she asked. “As in, fragments of a memory?”

If the answer was yes, that meant Asami Ryuichi might be struggling with some sort of post traumatic stress disorder - which, judging by his silence, was something he already knew, and was displeased to share with third parties.

“Yes…” his voice was almost inaudible when he finally replied.

“How long have you been having them?”

“For three days now.”

“And before that?”

She heard the sound of another cigarette being lit.

“Only when I was younger.”

“How ol-“

“Much younger,” he interrupted, and his tone of voice indicated that was the end of that conversation.

She nodded in response. For a first consultation - which the man probably thought was also the last - she had heard enough.

Now, it was time to say her goodbyes.

++++

 

 _Back to Sion Headquarters, present day, 5:52 am_  

Asami Ryuichi was still mindlessly fidgeting with his bottle of Prazosin when he remembered his meeting the day before.

 _“Asami-san, you do understand that even the worst dreams have a function in our brains, right?”_ he had heard the woman say. “ _They are like... Bridges between our experiences and our emotions. Let's say they regulate the traffic.”_

 _“I don't feel comfortable prescribing drugs without a full assessment of your condition so I will just warn you to stay away from Paroxetine because the side effects tend to be severe,”_ as he remembered her words, his eyes fell upon the bottle he was holding. _“If you are so intent on self-medicating, you will go for Prazosin but let me tell you right off the gate, **it will not solve your problem**. If anything, you will sleep better, and from what you have said I assume it’s been three nights of sleep deprivation?”_

He raised an eyebrow. Truth was that last night he had slept like a log. Whether that had been because of the pill he had taken as soon as the woman left his office, or because sex with Akihito had felt _so good_ after ten days of withdrawal… he did not know.

Majima’s voice echoed in his head one last time.

_“I need to warn you that there might still be side effects, and if you ignore the reasons why the...traffic in your bridge has become so intense, your mind will have to find other avenues of release.”_

He smirked, just like he had done the day before.

Finding other avenues of release was his specialty – and they usually involved his little lover, rope and plenty of bodily fluids.

_That sounded like a side effect he was more than ready to handle._

“Asami-sama...”

The voice of his assistant brought him back to reality, and he slid the bottle of medicine inside his pants pocket before turning around to look at the man by the door.

“My apologies for bringing you to the office so early,” said Kirishima. “I thought it would not be prudent to send you the information by email.”

Asami dismissed the apologies with a wave of his hand, and invited his secretary to take a seat across from him.

“So...” he laced his fingers together while leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “What did you find out? Who is Hayashi working for?”

Instead of answering, Kirishima slid a photograph across the desk.

As his golden eyes began to study it, he realized it was _exactly what he had expected_. Still, he was surprised.

He held up the picture, showing no emotion. Inside, however, his heart might have raced a millisecond – he was not a fool to ignore the threat that he was looking at.

The photograph had been taken somewhere in Roppongi, judging by the familiar skyscrapers. He recognized the profile of Hayashi Mirai right away – the woman would always stand out in a crowd, even when she didn’t want to. She was tall, and the lean muscles of her arms seemed to ripple under the fabric of her black jacket. Asami studied her trademark frown, the angle of her thin eyebrows visible despite the mirrored lenses of her aviator sunglasses. That no-bullshit attitude was perhaps the one thing in the woman’s appearance that made her look her age – 37, just like him.

His eyes then drifted to the bulky man by her side – an equally imposing figure with slicked back hair wearing a three-piece suit, who he immediately recognized as being the Chairman of the Tojo Clan.

“She was promoted to Daigo Dojima's Head of Security two weeks ago,” he heard his assistant say.

Asami put down the picture, and leaned back on his chair.

“Kirishima... Can you remember the last time a woman made this far in the Tojo?”

“No, sir. “

A smirk curled up the corners of his mouth before he spoke again.

“That is because _no woman_ had ever made this far in the Tojo.”

And what impressed him the most was that he had a very clear idea of _how_ she had gotten that far. If there was one thing he knew about Hayashi, was that she was not one to sleep her way to the top.

She had other methods.

“What's the body count so far?” Asami asked, reaching for the Dunhills in his chest pocket.

“According to the records, she’s been responsible for 349 executions, largely due to last year's purge.”

Asami’s pupils dilated slightly.

“A professional assassin, then…” he whispered, while his eyes searched for the woman’s face in the picture again. “And one with personal reasons to seek revenge against me…”

He frowned.

The number of men she had killed did not matter. Neither did the fact she was working for a syndicate. _But Hayashi Mirai was a part of his past he had no interest reconnecting with_ , and if she decided to get revenge, he knew exactly _who_ her target would be.

“Though...” he said, more to himself than to the man sitting across from him. “Mirai never struck me as the resentful type…”

However, he knew it was pointless to worry about it. He snapped out of his own thoughts, still grasping the packet of cigarettes but making no motion of picking one up.

“I guess we will soon find out,” he said, his eyes falling on the pile of reports Kirishima had placed on his desk. “About the meeting with Dojima tomorrow… Is it confirmed?”

“Yes. And Hayashi has agreed to see you before the meeting begins, I have contacted her personally. To all effects, she is coming to meet your Head of Security to take care of any security breaches that might present a threat to her boss.”

“Has Suoh been briefed about it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is an unsettling coincidence, isn't it...” Asami finally led a cigarette to his lips, and his secretary leaned forward to light it, “…that all of this is happening at the same time.”

His mind drifted back to the events of two weeks before, when one of the major servers at Sion had been hacked and sensitive information about his suppliers and buyers in China almost vanished into thin air. Not a day later, Dojima had approached him to talk about Zhuhai. And now, he found out that a person closely related to him had been appointed the Head of Security behind enemy lines.

“Asami-sama…” Kirishima’s voice was hesitant. “Do you think Hayashi revealed… _sensitive information_ about you to get a promotion?”

He knew exactly what kind of “sensitive information” his secretary was referring to, and the muscles of his jaw clenched involuntarily.

“Unlikely,” he said, matter-of-factly. _His biggest liability was also hers_ , so he really didn’t see the benefit of disclosing that particular piece of information to a syndicate. “But that, at the moment, is immaterial. What matters is that all of those events were orchestrated.”

Kirishima merely nodded in agreement.

“I have no doubt whatsoever that the cyberattack came from the Tojo,” Asami continued. “Dojima decided to push forward based on whatever information he was able to gather from the data they stole. Either he is bluffing, or he thinks he has better cards up his sleeve, if he is so confident he can take me out of business,” he paused to take another drag off his cigarette. “Were you able to check who his contact in the Diet is?”

“Yoshinobu Suzuki.”

“The Minister of Land?”

“Yes. Apparently he has been trying to approach The Minister of Defence too, for quite a while now.”

“Tamiya will not sway,” Asami responded, opening the Minister’s file. “He owes me a fair share of favours.”

Kirishima opened another folder, and after a few more observations about Diet members, they started looking at the people the Tojo had in their payroll when it came to media and the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

In the event of a fallout, Asami Ryuichi needed to know exactly what awaited him.

++++

Many hours had passed when Asami finally decided to call it a day. Or, as it was, call it a night. He glanced at the window and saw the sun had already set.

“In short,” he addressed his first secretary, who had endured their long hours of planning without a single complaint. “In the case of a retaliation, Dojima is not bullet-proof, but not that vulnerable either.”

He handed a particularly thick report back to Kirishima.

“However…” he continued, “if I retaliate against the Tojo, the hoodlums from the Omi Alliance in Osaka will find their way here.”

“They are already lurking around Tokyo,” Kirishima replied. “They are bound to strike if they suspect Dojima's clutch at the local business has weakened.”

“So either I am stuck with the Tojo or with the Omi…” out if the corner of his eye, he saw his secretary push his glasses up his nose. “What are you not telling me, Kirishima?”

The other man cleared his throat before speaking.

“The Jingweon mafia has been seen very often in Osaka as of lately.”

Asami raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we were in good terms with the Koreans.”

“We are,” Kirishima replied. “Their intentions are not clear.”

“Send operatives to Osaka today,” Asami's eyes gleamed dangerously as he spoke. “If there are traitors in the Jingweon, I want them eliminated. And let the leaders know.”

He stood up and buttoned up his jacket, his eyes beginning to show traces of tiredness despite his usual intense gaze.

“The Omi will have to find other allies if they plan to come for me after I am done with the Tojo.”

“Asami-sama...”

His hand had already touched the doorknob when Kirishima spoke again, in that alarming low tone he had come to know so well throughout the years.

“As to Hayashi-kun... I apologise for intruding, sir, but is Takaba-san aware?”

Asami’s slender fingers involuntarily closed around the doorknob as an unwelcome knot threatened to form in his throat. He had not thought, and did not want to think, of the devastating effects that secret of his past would have in his relationship with Akihito.

“Of her existence? No. And he will remain unaware,” he replied, without turning around. “She won't be in town for long, I will make sure of that.”

He opened the door, and addressed Kirishima one last time before leaving the room.

“But... You make a valid point,” Asami said, his voice showing no emotion now that he was able to reorganize his thoughts. “Allocate personnel to guard their apartment in Kabukicho and notify me immediately if there is any… _intention to approach.”_

Now that he thought about it, that was a measure he should have taken many days ago.

Hopefully, it was not too late.

 

++++

 

Back in the penthouse, Asami Ryuichi realized he had a bone to pick with Takaba Akihito: the young man had ruined his harmonious relationship with the silence of his own home.

It had never bothered him before.

Now, it did.

Walking around the place wearing nothing but his sweatpants, Asami still found it in him to check the young man’s room, just in case he had chosen to return. But it was empty. No Akihito.

He walked back to the kitchen, and glanced at the living room.

No signs of his raucous lover either.

Only silence, his old friend - one that now seemed to mock him.

He felt very light-headed, and maybe it was due to the fact he had dismissed two of Majima’s recommendations in one strike. He should avoid alcohol while taking the medicine, and he should make sure he ate properly or his blood pressure would drop like hell.

His eyes fell upon his definition of dinner – a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whisky in another.

He shrugged. Since when did he take advice from counsellors, anyway.

He picked up the phone, and looked at his text messages from the day before.

 

_17:56 Miyuki_

_Just to let you know: you will look for me again, eventually. Mark my words._  

 

Asami smirked at the woman’s nerve. He had to concede that her defiant attitude intrigued him, but sadly, there would be no chapter two to that story.

He deleted the message, and the others before it.

_It was a hundred years too early for Asami Ryuichi to need counselling._

He walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and his gaze fell upon the roses he had sent Akihito for his birthday. Truth be told, it had not been him who had chosen them. That was what he had assistants for, and that was why he made such arrangements months in advance – his schedule was too chaotic for him to take such matters into his own hands.

However, that time, he had gone a bit out of his way.

His fingertips brushed against a white envelope with his initials in gold, and he noticed it was still sealed and snuggly placed against the flowers.

He pressed a button on his phone, and led it to his ear.

_“Wh-“_

“You didn't even read the card I sent you, did you?” Asami said, before any other greeting.

He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line.

_“You mean, the one that came with the flowers you asked your assistant to get months ago?”_

Asami’s eyes dropped to his own handwriting in the card he had just retrieved from the envelope.

“Yeah,” he said, while his eyes scanned its content. “That one.”

 

_Dear Akihito (the Astute),_

_I know you will be tempted to touch yourself tonight since it is your **birthday** and I am not around to help you out of your misery. But, behave, and I will give you a night to remember when I come back home. _

_Yours,_

_A.R._

_PS: If you feel too lonely, call me. Maybe I can help…_

 

 _“Not really, no,”_ Akihito’s confused voice brought him back to reality. _“Why?”_

 Asami hung up.

“Silly boy...” he whispered, slowly tearing the card in half, and then in half again, and dumping it in the garbage bin along with the flowers.

Maybe it was a good thing that the young man had never set his eyes on that card. He had written it on his last day in Tokyo before his trip to Macau, still under the influence of their fortuitous encounter minutes before, and then left it with Kirishima so that it would reach the boy on May 5.

The straining erection at the time had probably made his brain malfunction.

He headed to the bedroom.

Speaking of erection, he could really do with some sex right now, but he doubted his fiery photographer would be coming home tonight. He let out a sigh.

_Live today, fight tomorrow._

When his head hit the pillow, he was quick to notice that the sheets still smelled of Akihito: a mix of honey, apple and just... the scent of his skin. Asami breathed it all in, every cell of his body remembering the ecstasy of emptying himself inside that warm body the night before. That warm body that had squeezed him so tight in the height of his own climax... Pulling him deeper... His cock twitched at the vivid images and sensations, but he merely shifted his hips and ignored that primal urge jolting through his veins.

When it was time, he would find release inside that body again. And he would make Akihito pass out from the pleasure, _again._ As many times as he wanted, _he would claim what was his_. And he would see his own surrender mirrored in those eyes that always burnt so bright for him.

His eyes fluttered closed, and images of his little lover danced behind his eyes. He saw the lithe body under his as his fingers wrapped around his neck. Akihito saving him with a frying pan. Fireworks...

And then he welcomed another night of dreamless sleep.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  1) I really wanted to give Makoto/Miyuki a great chunk of this chapter because she will play a very important role later on. More about her life (and the reason why she adopted the alias Miyuki) will be revealed in future chapters!
> 
>  2) Next: The torn card makes a triumphant return, and Asami’s past finally starts to catch up with him.


	5. Intermission: (Not) Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito takes advantage of a sleepy Asami.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and leaving comments!! *.* I apologise for taking so long to update: I have been struggling with carpal tunnel syndrome (screams) and for a few days I couldn't type *at all*, hence the delay. Add to that the fact that this chapter turned out to be a sex scene from Asami's perspective (as in: very long, very detailed, requiring a lot of stamina), and there you go. *nervous laughter*. So, yeah. Consider this chapter an intermission, with no significant plot advances for now (expect a kinda crazy next chapter, tho, some important stuff happens in that one. XD)

 

It had been a very long time since he had a dream that good. He felt shivers going up and down his spine, and marvelled at the powers of his own mind. His eyes were still closed, and in his dream the warm lips of his lover were wrapped around his cock, licking its length, a swirling tongue caressing its head.

It felt so _real._

The muscles in his thighs were strained, involuntary contractions forcing him to breathe and release the pressure coiling inside his lower abs. He almost moaned when the tip of his lover's tongue flicked across his slit, teasing it, prompting even more precum to ooze from his sex into warm, waiting lips.

It felt so _good._

He groaned when the warm lips moved to his balls, kissing them. Then he felt teeth grazing the sensitive skin, just before his length was once again engulfed in hot wetness. His lover's moans made the soft flesh of his throat vibrate around his cock, and he could feel the familiar tingling of an impeding orgasm.

His eyes shot open, just to find out it was _not_ a dream.

A _very real_ Akihito was between his legs, and the photographer's _very real_ mouth was sucking him for all he was worth.

Asami hissed as his fingers grabbed a handful of blond locks and pulled Akihito away from his groin. One more lick, one more touch, and he would fill his lover's mouth with his seed - too fast, too soon.

 _No._ Now that he was awake, he wanted it to last.

His sleepy, dazed mind did not seem to care much about when or _how_ Akihito had materialised in their bed - all that mattered, at that moment, was the lewd expression on the young man's face and his flushed cheeks as he mindlessly stroked his own leaking cock.

Judging by his erratic breathing, he was close too, and just from giving head, apparently.

He pulled the photographer up until their mouths crashed together. He could feel the taste of his own excitement in the young man's tongue as it slipped past his lips, and Akihito's breath coming in short gasps as he rubbed himself against his stomach.

"Nngh, Asami..." he heard his lover whimper when he squeezed his cock just in time to stop his orgasm. "Lemme...cum..."

"No," he hissed in response. "Behave, and I _might._ "

He rolled off from under Akihito, and moved so that he was behind him, settled between the other man's thighs.

When his fiery photographer turned his head to look at him, his eyes were glistening with lust as he propped himself on his elbows, the perfect round globes of his ass up in the air as an obscene offering. 

When he looked at said offering, he realised why his lover looked so smug.

"What have we here..." Asami whispered with a raised eyebrow, as he stared at the butt plug nestled between his ass cheeks.

He saw Akihito bite his lip in response, and Asami’s grasp at reality finally vanished into thin air.

_Was that the same man who had been crying in his arms a little more than 24 hours ago?_

He no longer knew what was going on, and at that moment, he really did not care. His cock was twitching between his legs, and all he wanted, _all they needed,_ was to put it where it was being expected.

"How shameless of you, Akihito..." he teased, one of his fingers poking at the flared base of the plug and tilting it towards his prostate. 

The corners of his mouth curled into a smirk when the young man's eyes rolled back, his lips parted as he moaned.

_So beautiful._

"Asami, please..." And then, those hazel eyes were pleading again, sending more shivers up his spine. "Just fuck me. _Now._ "

_How could he ever say no to that._

Asami waited until his lover had taken a deep breath and relaxed his muscles to slowly pull the flared base, watching Akihito's slick channel release the plug and quiver at the sudden emptiness.

Lubed.

Stretched.

_Ready._

He was still mesmerised at how that morning was unfolding.

Between his legs, a thick string of precum connected the tip of his twitching cock to the sheets under him. Oh, he was going to give it to Akihito, and _give it hard._ He ran his fingers across the tip of his length to spread the extra lubrication that had accumulated there, and looked at the lean body that awaited him.

He took his time to steady his breath, despite the younger man’s whimpering and begging. His heartbeat was finally slowing down, and he knew he was not going to reach his climax anytime soon.

_Akihito was in for a rough ride._

He skipped the usual preambles – his lover’s tender hole needed no additional preparation, so he simply pushed forward with a slow yet powerful thrust, feeling the play of muscles in Akihito’s body along the way to detect any signs of resistance.

Last thing he wanted was to damage his perfect little lover.

When he was fully in, he pulled Akihito’s body up, so that his back was resting against his chest as he thrust into him, the lewd, wet sounds of his cock piercing the tender flesh filling his ears.

“Nnng… A-Asami…”

Akihito had reached a hand behind him to bring his head closer, his red, throbbing lips begging to be kissed as he gasped for air.

Asami complied, tilting his head and parting his own lips so that the pinkish tongue could explore, clumsily moving around his mouth as their bodies jolted with each thrust. His eyes opened when Akihito let his head loll to the side, exposing the creamy white skin of his neck.

_Another offer that he could not refuse._

He knew his teeth would leave marks on that beautiful body – he was sucking and biting strong enough to draw blood, but he knew Akihito would welcome every single one of them. He felt his lover’s ass contract around his cock as his breath hitched in his throat, the movement of his hips beginning to stutter as he neared the edge.

“I'm gonna... Asami...”

Again, he would not let him get there.

_Not yet._

“Ugh, Asami...” he saw Akihito’s face contort in agony when he squeezed his cock just below the glans to stop him from coming, again. “P-Please…I… I can't... Lemme c-”

Asami interrupted the string of pleas by covering the other man’s mouth with his as he slowed down the tempo of his thrusts until they came to an agonizing halt. He breathed in, feeling his cock throb and stretch inside his little lover’s slick tunnel, and had to stop himself from chucking at Akihito’s understandable despair – usually, by now, he would have already reached his climax twice.

 _‘What a cruel lover you have, Akihito…’_ he thought, drinking in his lover’s whimpers as he rearranged Akihito’s body on the mattress, so that the side of his head was resting on a pillow and his hips were tilted upwards. _‘Good thing that you trust him so much…’_

Asami’s eyes travelled to the photographer’s back and the fading welts on the silky skin.

_‘ **Too** much, even…’_

He held the narrow hips in place and threw his hips forward, forcing an extra inch of his throbbing hardness into Akihito’s ass, pounding him with no restraint. Every moan that left his lover’s lips made his blood boil, and made him relish even more that body that welcomed him like a warm, wet fist, squeezing him, pulling him deeper…

“A-Asami...M-More…”

_More?_

Asami chuckled at Akihito’s plea, and a drop of sweat rolled down his temple. No wonder his fiery lover could barely walk when they were done. He doubted the photographer even remembered the things he asked for during sex.

He pulled out, just to be met with a new wave of protests that he promptly ignored while he rolled Akihito onto his back.

He just had to pause and take a moment to appreciate his little lover’s current state.

His entire body was covered in a sheer layer of sweat, and his face was flushed and framed by wet bangs of his blond hair. His nipples stood tall and proud, begging to be touched – just like his hot, throbbing erection.

Asami lowered his lips to the pinkish nubs, licking each of them while lifting his gaze to the half-closed eyes of his little lover. They were feverish and restless, and he could hear the crazy thumping of Akihito’s heart inside his chest.

_It was time._

He pushed back his lover’s knees so that they were resting next to his shoulders on the bed, and plunged back in. That angle allowed him to go even deeper, and he would make no concessions.

If Akihito wanted more, _more he would get._

For seconds, minutes, hours, hell if he knew, the only sound in the room was the wet squelching noises their bodies were making as his length slid in and out of Akihito’s ass, faster, deeper, harder.

His young lover had lost his voice along the way, and his mouth hung open as he gripped Asami’s thighs until his knuckles were white.

His slender fingers moved to Akihito’s neck, and he saw his lover’s eyes go wide. He looked deeply into them, searching for any signs of fear or discomfort.

Instead, all he saw was _trust,_ and _desire._

He tightened the grip around Akihito’s neck as his other hand held back one of his ankles, and thrust one last time before the young man finally found his voice again, a scream tearing through his throat as he came. Asami watched as the powerful spurts sent his cum flying up his chest, neck, shoulders… even his face. His own breath caught in his throat as Akihito’s muscles clamped around his cock, holding him in, the impossible pressure around his glans sending him over the edge as well.

Asami closed his eyes and sighed, glad that his lover was already dead to the world and therefore could not witness that little moment of absolute surrender, in which a part of his soul seemed to be moving towards his little lover along with the physical evidence of his release.

He wondered if Akihito was even _vaguely aware_ of how much he, Asami, needed him in his life, and how a great part of that need had _nothing_ to do with sex.

His eyes shot open, and he frowned at his own thoughts.

_He could not allow himself to go that far._

_‘It’s only sex,’_ he lied, mentally, as he finally pulled out from Akihito and saw his seed drip from the young man’s tender hole. _‘Nothing but sex.’_

He was still repeating that mantra in silence when his lover woke up from his brief blackout, looking slightly disoriented.

“You ok?” he asked, leaning against the bed head as Akihito brought himself to a sitting position.

“Yeah... Fuck,” he saw the young man wince as he spoke. “My mouth is dry.”

“Want something to drink?”

“Yeah. I… I made breakfast, actually,” Akihito responded with a slight blush, “...but it all must be cold by now…”

And again, he felt that strange feeling crawling up his chest. Akihito was a walking mystery to him. Given how he had sneaked out of the penthouse the last time they had been together, and how he had dismissed him the last time they had talked on the phone, the last thing Asami had expected was the photographer showing up in his bed, and making him _breakfast._

More than that, he had not expected that look in his lover’s eyes, that look that he had seen so many times before and that was far from cold and angry.

“What?” he heard the young man ask, with a confused smile.

“Nothing,” Asami replied with a smirk of his own, making the conscious choice of not voicing his bewilderment.

For a while now, he had come to accept his life with Akihito was bound to be an emotional roller coaster, despite all of his efforts to keep things under control.

He was not sure how he felt about that.

“I will... Heat things up.”

Akihito’s voice brought him back to reality, and before the young man could get out of back, he grabbed one of his wrists and pulled him back towards him.

“You already did...” he whispered, his tongue sticking out to lick the boy’s skin from his collarbone to the corner of his mouth, lapping the strings of cum that had landed there.

“Haha,” Akihito faked a laugh, but failed to disguise his growing arousal. “V-Very funny…”

Since his lover gave no indication he was bothered by all the licking, he let his mouth travel to his chest, and when he was about to bite a nipple, Akihito finally rolled off him and unleashed his usual curses.

“Oi, don’t you ever get tired?” he whimpered, as he wobbly moved away from his grip. “Human beings need food to survive, did anyone tell you that?”

Asami shrugged, a hint of amusement showing in his eyes as Akihito put on his boxers and limped out of the bedroom.

When it was his turn to leave the bed, however, his legs failed him and it all went dark.

“Asami?!”

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw were hurried feet moving towards him.

“Asami, what happened?!”

“I’m okay,” he replied, ignoring the painful throbbing in his temples as he stood up. “I just tripped.”

“You look pale... When was the last time you had something to eat?”

 _Ah, that._ Truth was that he had skipped lunch the day before, and after that his only meal had been his usual scotch and cigarette.

He, however, was not going to admit defeat.

His eyes travelled from Akihito’s face to his neck, and from there back to his face.

“My last meal, you say…”

He let a smirk curl the corner of his lips as he reached for the boy’s chin.

Akihito slapped his hand away, barely containing a smirk of his own.

“You are such a pervert,” he said, marching out of the bedroom. “I should let you starve!”

Asami chuckled as he put on his sweatpants, feeling slightly ill now that the lack of food was finally taking its toll on his system. When he got to the living room, however, the smell of miso soup and tamagoyaki seemed to soothe his nausea, and he let out a small smile.

That is, until he saw what was lying on the dining table, next to a jar of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“Ah…” he whispered, frowning at the pieces of paper that had been rescued from the garbage bin and glued together with tape, their edges stained by coffee and other residues. “You found the card…”

“I did.”

Akihito, he noticed, was beaming, which only made him frown even harder.

_Of course the boy would get the wrong idea._

“I don’t know why you to look so full of yourself,” Asami said, his voice void of emotion as he tried to ignore the sudden rush of blood to his face. “It’s just a card.”

“Oh, I know that,” he heard the gleeful reply. “But I must be really special, for you to even _bother_ to write one.”

Asami had to bite the inside of his cheek not to cringe. Akihito had come to the most absurd and unrealistic conclusion as to why he had written that card.

And of course… much to his embarrassment, the photographer was _absolutely right._

“Well…” he said, trying to regain the upper hand. “If all that it takes for you to wake me up with a blowjob is a card, then I will write them more often.”

He heard Akihito gasp, but his eyes were still sparkling.

“Is it so embarrassing for you,” the young man said, with a daring look in his eyes, “…to admit that you _care?_ ”

“I don’t know what you are getting at,” Asami replied, picking up the newspaper and opening it quickly as if to bring that conversation to an end.

“Ok, ok, I get it,” he heard Akihito say. “Anyways… Thanks for the card, I am really glad you remembered my birthday.”

Asami was mindlessly scanning the contents of the newspaper when his lover’s words made him frown again.

_Now it was all beginning to make sense._

“Wait…” he muttered, putting the newspaper down. “Is that why you were so upset? Because you thought I had forgotten your birthday?”

Akihito’s blushing cheeks provided a very quick answer.

“Of all things…” Asami snorted.

“You could have called!” the photographer interjected.

“And _you_ could have read the card.”

“Ok, I admit, I came to the wrong conclusion,” Akihito rolled his eyes in response. “Fine. I know that now. I… _admit_.”

Asami’s eyebrow went up as he studied his lover’s face.

“Was this morning about... ‘admitting you came to the wrong conclusion’?” he asked, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

Again, the young man’s face turned all kinds of red.

“Good to know,” Asami replied, making a mental note to remind his little lover to “admit being wrong” more often in the future. “Well, if you had read the card, you could have indulged in birthday phone sex, just so you know.”

He heard Akihito let out an uncomfortable chuckle before speaking again.

“There is always next year, right?”

He lifted his gaze from the newspaper to the photographer just in time to see the young man’s eyes go from amused to panic-stricken and then to saddened.

“Is there anything else bothering you?” he asked, staring intently at Akihito, who was now avoiding his eyes.

“No.”

“You know you can tell m-“

“It’s nothing, really.”

Asami noticed, however, that the photographer’s high pitch, as well as his suddenly stiff body language, indicated the very opposite of his words.

He opted not to press the matter any further, and for very long minutes the two of them sat in silence, either sipping from their drinks or taking bites of the food in front of them.

“Mitarai told me something interesting yesterday,” Akihito was the one to finally break the silence. “Looks like there has been some unusual syndicate activity here in Tokyo.”

“Is that so?” Asami asked without much interest. Managing ‘unusual syndicate activity’ was one of his daily jobs, and he saw no novelty in that particular piece of information.

“Yeah… People are talking about a war between the Omi and the Tojo…”

“The last war happened over 30 years ago…” Asami replied, his eyes still on the newspaper. “I doubt they are planning to be that flamboyant again. It’s bad for their business, wars draw in all sorts of unwanted publicity…”

“Why don't you wipe them out?” he heard Akihito ask, with a certain amount of hesitation in his voice. “You could, right? If you wanted to.”

Asami pondered if he should answer that question without delving into the specifics of his business, or ignore it altogether.

“The Yakuza used to be a legitimate feudal organization, did you know that?”

He opted for the more educational approach.

“Yeah. Key word being, ‘used to’”, Akihito replied, refilling his glass with more orange juice. “We are not in the Edo period anymore. Now they are all about loansharking, human trafficking, drugs, arms, pornography...”

“You are one to talk about pornography,” Asami’s eyebrow went up as he spoke. “Perhaps you should start deleting your browser history...”

Across from him, Akihito choked on his juice.

“As to human trafficking,” Asami continued, “…not all syndicates engage in that activity these days. Most have gone into banking and cyber crime. Money laundering, illegal land deals... And then there is stock speculation, that surely hurts the ordinary citizen but it is not as if banks haven't been doing it for years…”

“Are you involved in it?” 

“What?”

“Stock speculation.”

_Of course he was._

“Think of a natural disaster, any of them,” Asami quickly changed the subject, putting down the paper. There was no educational answer to _that_ question. “It was organised crime, and not the government, that got there first to provide food and shelter for the victims.”

Akihito remained quiet, staring at the table as he listened.

“I know that in that head of yours the world is black and white, but I'm afraid things are not that simple in real life,” Asami said, after letting out a sigh. “So... to answer your question, _that_ is why I don't ‘wipe them out’. And that is why you should let that greedy colleague of yours follow whatever lead he thinks he has on a war between syndicates. I would tell you to stay out of it, but…”

The photographer lifted his eyes from the table.

 _‘As if!’_ Asami’s mind had already decoded what that fiery look meant.

“… knowing you as I do...” he completed, “…just do as you see fit.”

The smile on the photographer’s face only confirmed his assessment had been correct. He would _not_ stay out of it, as usual.

_He really knew his little lover very well._

“Now... About that _accessory_ you were wearing earlier today...” Asami voice dripped with malice as he covered one of Akihito’s hands with his own. “You were very tender and stretched already when I got my hands on you…” he brought the man’s fingers to his lips as he spoke. “Were you planning to use my body to satisfy yourself while I was unconscious… _Akihito?_ ”

And then, he let one of the fingers slip past his lips.

“Well, in c-case you forget..,” the young man stuttered in response, “that's something you do very often!”

“So it was payback?”

He continued to eyefuck his blushing lover as he licked one of the slender fingers. He knew how sensitive his beloved photographer was - every inch of his skin seemed to have a direct connection to his cock so proper teasing of any sort would get him up and running. Judging by the increasing pulse visible in the young man’s throat, a decent amount of blood was already being pumped somewhere below his waistline.

“Maybe...” Akihito whispered in response.

“Hmmm... I see…” Asami licked his lips when the boy gulped, his arousal painfully evident. “But it looks like you got carried away by your... _Oral ministrations?_ ”

He heard Akihito gasp as his eyes followed one of his fingers disappearing inside his mouth. He made sure to keep his stare in place as he pulled it in, towards his throat.

“You must have licked me for a very long time...” Asami whispered after he letting the slender finger he was sucking slide past his lips. “When I woke up I was really close…”

“In my defence, you were already hard… and leaking…when I got here…” Akihito’s voice was low, and Asami couldn’t help but notice his jaw was slack as he spoke, pupils blown back as he tried to put words together. “Probably having some… perverted dream...”

He couldn’t actually blame Akihito for being turned on. He was, too. He could never have enough of his fiery little lover.

And he was absolutely convinced that his desire for the little photographer was evident in his eyes, because when he stood up, Akihito’s breath hitched as if he knew exactly what came next.

His eager lover, however, did not back down when he moved closer, neither did he look away.

Oh no, he resisted bravely, until Asami’s slender fingers slid past the elastic band of his shorts to grab his straining erection.

“Look who's hard and leaking now,” Asami whispered, before slipping his tongue inside Akihito’s ear as he slowly fisted the hot, throbbing length.

“A-Asami...”

He saw the photographer throw his head back in abandon, eyes closed as he gasped.

_He could never, **ever** have enough of his fiery little lover. _

Asami let out a small smile as he went down on his knees, and welcomed his lover's twitching sex inside his mouth, his gaze never leaving Akihito’s face.

When their eyes connected, he felt his lover’s cock twitch under his tongue, and the boy’s breathing become even more laboured.

It was fairly obvious that he wouldn’t last long, but this time, Asami would not deny him release.

As a matter of fact, he was very much looking forward to it.

For surprisingly long five minutes, he allowed Akihito to fuck his mouth as he licked and sucked, never breaking eye contact.

“Nnng… Don’t… Don’t stop…”

He was not sure what exactly was turning on Akihito the most: his very refined oral techniques, the eye contact, or the fact that Asami was the one on his knees.

Probably all of the alternatives.

Asami’s generosity even went as far as letting his little lover fist his hair and tug painfully at the strands as he spilled his warm, sweet nectar down his throat.

_The things he would do for his Takaba Akihito._

He got back on his feet, still licking cum off his lips as Akihito tried to catch his breath. He saw when the photographer’s eyes finally caught a glimpse of the rising tent in his sweatpants, and heard his resigned yet very horny sigh.

Their morning of debauchery _was so not over_ yet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Asami learns that having a great morning does not always mean you will have a great day.


	6. Overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kou welcomes an unexpected guest, Asami meets someone from his past, and Kirishima worries.

 

_**8:59, one block away from Kou's apartment** _

 

“Here he comes…”

Sitting at the edge of a rooftop, a young woman put down the binoculars as she spoke.

“Minami-san... “ she whimpered, tilting her head to look at her companion – a man that looked just a few years older than herself. “Please! All you have to do is distract him.”

“No.”

“But-“

“No,” the man interrupted, shaking his head as he smoothed his red jersey pants. “Not in my job description.”

“Pfff. As if you cared about your job description!” she retorted, snatching the half-empty bottle of _shochu_ resting between them. “Does it say you can drink while on duty?”

“Hey!”

“ _Minami-san..._ ” she whimpered again, her hands curled into fists. “Please! I'll teach you that Metal Gear hack I told you about.”

She raised an eyebrow as she watched her bodyguard shift on his seat, scratching one of his heavily tattooed arms.

“That is called bribing,” he replied.

“I know. You are not giving me any choices.”

The man let out a defeated sigh.

“I was assigned to keep you out of trouble,” he snarled, “…not to help you get into it.”

“I am not gonna get into trouble,” she lied, fully aware of what would happen if her bodyguard agreed to distract the other guard that had been following her for the past 24 hours. “I just... need to talk to someone, real fast.”

“Oh yeah?” the man crossed his arms, and snorted. “If it is some harmless talk then why is that dude a problem?”

“He just…is. You know he has been following me around, right?”

“Yeah. And the boss told me to let it be,” her bodyguard responded. “To keep my distance.”

“Minami… I will vouch for you,” she argued, casting a quick glance towards the dark-haired young man that got closer and closer to his destination as the two of them continued the debate. “I will tell her that he started it.”

Her bodyguard stood up, finally caving in.

“Fine. But make it fast.”

She let out a relieved sigh when Minami jumped from the rooftop to the yard below, and walked towards the tall, bulky man who still looked very conspicuous despite his relatively ordinary clothes.

“Hey, yo, chickenshit,” she heard her bodyguard say with his annoyingly high pitch as he approached said man. “The fuck you staring at?”

The girl quickly grabbed the cup of coffee by her side, stood up and quietly went down the fire escape until she reached the street on the left.

After steadying her breath, she unlidded the cup and walked straight into the dark-haired man that had just taken a right turn.

“Shit!” she yelled, when the already cold drink splashed the front of her top.

“I am so, so sorry,” the young man stuttered, “You came out of nowhere and I-“

He stopped speaking when their eyes finally met.

“You!”

His mouth was slightly agape as he stared at her. She narrowed her eyes, faking confusion.

“At the nightclub?” the young man asked, as if trying to jog her memory.

_Little did he know._

“Nightclub?” she asked, her clueless façade still in place. “Oh yeah!” and then, as if by magic, her eyes turned gleeful and sweet. “Yeah, I remember now!” The young man’s bright smile broadened at the words. “Oh I am sorry, I kinda erased the events from that night,” she offered as an excuse.

“I am so, so sorry,” he said, and his voice was indeed thick with apologies.

“That's ok….”

She looked down at her soaked top, and sighed.

“I... I feel really bad about this,” he muttered, pointing at her top. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Lend me a shirt,” she said, and her words were met with nervous laughter. “Like… _seriously._ ”

When she arched her eyebrows, she saw the young man blush furiously in response.

“Oh. Oh. S-Sure,” he stuttered. “S-Sure. Uh… Yeah. My apartment is just... one block away.”

She smiled as they walked side by side, trying to look as docile as she could despite her naturally unnerving golden gaze.

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Maya. You?”

“Kou. Nice to meet you.”

She saw him bow in a polite greeting, and did the same before he turned around to open the door of his apartment. By then, the young man was not even remotely aware that the sweet, gentle gaze in the girl’s eyes had turned very intense and calculating.

++++

**_8:59 - Club Dracaena_ **

 

Kirishima Kei was not a superstitious man.

That is why, when his boss told him that the meeting with Daigo Dojima should happen in Club Dracaena, he was not impressed.

Asami Ryuichi did not believe in bad omens, and neither did he.

By now, the indisputable fiasco involving the previous manager was nothing but part of a distant past, just like the attack on the penthouse. Any ordinary person would have moved away, but Kirishima knew why his boss hadn’t. He was making a statement. He would bow to no one, and he had not gotten that far by letting such occurrences hold him down.

 _‘Nothing actually holds him down,’_ he pondered, taking pride in realizing that he was one of the very few people that knew _the exact lengths_ Asami Ryuichi had gone to get to the top.

He had no doubt whatsoever that he would go to _even greater lengths_ to stay there.

He stole a glance at the man by his side, in his usual three-piece suit, golden eyes gazing ahead, a very calm and collected expression on his face.

The same calm and collected face that had welcomed him into the penthouse earlier that morning, despite the embarrassing moment when a naked Takaba Akihito waltzed into the room, unaware of his presence, and decided to give his boss _a proper goodbye_.

Asami Ryuichi was amused by his lover’s _faux pas._ He, Kirishima Kei, not so much.

He remembered the screaming… all the screaming when the photographer realized his presence… he had been able to dodge the flying dish of sushi rolls but an apple had hit him square in the face.

_The things he had to endure after that photographer became a part of his boss’ life…_

“She is here,” Suoh’s voice in his earpiece brought him back to reality.

“Asami-sama, elevator 4,” he gestured to the elevator in question, whose doors had just opened to reveal the blond head of security and a very tall woman by his side.

He watched Suoh and his boss change places in the elevator, and waited until the doors closed to address his colleague.

“What do you think?” Kirishima asked.

“She is hard to read.”

“Oh, I know. But did you sense… _animosity?”_

Suoh merely shook his head.

“Good,” Kirishima responded, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I don’t really know if it was a good idea to turn off the surveillance cameras.”

“It was her only condition,” Suoh said. “She is meeting Asami-sama behind her boss’ back. Any leaked footage would expose her to great danger.”

Kirishima nodded in silent agreement.

“I guess we will have to wait and see,” he said.

Just then, his phone rang.

“Kirishima.”

_“Sir, we have a situation.”_

Now _that_ was fast.

“What kind of situation?” he asked, “Where are you, Watanabe?”

_“I am in front of Kou’s apartment. Kou, Takaba-san’s friend.”_

“I know who Kou is,” he snarled, but regained his composure after remembering it was only Watanabe’s second day on duty. “Why are you there? Has there been an attempt to approach?”

_“Yes.”_

The secretary’s brow furrowed.

“And?”

_“I am not sure, that punk Minami decided to pick a fight with me and I lost sight of her.”_

Kirishima pushed his glasses farther up his nose. Asami-sama would _not_ be pleased.

“Thanks for the update, Watanabe. Try, at all costs, to make visual contact and call me as soon as you can confirm her location.”

He hung up, and looked at Suoh, whose expression made it clear he had filled all the gaps in that exchange.

“That fast?” the blond man asked.

“Are you surprised?”

Kirishima let out a sigh, trying to imagine what kind of hell would break if Watanabe and Shinada did not do their jobs accordingly.

Speaking of which, it was time to provide Takaba-san’s security with new instructions.

Kirishima Kei was not a superstitious man, oh no. But, that morning, he had a feeling things were about to go wrong.

 ++++

**_9:02 - Kou's apartment_ **

 

Kou could not believe his luck. No, seriously, what were the odds?

“Suit yourself,” he said, casting a quick glance towards the girl next to him as he opened the drawer than contained all of his T-shirts.

He let his eyes slide from the girl’s thin arms to her long legs, and then to those eyes. Golden, he now could see.

_She was even prettier than he remembered._

“Thanks,” she replied, with a small smile. “Do you have a towel?”

Before he could reply, she took off her top, and his tongue tied up in a knot.

_Boy, had it been a long time since he saw a bra up-close!_

“Y-Yeah, here,” he stuttered, handing her a towel and quickly looking away.

When she was finally dressed again, he realized her eyes were scanning the small area and detecting the multiple bento boxes scattered around the place.

“I am sorry for the mess, Akihito was here last night and-“

“That's fine,” she interrupted. “How is your friend going?”

That was a question he wish he could answer. However, knowing exactly what was going on in Akihito’s life had been impossible for almost three years now.

“He is... better, I guess,” he replied.

“Did his _boyfriend_ give him a break?” she asked, her voice a little strained as she spoke. “From... You know...”

She mimicked a handgun with her thumb and index finger, and Kou felt all his blood had rushed to his face.

Apparently, the girl would not let that one live down, so he might as well play along.

“The... Weird sex stuff? Haha. Right?” he laughed nervously. “I don't... I don't know... Probably not,” he whispered.

“What was that?” the girl asked.

“Nothing, I... They have a strange thing going on, so...” he felt he was blushing even more. “I never ask because I'm not sure I wanna know the answer, haha…”

“Right…” the girl’s jaw was clenched. Apparently, she didn't want to know either. “How long have they been together?”

“Ah... You see, I don't really know,” he replied, scratching his neck. “We don't talk much about it. I mean, it's not as if he was conscious when he told me. It was more like, he let it slip,” Kou explained. “Like, that he was seeing a guy. For a while Takato... this other friend of ours and I, we thought it was a girl, because his name...”

Kou paused. Akihito would be pissed beyond belief if he ever found out his friend was going around sharing details of his private life with a stranger.

“Well, anyway, that's it,” he added. “All I know about their relationship is what comes out when the alcohol goes in! Hahaha…” he let out another nervous snicker. “When he is sober... He is kinda cryptic about it. And I don't wanna make him uncomfortable so I try not to bring it up.”

“You guys been friends for a while, huh?”

“Yeah…” Kou smiled. “Aki is like family to me.”

“Right...”

His eyes travelled again to the girl’s face, and something in the shaved side of her head caught his eye.

“What does the…” he gestured to his own head, “…design in your hair mean?”

“Oh, this?” he saw her slender fingers touch the hair right above her ear. “It’s lily of the valley. It’s one of the symbols of Sapporo.”

“You’re from Sapporo?”

“Yeah… I was raised there.”

He sighed when silence fell between them. He knew that eventually, the girl would have to go, but if he could find an excuse to make her stay longer, well… _why not?_

“Would you like to drink something?” he asked, walking towards his fridge. “I have oolong tea… and water… and… oolong tea.”

He heard the girl giggle.

“Tea will be fine.”

++++

_**9:02 - Elevator 4, Club Dracaena** _

 

The swipe of a card brought Elevator 4 in Club Dracaena to a halt.

“I will have your guns, thank you very much.”

He was facing the elevator door when the muzzle of a semiautomatic pistol nudged the back of his head.

“Sure,” he replied with his usual silky, baritone voice. “In exchange for your earpiece.”

“Your guns, first.”

“Go ahead…”

He raised his arms so that the woman behind him could frisk him. She was very professional, patting his legs very swiftly, and very politely avoiding his groin.

When her fingers reached his chest, however, a smirk curled the corners of his mouth.

_She was taking her time._

“That qualifies as groping,” he whispered.

“In your dreams, perhaps,” came the quick reply, and just as quickly his guns disappeared from their holsters.

When he finally turned around, Hayashi Mirai was tucking his handguns into her belt, and taking out her earpiece.

“Long time no see, Mirai…” he said, sizing her up. She looked just as fit as he remembered her, and her black hair was held up in a long braid. Her fierce brown eyes had a tired, yet very intense glint on them. “It’s been what, five years?”

“…and a half, yeah,” she replied, her thick Kansai accent evident in every word that left her mouth. “I am a bit pressed for time, Asami-san. Shall we cut to the chase?”

“Certainly,” he answered, after pocketing her earpiece. “Did Dojima assign you?”

“To what?”

“To kill me.”

He studied her face as she let out a cold smile. As usual, her expression was very hard to read.

“He did, didn't you?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I never told him about my connection to you,” she replied, her voice void of emotion. “And no, he didn't.”

“How very ethical of you,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I have to say, the timing of your promotion is intriguing.”

“It sure is,” she answered, showing no signs of being intimidated by his tone. “And, as usual, it looks like you are coming to the wrong conclusions. Daigo Dojima is not the one you should fear.”

“I _do not_ _fear_ Daigo Dojima,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “He is as predictable as all the other thugs in your clan.”

She flinched at his choice of words. _Good._ He was finally getting his message across.

“But do I hear it right?” he asked, his voice smooth and amiable again. “You intend to share intel with your boss’ competition?”

“I am not sharing any intel with you,” it was her turn to hiss. “All I will tell you is to listen to what the Chairman has to say, for your own good.”

“Again… helping the competition, Hayashi?” he took one step closer to his counterpart, who held her stare and again, did not back off. “Even meeting me here behind your boss’ back qualifies as treachery…” he took another step, so that only a few inches separated their faces, “…and you should know what the Tojo does to traitors…” Hayashi, however, seemed immune to his presence, even when he moved his lips closer to whisper in her ear, “ _…since you wiped out some hundreds of them last year.”_

He raised an eyebrow when she swallowed, her eyes darting back and forth as she stared at the ceiling.

_Maybe not that immune after all._

“Do you ever think about how things could have been different?” he asked, taking a step back and reaching for the packet of Dunhills inside his jacket.

“Like, going to college and stuff, instead of becoming a _thug?_ ” she replied, taking one of the cigarettes and leaning forward when he offered to light it. “Getting an MBA, like you did? You know I would have gotten one, right?” she took a puff off her cigarette, and kept talking. “With better grades than you.”

“No doubt about it…” he said. “You were always a better student than me.”

He blew the smoke through his nose, studying her face, as her gaze grew distant, and cold.

“Well...” she whispered, avoiding his eyes. “Things happen.”

And then, she snapped out of her thoughts, and reached for the guns in her belt.

“I will have my earpiece back now,” she said, while he holstered his guns. “Be warned, Ryuichi. If your people decide to get funny with the Tojo, I will shoot to kill,” she said, putting the earpiece back on. “Tell your men that I don't waste bullets.”

He was about to swipe his card again to get the elevator moving when she grabbed his arm.

“By the way... How many people have you assigned for Takaba Akihito's security?”

He clenched his jaw, and waited for his initial unpleasantness to dissipate from his face to turn around.

“You can't honestly expect me to answer that,” he replied, with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I was just curious as to how you briefed your men,” she said, reaching for one of the inside pockets of her jacket. “In case you don't know yet, a _certain someone_ has taken an interest on him.”

He lowered his gaze to the picture in the woman’s hand. In it, an unconscious Takaba Akihito was being carried out of a nightclub by a dark-haired man on one side, and a young woman on the other.

His eyes lingered on the girl’s face, and his heart skipped a beat.

“You want my advice?”

“No,” his voice was cold, and threatening.

“Tell him before he finds out on his own,” she said, grabbing the card in his hand and leading it to the control panel so that he elevator would open its doors. “Have a good day.”

In silence, he watched the woman exit the elevator to join Suoh, and Kirishima took her place, pressing a button as they headed to a different floor.

Asami wondered, for a second, if that was part of the Tojo’s strategy to throw him off his feet during a negotiation, and his eyes flashed with contempt. If so, they underestimated the man they were dealing with: his one-track mind was not that easy to derail when he was in the middle of business.

His own thoughts reverted to the reports and strategies he had reviewed with Kirishima the day before as he exited the elevator and walked towards the room where the Chairman of the Tojo Clan waited for him, his first assistant following close behind.

For now, his personal affairs would have to wait. He had an empire to defend.

++++ 

**_9:32 - Kou's apartment_ **

 

“So you are a designer? That's cool.”

Maya took another sip of her oolong tea as she sat on the floor, her eyes every now and then falling on the camera near the couch.

_One that she assumed did not belong to Kou._

“Yeah. I really like it,” she heard the young man say. “And you, what do you do for a living?”

“I am studying to become a computer engineer.”

“No shit!”

She chuckled at his surprise.

“I mean... That's like...” he scratched the back of his head. “A lot of math and stuff, haha…”

“Not suitable for a girl, huh?” she replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn't say that. But I take it there aren't many girls in your class?”

“Not many, no…”

She was about to say that women would take over the world one day, when a buzz coming from her jeans pocket interrupted her thoughts.

“Excuse me, I really need to answer this,” she said, standing up and heading to the door. “Mina-“

 _“Get your ass down here right now,”_ her bodyguard squeaked on the other side of the line. _“Playtime is over.”_

“Whoa, I am not done-“

_“Yes, you are. Either get down here right now or I will go in guns blazing.”_

The man’s voice was so loud that she looked over her shoulder to check if Kou had heard any of it. He, however, seemed completely unaware as he played with his own phone.

“What the hell Minami, what is going on?” she whispered.

_“We got a code red situation at the headquarters.”_

“Code red, what code red?” she frowned, not particularly pleased at where that conversation seemed to be heading.

_“All the operatives in the cyber division were called in. It's happening.”_

“What is?”

_“They are taking down that snotty bastard, Asami Ryuuji.”_

Her eyes went wide.

“Ryuichi,” she corrected, her voice quiet as her heart started racing.

_“Fucked if I care about the old geezer's name! We gotta go.”_

“Minami…” her voice was still steady, despite her rising fear. “Taking him down like... How?”

She heard her bodyguard hiss.

_“Get your fucking ass down here and I will tell you.”_

“I'm on my way, but don't hang up,” she said, taking quick steps towards Kou as she spoke. “Keep talking.”

She snatched the phone on Kou’s hand and dialled her own number.

“I gotta go,” she said, handing him back the device. “Call me.”

And then she rushed to the door, just in time to hear Minami’s explanation.

 _“So…Two weeks ago the systems at Sion were hacked. You know the Sion, right? Their big iron is fucking glorious, a z13 that can run up to 8,000 virtual servers. Man, I'm getting hard just thinking about that baby!!”_ Maya made a face at the words. _“Well, turns out someone hacked that motherfucker and sent the Omi all the juicy bits about Asami's suppliers in China... I mean, not all the juicy bits because the data was corrupted as fuck, but still...”_

Her head was spinning.

“The Omi? H-How?”

_“Don't ask me, all I know is that all the shit ended up with our Chairman and he was not happy.”_

She had just reached the fire escape, but had to stop to catch her breath.

_How the fuck had things gotten that crazy?_

“With the Chairman?” she panted, her stomach tied in knots. “Of the Tojo? How?”

_“The hell am I supposed to know? But it looks like the Chairman saw it as the Omi making a move to take over the routes in Macau, so he had to step in.”_

“Step in?” she asked numbly, even though she suspected she already knew the answer.

_“By getting the details of Asami's suppliers.”_

“By hacking the Sion….” she whispered, her voice distant as her eyes went wide. “Minami, that is such a lame move. Sion has the best head of cyber security of Japan... Of the entire Asia.”

She knew that very well, having tried to hack the Sion herself a crazy number of times.

And the only reason why she had _succeeded_ two weeks ago, was because the man had been on leave.

“Maeda Teruo is a legend,” she completed. “His whole team is pretty good, but if he is there you guys don’t stand a chance.”

Her bodyguard’s laughter rang in her ears.

 _“Well... That is the beauty of it…”_ he drawled. _“We have him.”_

At those words, she tripped over her feet, and nearly rolled down the last steps of the staircase.

“W-What?”

_“We are holding Maeda-san captive.”_

She hung up, her mouth hanging open.

She had no idea what was going on, except that she had _not_ sent the Omi any information. Still, she was the one that had hacked into the Sion in the first place, so she would own up to that mess.

On the other side of the street, her bodyguard waited for her.

As silently as she could, she took a few steps backwards, and ran in the opposite direction.

++++ 

**_9:48 – Surveillance control room, Club Dracaena_ **

 

The meeting with Daigo Dojima went exactly as he had expected – with him denying it had been the Tojo that hacked their systems, and attributing the responsibility to their rival clan, the Omi Alliance.

Certainly, expecting that he, Asami Ryuichi, would turn his artillery on their adversaries instead.

Syndicates could be a handful, sometimes.

“Asami-sama...” the voice of his first secretary interrupted his thoughts. “There was unusual activity near Kou’s apartment this morning.”

“When?” he asked, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead now that he was finally able to address his personal affairs.

“Less than an hour ago.”

“Where is Takaba?”

“Still in the penthouse.”

He took a long drag off his cigarette, waiting for the nicotine to hit his system before speaking again.

“Tell Shinada that under no circumstance is Takaba allowed to leave until I get there.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Get the car ready,” Asami said, and his voice was just as fearless as usual.

Truth was, however, that he wasn't exactly looking forward to that moment, one that he had avoided for as long as he could... But Hayashi was right. The photographer would end up finding out, and if anything, he, Asami, should be the one telling him. Not that it would make things any better, but at least he would be around for damage control.

++++

**_9:59 - Daigo Dojima's limousine_ **

 

The Chairman of the Tojo Clan was not having a good day, and he knew it was about to get worse. For him, and also for Asami Ryuichi – in perhaps equal amounts. He knew there would be retaliation, but he really had no other choice.

“Asami Ryuichi is convinced that we were the ones that stole the information about Zhuhai,” he said to the woman sitting next to him. “And how could he not. According to his head of cyber security, the attack came from somewhere in Tokyo, and that is Tojo territory.”

“He thinks the email we got was fabricated?” Hayashi asked. “If he had it traced, then he knows it came from the Omi headquarters in Osaka.”

Daigo Dojima merely shook his head.

“Whoever made this move knows how to play their cards,” he said. “It’s a no win situation for us. Right now, I cannot risk the Omi getting to Asami’s suppliers.”

There was a moment of silence, in which both of them seemed to consider the consequences of what was about to happen.

“The operatives are ready, sir,” Hayashi said. “Just awaiting your command.”

The man looked out of the window, as if searching for an alternative solution.

_He found none._

“Do it,” he said.

Hayashi Mirai pressed a button on her phone, and brought it to her lips. Her instruction, to whomever it was, was concise and clear.

“Kill the Sion.”

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any similarity with 1995’s Hackers' “Kill the Gibson” is not a mere coincidence. Yes, I am using a 20-year old film as reference for cyber lingo, joke’s on me! But I did a lot of homework and I believe *most* of the technicalities will be up to date.
> 
>  
> 
> Next: Sion under attack, and Akihito finally learns his lover’s secret!


	7. The lily of the valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a troubling conversation with Asami, Akihito finally finds out his lover's secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are gaps in this chapter that will be explained when I go back to Asami's POV. As you will notice, we only catch a glimpse of what is going in his mind, but it is either through Kirishima's or Akihito's eyes, and *looks can be deceiving*.
> 
> Also, in future chapters we will learn more about Maya's motivations. XD 
> 
> Thanks, once again, for reading!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

In the penthouse, Takaba Akihito munched on an apple as he headed to the balcony, lost in thought.

He was still mortified with the Kirishima incident earlier that morning. Why was that he always lost control near Asami? Doing those shameless things... Taking advantage of him while he slept... Surrendering his body to the man's ministrations, anytime, anywhere... And then flashing his secretary by waltzing into their living room butt naked!

The photographer's cheeks turned pink at the memory, and he whimpered. It would be a while until he gathered the courage to look at Kirishima in the eye again.

Then again... Probably he was worrying too much about it? The man had seen him naked, so what? It was not as if the secretary hadn't heard Akihito and his boss doing things before. Akihito was fully aware he was not exactly quiet when he was with Asami...

He blushed even harder.

"Stop thinking these...thoughts..." he muttered, but his thoughts had other plans…. and they swiftly travelled back to the beginning of that morning, when he had left Kou’s place even before the sun rose, determined to find out why Asami had sounded so upset on the phone the night before… wondering what the card was about…

He remembered how his heart had raced when he had finally found the torn pieces in the garbage bin, his eyes scanning their content and recognizing the elegant handwriting…

It was no confession, true. No loving words either. In fact, it didn’t even have a “happy birthday” on it. But it was Asami’s peculiar way of saying he cared, and he, Akihito, had completely ignored it.

He sighed, guiltily. Asami knew how to be an asshole, and apparently, so did he.

A match made in heaven.

Mindlessly, he let his gaze drop to the city below.

A part of him was still terrified that he was living in a bubble. A sex-crazed, mind-boggling, dangerous bubble that would end up bursting one day, leaving him with nothing.

_He could not imagine his life without that man anymore._

His slender fingers gripped the railing as he remembered breakfast and how close he had been to asking Asami if he felt the same about him.

If there would be another year for them, at all… if he was getting tired of him, if there was someone else.

Those messages on the man’s phone were still haunting him.

His life had always been an open book to Asami. Whether with his consent or not, every piece of his life had been exposed to that man. But how many secrets was Asami keeping from him? Would he ever know?

He closed his eyes, and tried to empty his mind of all those troubling thoughts.

Maybe what he really needed was to get more jobs, keep himself busy, occupy his mind with other things.

Yes, that would do.

He ran to the bedroom, grabbed his backpack, and was about to put on his sneakers when the door opened.

“You’re back? This early?” he asked Asami, who had just taken off his shoes and walked into the living room.

He couldn’t help but notice his lover looked more serious than usual.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Akihito…” he heard Asami whisper in response, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “…we need to talk.”

The photographer forced himself to swallow a lump in his throat, taking a seat after the older man gestured to the couch.

_Maybe his bubble would burst sooner than he imagined._

“What is it?” Akihito’s voice was barely audible when he asked.

Much to his despair, Asami did not answer right away. Instead, one of his hands went to his hips, and the other pinched his temple as he looked at the floor.

He seemed to be… _nervous?_

Akihito’s hands curled into fists and he tried to ignore his sweaty palms. Judging by Asami’s demeanor, whatever it was he was about to say was going to be _bad._

The silence in the room was making him sick.

“What is it, Asami?” he asked again. Whatever it was, he just wanted to get it over and done with.

He watched as the older man helped himself to a glass of scotch, and then pulled a chair to sit in front of him.

“Akihito…”

He felt his bottom lip tremble when the man said his name, and his eyes dropped to the floor. It was almost as if he knew what was coming next and he was _so not ready._

“There is… someone... I... There is someone in my life...”

His brain barely registered that the powerful Asami Ryuichi seemed to be struggling with his words. Instead, it just shut down.

It shut down at that first ‘ _someone’_.

He knew where this was going, and he didn’t really need any further detail.

“No,” he heard himself say, all the fear and anger slowly dissipating and leaving a giant hole inside his chest. “It's... You don't have to explain,” he added, before finally raising his eyes to the man in front of him and bracing himself for the words that were about to leave his lips. “I already know about her.”

For a split second, he had hoped to be proven wrong, to hear that he had been paranoid for nothing, that there was no “her”.

_If only that was the case._

“How?” came the response, and Akihito felt the corners of his eyes prickle with angry tears when he saw the frown on Asami’s face. “Did she approach you?”

Akihito covered his mouth, trying to keep some of his dignity intact as the tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He had been bluffing. He didn’t know if Asami was really having an affair, if that Miyuki meant anything at all. But now, there it was, the confession. Maybe he, Akihito, was the mistress, after all. Maybe he was the affair, the _‘someone in his life’_ being one of those gorgeous women he let himself be photographed with in charity parties. He felt his heart sink, and he knew his voice would be shaky as fuck the moment he opened his mouth, but he was _a man_ , and _a proud man_ at that.

He would not break in front of Asami.

“Look. I really, _really_ don't need you to explain anything…” he muttered, standing up with a proud stance although his knees felt like jelly.

“Akihito...”

“I knew...” he continued, his shaky voice betraying the indifferent façade he was trying to put up. “I always knew that's how you rolled, I knew you used go out with women so obviously-”

“If you heard her side of the story then you need to hear mine,” Asami interrupted, standing up as well.

He stared at the man in front of him, and felt his stupid eyes fill with tears again. Part of him just wanted to hear an explanation, and was actually craving to hear Asami’s side of the story, _whatever that story was_ , but a part of him was just too scared to see how that tale would end.

“What? No, no, actually I don't,” he said, blinking back tears as he tried to sound as if he couldn’t possibly care less. “I am quite sure you had your... _reasons,_ but that doesn't change a thing!” his frustration was hitting a crescendo as he spoke. “No, Asami, just... Let's leave it at that. Please.”

He waited for the man in front of him to say something. _Anything._ But instead, Asami just stared at him, as if trying to read his thoughts. Either that, or he was just making a mental selection of the right words to dump him with _finesse._

_Fine._

If Asami wanted him out of his life, then he would do it in his own terms.

“So... Thing is,” Akihito said, crossing his arms and stuffing his chest, so that he didn’t look like a deflated balloon as he voiced his bravado. “I am out. This… _thing_ we have? It can’t go on.”

A performance worthy of a standing ovation. Asami, however, did not look amused.

“Fine,” the man hissed, with a glint of threat in his eyes. “But you will end up coming to me,” he continued, taking a step closer to fill the gap between them. “You want this as much as I do.”

“I need...” Akihito took a step back, hunting for words. “I need to get my life back together.”

“Your life belongs _to me,_ Akihito.”

He had to gasp at the man’s audacity.

“Do you have any idea,” he snapped back, taking a step forward and trying not to be affected by the bruising hardness of the man’s eyes, “… _any idea,_ how deranged you sound when you say something like that?”

“But it is true, isn't it?”

Akihito shook his head, his body getting hit after hit of adrenaline now that the two of them had gone into battle mode.

“Maybe. As of now, yes,” he replied, his eyes defiant although a part of his mind was about to shatter. “But I don't want it. I don't want to feel... I don't want to feel like this anymore.”

His voice broke, but Asami’s face remained unreadable. Oh, how he hated the iron grip that man had on his emotions, while he was already flushed, tears streaking down his face.

“Like this, how?” he heard the baritone voice ask.

“As if my life doesn't belong to me anymore,” he sobbed, all pride forsaken as he surrendered to his feeling of loss, of confusion, of fear. “I don't want to... lose myself.”

“A little too late for that, isn't it?”

He gasped at his lover’s disdainful response.

“Why are you so cruel to me?” he asked, his voice getting louder while he contemplated punching Asami on the face. _“What have I ever done to you?”_

“Keep screaming like that,” he heard the other man say as he grabbed his arms, “and I will have to find something else for that mouth of yours to do.”

“Ugh, why do you-“

Akihito never got to finish that sentence, because Asami was a man that kept his promises.

He groaned when the man’s mouth covered his own, and hated himself for parting his lips, for welcoming that lavish tongue so willingly, for desperately kissing him back.

Just then, he felt Asami’s phone buzz inside his pocket.

“Akihito,” he heard Asami say after taking a deep breath and ignoring the call. “If that makes you feel any better, I lost myself a long time ago. We are in this together.”

His voice was so urgent and honest that Akihito did not know what to think anymore.

He felt more tears run down his face.

“Asami, stop,” he whispered, trying to break free from his grasp, unsure of what he was supposed to feel, unsure of what the man in front of him wanted. “P-please...”

“Why are you trying to resist? It's pointless,” he felt the man press his forehead against his as he spoke. “Trust me, I tried... and failed.”

Akihito just shook his head. He wanted desperately to just melt into Asami’s touch, but he knew he couldn’t. What kind of man would he be if he just let that betrayal slide? Asami hadn’t even apologized for cheating on him; he doubted he ever would.

He was on his own now.

“Akihito...” Asami whispered when he finally took a step back.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, ASAMI?" he screamed.

And then, once again, there was nothing but silence. The phone in the man’s pocket was still buzzing.

“Just answer the damn phone,” Akihito whispered, letting his body slump to the couch.

He felt he had just run a marathon.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Asami step onto the balcony, hissing things he didn’t understand, and didn’t want to.

Again, the man had succeeded in dodging the one question that needed answering.

“I need to go,” he heard Asami say. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

Akihito didn’t even bother to look at him when he left, slamming the door behind him.

 

++++

 

In the meantime, a young black-haired woman had just reached her apartment in Kabukicho.

Slightly out of breath, she reached for her laptop, and sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table after taking her phone out of her pocket.

She really didn’t want to interfere, but what choice did she have?

She brought her phone to her forehead, praying for things to go smoothly, knowing that they wouldn’t, no matter what she did.

In the best-case scenario, only one of her parents would be in deep shit because of her.

Worst-case scenario? _She was as good as dead._

She took a deep breath and cracked her fingers, staring at the now lit up computer screen.

It was time to pay Sion a visit, again.

 

++++

 

Judging by his boss’ tone when he answered the phone, Kirishima suspected the conversation with Takaba-san had not been pleasant, and his interruption would have meant immediate dismissal if the situation was not as urgent as it currently was.

When Asami-sama finally entered the limousine, the secretary's eyebrows went up.

The man looked livid, pale and concerned, all in equal proportions.

Whether it was because of his call, the massive cyber attack at Sion, or Takaba Akihito, he would probably never hear much about it. He didn’t need to. Knowing his boss as well as he did, he had already figured out it was all the three options.

He heard the soft buzz of a phone ringing, and watched as the other man led it to his ear after pressing a button.

_“TELL FUCKING SHINADA TO LET ME GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, ASA-“_

_Click._

Without moving a muscle in his face, his boss put the phone back in his pocket.

“Kirishima…” he muttered. “Tell Shinada to let Takaba out of the penthouse.”

“Certainly, sir.”

The secretary quickly texted the photographer’s bodyguard, and raised his eyes in time to see his boss whisper something unintelligible as he gazed out of the window, one of his hands on his forehead as the other led a cigarette to his lips.

“Sir?”

“Ignore me,” was the quiet response.

With a silent nod, Kirishima Kei went back to minding his own business, until the other man spoke again.

“How did that happen… How were they able to overload the system, where was the head of cyber security?”

“Maeda-san did not show up for work today,” Kirishima replied.

“And no one noticed?”

“We noticed when we needed him...”

His boss’ eyes were murderous. And when those eyes got like that… he knew that _there would be hell to pay._

“They had all of it mapped out. All of it….” Kirishima heard the man say. He nodded in agreement; the timing and circumstances of the current attack were oddly convenient. It was clear that the Tojo had planned it very carefully. “Maeda is a man of trust, he can't have turned on me like that, can he?”

“I find it unlikely, sir,” Kirishima replied. “I just had his bank account checked and there have been no suspicious transactions. Our personnel department contacted his wife – she reported seeing him last this morning, as he headed to Sion. He was most likely abducted.”

The limousine had barely come to a halt when his boss opened the door himself and stepped out. Each step he took towards the entrance of Sion transpired his trademark collected fury.

Gracious, but _deadly._

They were greeted by bowing heads all the way up to the cyber division floor.

The doors to the command centre opened to reveal the most absolute pandemonium. In the conference room, feverish eyes of at least ten programmers darted across the enormous displays flashing with numbers, graphs, command lines and flashing red dots.

 _Lots_ of flashing red dots.

Kobayashi Ren, the substitute team leader, was at his wit’s end, his fingers typing commands faster than the speed of light as his eyes darted from his own PC monitor to the displays.

Behind him, Asami Ruichi stared at what was the pulse of Sion. His face was still emotionless, but by his side, Kirishima felt the waves of hatred that emanated from the man’s body.

“Status?”

A single word left his boss’ lips, but that was enough to bring the whole room to a terrified silence.

“They are using Coldlife to override the system,” Kobayashi reported, still typing frantically. “There are multiple FSI viruses in the database and someone just logged in through Netslayer, it’s taken control of station 10.”

All eyes turned to said station, whose programmer was about to perform a force shutdown.

“ _Do not_ ,” Kobayashi yelled, causing the other programmers to jump on their seats. “Whoever this one is, it is kicking the other users out.”

“You mean there is a hacker helping us?” Kirishima asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Trace it,” the secretary heard his boss say.

Kobayashi nodded in response, beads of sweat on his forehead. It was the second cyber attack he had to handle in less than a month, and it looked like he was fully aware that he might not survive long enough to omit that information from his resume.

“They’re in Kabukicho, sir,” the man croaked. “The GPS coordinates are on monitor 5.”

Kirishima could not contain a gasp of surprise. He knew that address very well.

By his side, Asami Ryuichi’s eyes narrowed.

“Kirishima, get the car ready.” he said. “Looks like I have to pay someone a visit.”

 

++++

 

Akihito had just reached the door of Kou’s apartment.

He knocked, feeling guilty as hell for imposing on his friend one more time. He really had no other option, though.

He had thought of renting a place of his own, but first, he had no money. Second, he was certain Asami would find a way to sabotage him. Third, he didn’t _actually_ want to move from the penthouse. Basically, because it would mean going back to square one in his relationship with that man, whatever that relationship was.

“Oi, Akihito!” his friend, however, was the opposite of annoyed when he opened the door, a wide smile curving his lips. “Come in! I was about to call you, I had the craziest morning ever…”

Despite not being in the mood for “crazy day” stories, Akihito let out a faint smile. Maybe listening to Kou would help lift his blues for a little while, before he drowned in thoughts – or in alcohol - again.

A few bottles of oolong tea later, Akihito found himself giggling at Kou’s narrative. Apparently, his friend was head over heels for this girl he had met, and that to all effects he, Akihito, had met too a few nights earlier.

_If only he had been sober enough to remember…_

“Crazy, huh?” Kou asked, wiping away happy tears as he sighed.

“Good for you, man,” Akihito patted his friend’s shoulder, smiling. “Good for you.”

Three sudden knocks on the door made both of them jump.

“Are you expecting someone?” Akihito asked, getting to his feet.

“No, but that never stopped people from showing up,” Kou replied, raising an eyebrow. “Right, _Aki_?”

The dark-haired man threw him a gleeful look, before looking through the door peephole.

His head whipped around immediately.

“Shit!” he heard Kou whisper. “It’s her, _it’s her!_ How do I look?”

Akihito shrugged, but gave his friend the thumbs up regardless. Kou was walking in circles, fixing his hair, smelling his armpits, and Akihito felt like laughing at his friend’s panic.

“Dude,” he whispered, “Open the door, don’t leave her hanging!”

Kou nodded, flexed his neck and inhaled deeply before opening the door with a wide smile on his face.

“Ma-“

Before Kou could even finish whatever it is he was about to say, Akihito saw the young girl rush inside, her breathing laboured as she pushed her sunglasses up her nose and rested one of her hands in her thigh. She had scratches in her arms, and her jeans were dirty at the knees.

Akihito’s trouble detector started beeping right away, and he raised an eyebrow.

_That girl had been running from someone._

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The girl turned her head slowly to look at him, still trying to catch her breath.

After a moment of very awkward silence, she finally replied.

“Yeah. Never been better.”

A smirk curled the corners of her mouth, and Akihito couldn’t stop from frowning.

That girl looked _familiar_. Maybe he was not that drunk that night, after all.

At that thought, his frown turned into a look of pure shame, and he blushed.

“Uh… About that night…” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Maya, right? Uh… I… I am sorry, it must have been weird to hear… those things…”

She tilted her chin upwards, with the same smirk still in place.

_Why was she making him feel so uncomfortable?_

“Well…” he continued, trying to outlive his embarrassment. “I guess it would be _weirder_ if you knew who my boyfriend is. Haha," he let out a half-hearted laugh. "Not that he is actually my boyf-“

“Oh, _I know_ who your boyfriend is,” the girl interrupted.

Akihito threw a dirty look towards Kou, who was shaking his head frantically behind the girl, mouthing a very sincere _“i-didn’t-say-anything”._

“I… I don’t think that’s possible,” Akihito stuttered, feeling even more uncomfortable when the girl took another step towards him, taking off her sunglasses in the process. “See, we are not… like… a conventional...”

His words died down as he frowned again.

_Those golden eyes were **awfully** familiar._

He swallowed, and tried to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you... in any way...related...” he asked, studying the girl’s face and finding other stunning similarities that only his sober self could detect. “...to Asami Ryu-“

“I’m his daughter,” the girl interrupted, again.

She was still smirking, he realized, as his mouth hung open.

And it was _Asami’s_ smirk.

Holy.

_Shit._


	8. Family affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito finds himself in the middle of family affairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I had to break this chapter in two parts because otherwise it would be waaay too long. Here is part one, and since part 2 is almost finished as well, expect a quick update! :) Thanks again for your support and encouraging words, I really hope you will enjoy what is coming next!

 

Akihito wanted to believe that the whole thing was a scam. That some woman had just pulled the strings and gotten knocked up by somebody else, but no DNA profiling was even needed to prove who Maya’s father was. All the evidence was right there: the girl had the same nose, the same ears, the same piercing eyes, the chiselled jaw, the mouth, the attitude.

Even that annoying, _perfect_ little smirk.

He felt a stab of jealousy. Someone in Asami's past had had the privilege of conceiving the man's perfect replica. Maya looked like a petite, female version of Asami Ryuichi with a funky hairstyle and a pierced nose.

“Holy crap...” he heard himself mutter. “How old are you, anyway?”

“21.”

“ _Nani?!_ ” Akihito exclaimed, his brain refusing to do the math. “How old was Asami when you were born?!”

“He was 16,” the girl answered. “So was my mother. He left her before I was born,” she gave a careless shrug, but the photographer noticed her voice had strained a little. “Then he came back. And then he left again. He kept coming in and out of our lives 'til I was 9,” she tilted her chin upwards, her eyes full of defiance. “Then he left for good.”

Behind her, Kou looked like Christmas had just been cancelled, the realization of his role as a mere pawn in the entire situation slowly dawning on him. Akihito, however, couldn’t even find it in him to feel bad for his friend. His mind was too busy with the other implications.

_Asami, a teenage parent? Who abandoned his kid? Who is actually a 21-year old woman? Who is actually standing in front of him?_

Akihito blinked.

_Too much information._

“I... I am sorry f-for your loss,” he stuttered, without even noticing what he was saying. When he did, he frowned. “Wait, no, that is not what I meant, I mean,” he paused, and took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

“It was for the best,” she said, the proud expression on her face still unwavering as she crossed her arms. “My mom was finally able to move on from him… I guess.”

Ah, _that._

Of course, where there was a daughter, there was a _mother._

Akihito crossed his arms too, and managed to produce a half-hearted smile that looked an awful lot like a grimace.

“Your mother… right,” he said, keeping his tone casual. They could easily be mistaken for strangers chatting about the weather in a convenience store - if only it weren’t for the thick layer of animosity between the two of them: Akihito’s shoulders stiff as he stared, the girl’s jaw clenched as she stared back. “Is her name Miyuki, by any chance?”

The girl lifted an eyebrow, apparently disconcerted by the silly question.

“No. Why?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, not sure if he should feel relieved or not with that piece of information. “So…” he cleared his throat to snap out of the jealous _waifu_ mode. “Who were you running from?”

Maya’s smirk slowly turned into a sneer.

“Who do you think?” she replied. “Asami sent one of his goons to spy on me. He follows me everywhere I go, it was a pain to lose him, actually,” Akihito’s eyes darted from her face to her scratched arms, and the use of the man’s last name was not lost on him.

_Quite a funny way for a daughter to refer to her own father._

“Is that all?” he asked, narrowing his eyes to study her face. His trouble detector was still issuing some faint alerts that the girl was not being completely honest.

“Well,” her lips curled into a little smile, “I might have had to steal a motorcycle and lose some other goons that came after me as well…”

Kou, who had been silent up until then, finally let out a whimper.

“Great,” he muttered, his eyes shifting to the door. “So they probably followed y-“

The three of them jumped when someone knocked on the door hard enough to make it jump in its hinges.

 _“Maya,”_ a female voice said. _“I know you are in there.”_

The girl’s eyes went wide.

_“Open the door.”_

“Let me guess…” Akihito whispered. “Your mother?”

He watched as the girl nodded in silence.

_Perfect. A family gathering, just what he needed._

Akihito let out a sigh when the girl stepped forward and opened the door, just to reveal the figure of a very tall, very angry woman, whose eyes were still covered by her aviator sunglasses. His gaze travelled to the tattoos that covered both her hands and arms, from her knuckles to her collarbone, until they disappeared under her vest and reappeared below her chin, the colourful lines wrapped around her neck like an eternal necklace.

He gulped, adding some new pieces of information to the rather long list of the day’s lessons.

_Yakuza. Has a daughter with the man I have been living with for almost three years. Does not seem happy. Looks like she can snap my neck like a straw. Maybe she wants to. Is currently standing in front of me with two guns holstered in her belt and two minions behind her._

What a day that was turning out to be!

He took a step backwards when the woman walked into the apartment. The other two men behind her, though, stayed where they were.

“Maya,” he heard the woman say, without even acknowledging his or Kou’s presence. “Wait for me in the car.”

“I-“

“ _Maya._ ”

The woman’s tone of voice made Akihito cringe.

“ _In the car,_ ” she repeated, and her words were clearly final.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Maya cross the threshold.

As soon as she did so, one of the men took a step forward and handcuffed her right wrist to his left one.

“Minami!” the girl yelled, trying to break free when the man in red jersey pants grabbed her arms. “What the fuck!”

“Not taking my chances with you anymore,” Akihito heard the man snarl as he dragged the girl out of their sight, the other man following behind them.

For a very long minute, the silence was absolute in the small apartment.

“You must be Takaba-san.”

His eyes were wide when he slowly turned his head to look at the woman that was now towering in front of him.

“Y-Yeah…” He contemplated asking her _how come everyone seemed to know who he was, whereas he was completely clueless as to who they were_ , but chose not to. “And you are…”

“Hayashi Mirai.”

“Hayashi-san…” he responded, taking a slight bow that was reciprocated by the woman.

“Nice to meet you too, Akihito.”

When he raised his eyes to her face, he noticed she was no longer wearing her sunglasses, and that her lips had curled in a friendly smile despite the frown wrinkling her forehead. He tried to smile in return – once again, the result left much to be desired, and his face was a mix of confusion and tiredness.

“How… I… Did Asami…”

“I will give you two some privacy,” by his side, Kou seemed to have finally found his voice again, as he quickly moved out of sight and closed the door behind him.

“Mind if I smoke?” the woman asked, taking out a packet of cigarettes from one of the pockets of her vest.

“It's not my apartment…” he responded, apologetically.

The woman shrugged, and led one of the Dunhills to her lips anyway.

Akihito’s eyes immediately drifted to the golden band on her left ring finger.

 _‘Oh no, please,’_ his mind pleaded, losing its grip on reality already, _‘not another surprise!’_

The woman seemed to sense his discomfort, and let out a smirk after blowing the smoke through her lips.

“My husband’s name is Kazuki, he is a host and a manager of a few clubs around here,” she said. “My relationship with Asami is purely professional these days. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Ha, I am not... I am not worried... “ Akihito forced out a chuckle, trying to look cool and confident despite his blushing face. “Haha, why would I be…”

“Indeed you have no reason to worry, from what I heard.”

“What did-“

“I take it Asami didn't tell you about her, huh?” she interrupted.

He frowned, and was about to let out an annoyed _“no, that asshole never tells me anything!”_ , when his stomach sank.

Oh.

_Oh._

“No,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to the floor as he pondered his actions from a few hours before. “He... might have tried to, earlier today, but I kinda didn't let him…”

When he was done feeling sorry for himself, he raised his eyes again, and the woman continued.

“You must be asking yourself why she was stalking you.”

“I was getting there, yeah.”

“If you ask her, she probably won't know how to answer, so I will answer it instead,” she said, taking one last, long drag off her cigarette. “She wants her father's attention.”

A slight frown wrinkled Akihito’s forehead. He was not really making the connection.

“And you... “ she continued, smashing what was left of her cigarette inside a half-empty glass by the table. “That's where her father’s attention is.”

His eyebrows shot up, and his heart raced when the words finally sank in. He had a very strong suspicion other people already knew about their relationship, but those words, for some reason, just made his stomach flutter.

_Asami’s attention…_

“If I know her well,” he heard the woman add, “she will be crossing your way very often, but you have no obligation whatsoever to put up with it. She needs to accept things as they are.”

“Meaning...?” he asked, a frown of confusion showing on his face.

“She is very resentful of Asami,” Hayashi replied. “Let's just say that he is far from being father of the year,” she continued. “It is a role he never wanted... But I know she pines for his validation,” her voice had lost some of the authority that marked her words earlier. “I wish she didn't. Alas, it is what it is,” she shrugged. “She won't give up.”

Akihito noticed that when she stopped speaking, her eyes were very tired and sad.

It made her look at least ten years older.

And then, she chuckled.

“What?” he asked, as the woman studied his face.

“You are so different from what I imagined…” she whispered, shaking her head.

Akihito crossed his arms. _Why was it that everyone in Asami’s life made sure to remind him that he did not belong in that little world of theirs?_

“I guess I should not take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice full of defiance.

“You should, actually.”

Her amiable response caught him off-guard.

“You are... I don't know, _real?_ ” she explained, narrowing her eyes. “Honest? You strike me as someone with strength of character,” her smile was sad as she spoke, just like her eyes. “That is a rare trait in the world Asami lives in.“

Akihito swallowed. Not knowing how to respond, he remained silent as the woman walked towards the door.

“That makes you very special,” he heard her say, before turning around to look at his face. “Take care, Takaba-san.”

She then bowed, and took her leave.

“Huh,” Akihito muttered, his mind still racing as he tried to make sense of everything he had seen and heard in the past few hours. “Well I’ll be damned…”

 

++++

 

Shifting on the black BMW’s passenger seat for the eleventh time since she entered the car, Hayashi Maya let out another annoyed sigh.

_Why the hell was her mother taking so long?_

She looked out of the window, scratching one of her arms. Last thing she needed was those two bonding over their love for the same man.

She rolled her eyes. _As if he deserved either of them._

When she saw her mother climb down the stairs and approach the vehicle, she took a long, deep breath.

_She was in for a lecture._

Her mother, however, seemed to be in no hurry to get the ball rolling. In silence, without even casting a sideways glance in her direction, she fastened her seatbelt, started the car and pulled away – the other BMW behind them following suit.

“You know, the craziest thing happened today….”

Several minutes had passed when she finally heard the woman’s voice.

“So here I am, with the cyber operatives at the Tojo Headquarters as they attack the Sion... And out of nowhere, this _hacker_ shows up and starts disconnecting them,” her mother’s eyes were still on the road. “Every single one of them. Like some... _fucking vigilante_.”

She gulped at her mother’s bitter tone.

“And then...” the woman continued, “then we get to _trace_ said hacker.”

Maya’s body jolted forwards when the car was brought to a sudden halt, and she couldn’t help but shudder when her mother’s ferocious eyes finally landed on her face.

“Can you try to imagine _my face,_ Maya, when _our address_ showed up on the screen?” she snarled. “What were you _thinking?_ Are you trying to get us _killed?”_

Maya opened her mouth to respond, but her mother was having none of it.

“What the hell, we had this conversation before…” the girl heard her whisper.

“Look, let me explain…”

“Explain what?” her mother snapped, her voice getting louder by the moment. “I don't think you even understand why you do the things you do!”

“L-Listen to me, ok?” the girl stuttered, trying not to get scorched by the glare directed at her. “If you want, I can go to the Chairman and explain.”

Her words were met with an irritated laugh.

“That is not how it works, sweetheart,” the older woman snarled. “I have told you _so many times_ not to mess with syndicates...”

“I _did not_ mess with syndicates!” it was Maya’s turn to rant. “Will you listen to me?”

“First, just answer this,” her mother’s tone became quieter, and therefore, much more threatening. “The first cyber attack, two weeks ago,” she saw the woman bite her lower lip. “Was it you too?”

Maya looked away, trying to find a way to make that answer sound less offensive than it would sound.

“Answer the damn question.”

“Yes.”

Her mother’s fist hit the steering wheel with a powerful punch.

“Fuck! “ she yelled. “Maya!”

The girl was slowly sliding down the car seat, as if she was an insect about to be squashed by the weight of the other woman’s fury.

“Y-Yes, but you have to let me explain….” she said, her voice strained as she spoke.

“You...” her mother paused, inhaling deeply to regain her composure. “Do you have _any idea_ of the mess you created?” she asked, and Maya could feel her piercing eyes tearing a hole on the side of her head. “What were you looking for?  _What,_ Maya?”

“It was accidental,” the girl replied mindlessly, still avoiding her mother’s gaze.

“No one hacks into the Sion by accident!”

“Ok!” she admitted, finally straightening her back against the car seat. “ I hacked it because I wanted to, ok? I wanted...”

And then, she paused, a frown forming on her face.

_Truth was, she didn’t know what she wanted._

“To get his attention, I know,” Maya heard her mother whisper, and her face turned a bright shade of pink.

“No!” she blurted out, feeling terribly embarrassed for her mother thinking such a thing.

_She hated Asami Ryuichi. Period. Hated._

By her side, Hayashi Mirai was simply shaking her head.

“Fine,” she said, pursing her lips. “Whatever. Then what? At what point you thought, _oh hey,_ _let's send this to the Omi Alliance. Let's start a fucking war between the two biggest syndicates in Japan!”_

“I didn't send anything to anyone,“ Maya squeaked. It was the truth, after all. She was being accused of things she had not even thought about doing. “I don't even know how the Tojo ended up with it! I swear, I didn't... Why would I?”

Her mother’s eyes seemed to have lost some of their fury, but there was still enough in them to make her wince.

“It would be a smart way to bring down your father, by selling his secrets to the Omi and making it look like it was the Tojo so that he would attack the wrong people.”

Maya felt the corners of her eyes prickle.

_She was getting so tired of that shit._

“I did not sell him out,” she said, her voice slightly shaky. “And he is not my father,” she added, trying to blink back tears. “He forfeited that role a long time ago.”

She heard her mother take a deep breath, and when she spoke again, the anger in her voice seemed to have dissipated.

“Well… _"Not-your-father"_ is waiting for you at our apartment,” she whispered, nodding at the window. Only then did Maya realize they had parked in front of their apartment building. “And he is _pissed._ ”

The girl had to force down a lump in her throat when she looked at her mother’s face.

Her eyes were filled with concern.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, the fear of meeting her father mixing with the shame of having disappointed her mother, and making two stubborn tears drop from her eyes.

The older woman merely shook her head, wiping the tears away with her thumbs before placing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead.

“Go,” she heard her voice in her ear. “If you keep him waiting he will be even more pissed.”

Maya nodded, taking a long breath before opening the car’s door.

_It was time to face the beast._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor kid... Things will begin to get darker in the next chapter!


	9. A blow to the heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father and daughter share a moment of pure contempt, Akihito asks Kirishima for some clarification, and a medical emergency ensues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: this story was tagged “bad parenting” for a reason, and Asami is not dad of the year! The father/daughter scene shows a side of Asami that I have no intention of whitewashing in this story. I think his darkness is a very important component of his personality, and there is a past to back it up – not to justify it, but to give it some perspective. We will get there very soon XD 
> 
> Also, a note about the yubitsume: it is a Japanese ritual (finger shortening) performed by the Yakuza to atone for offenses or show apology to their oyabun (boss). Yikes!

 

 

Hayashi Maya stood in front of her own apartment door for a long minute. She looked at her own clothes, and sneered. Her jeans were dirty, the T-shirt she was wearing wasn’t even hers, her belt had an ugly tear on it.

Her hair probably looked like hell, just like the little makeup she had put on that morning. Eyeliner, chapstick. Her eyes dropped to her slender fingers, the purple, shiny polished nails the only sign that she would sometimes indulge in beauty rituals.

Other than that, there was nothing glamorous about her. She knew it, and she took great pride in it.

She was never one of the fancy girls she used to go to school with. Oh, hell no. Those perfect little dolls, with their sweet faces and sweet smiles and… perfect sweet voices.

Wives in training.

Wives to old geezers like Asami Ryuichi.

She grimaced when the image of a dauntless blond photographer flashed before her eyes.

OK, maybe _not Asami Ryuichi_.

But still, people of his kind.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she relished the anger pumping through her veins.

All those bitter thoughts were her fuel, her natural shield - one that she knew she would need the moment she entered the room.

_She would not let him break her._

With her head held up high, she pushed the door open, and walked in.

As usual, the man waiting for her didn’t even acknowledge her presence as he smoked, looking out of the window.

“Sit,” he said, without turning around.

Apparently, he was not curious to even see if she had changed at all since the last time they saw each other, half a decade before.

Not that she had expected to, anyway.

She had stopped caring a long time ago.

“The first attack, two weeks ago,” she heard him say, still without looking, as soon as she pulled a chair and sat. “Was it you?”

She remained silent, just studying his figure. Shoulders straight, one hand in his pocket, his other arm resting against the window frame as cigarette dangled between his fingers, black hair slicked back framing a face that was still out of her field of vision.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

“I saved your company tod-“

“A company that wouldn't need saving if you hadn't tried to _fuck it up in the first place_ ,” he snarled, finally turning his head to look at her with eyes that were as cold and lethal as his voice.

She clenched her jaw, and forced her eyes to remain on the man’s face despite the urge to let her gaze drop to the floor.

“ _’Saved your company’_ ,” he snorted. “You don't really think I owe you thanks, do you?”

She shifted her eyes to the window behind him, her gaze distant and vacant as she tried to ignore his words.

“Why did you move here, Maya?” he asked, his voice still cold, but without the obvious fury of moments before. “What were you expecting to find?”

A little, almost invisible smile curled the corners of her lips when she spoke, her voice strong and clear, full of pride.

“I was admitted to the University of Tokyo.”

Now _that_ was something that he couldn’t use against her. He probably never even believed she would be accepted by the _Imperial University_ , that same one where he had gotten his degree in Economics.

She held her head up high as he watched her.

“With the amount of money I poured into your education, you did nothing but your duty,” said the deep, baritone voice. “Try not to screw it up, like you do with everything else in your life.”

Maya’s eyes, again, shifted to the window. She felt her throat tighten, but that would pass.

_It all would pass._

That conversation, just like all the others so much time ago, would fade away, like a bad memory. All she had to do was to think of something else. Of anything, really, other than the words leaving that man’s mouth.

“See, five years ago, when I went to Sapporo to get you out of jail for the third time that year,” he continued, pulling a chair to sit across from her, crossing his legs casually as if they were just having a friendly chat, “I told your mother, ‘we need to send her abroad, she is not going to stop.’”

She released a breath she didn’t even know she was holding.

“I had everything ready. Tickets, accommodation, enrollment in the best high school of Europe,” he said, and she dared herself to look into his eyes. “My plan was to ship you out of Japan right away, I had had enough of your attention seeking.”

Despite her efforts, her eyes had a will of their own, and dropped to the floor when her throat, once again, felt constricted, as if an invisible hand had wrapped around her neck, squeezing.

“But your mother, _your brave old mother,_ didn't let me,” his calm voice showed obvious signs of mockery. “She said she would tighten her grip on you, that she would get you a bodyguard, that she would keep you out of trouble.”

The mention of her mother made her blood boil. How dared him? After everything he had done, after all the damage he had left as his trail in their lives, he still had the nerve of _mocking_ her mother?

“Keep my mother out of-“ she managed to hiss, before being interrupted.

“You were able to stay in Japan because of her,” he snapped back, their faces mere inches apart as golden eyes stared into each other in a silent battle. “And today, you showed what an _ungrateful idiot_ you are.”

She winced, but held the stare, ignoring the burning sensation in her nostrils.

“You don't even realise what you did, do you?” she heard him ask. “Right now, as we talk, she must be talking to her boss to clean up your mess. I suppose you are familiar with the  _yubitsume_?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but much to her dismay, no words came to her rescue.

For the first time in that day, her mind was finally processing what those words implied, and the realization filled her with terror.

She was still staring at the floor when she felt her eyes fill with tears.

“That is, if they give her the option of slicing off her finger,” he continued, his unaffected tone making her want to scream, to cry, to punch him in the face. “As of lately, the Tojo simply kill their traitors.”

Her heart was beating so fast she felt it would burst.

For a moment, she wished it would, so that she would stop feeling.

Her hands curled into fists, and she tried with all her might to stop shaking as tears streaked down her face.

“A traitor, Maya. That is where your mother stands now, because of your recklessness.”

She was biting her lip so hard that she could taste blood.

More tears flowed from her eyes, and she hated each and every one of them.

_Stop crying._

_Stop._

“How much do you want to go back to Sapporo?”

His question, strangely enough, caused all pain to cease.

Anger, her long-term ally, was back.

She raised her bloodshot eyes to look at him. At some point, he had stood up and was now, once again, facing the window.

“I am not going back to Sapporo,” she replied, her voice regaining some of its confidence as the tears on her face began to dry.

“Fine. Then where? You name it,” he said, turning around to look at her. “Europe? The United States? As long as it is not in Japan.”

“I am doing fine here in Tokyo.”

“Oh, I can see that.”

Again, the _mockery._

This time, however, his disdain did not silence her.

“And I already met your boyfriend so there is nothing for you to fear,” she said, savoring each syllable as a slight frown formed on the man’s forehead. “You know, you should have told him. He looked quite shocked,” she didn’t look away, not even when his eyes went from cold to downright irate. “I guess you could always skip the part of not being exactly a parenting role model.”

“Are you really going down that road, Maya?” he asked, and she was surprised that he had not slapped her across the face. Not that he ever had before, but that time, she could feel she had crossed a dangerous line so she would not be surprised if he did. “Are you sure you want to stand in my way? You seem to be putting far too much importance in our unfortunate biological connection.”

_Unfortunate._

The word was not lost on her, neither was his contempt.

“You mean _nothing_ to me,” he said, looking at her as if she was, indeed, nothing but a fly he had just squashed - which, at that moment, sounded like a very accurate description. “Now if you don't want to walk out of this empty handed, name your price.”

“I don't want your fucking money!” she screamed at last, turning the table as she stood up to glare at him.

“Is that so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at her face. “Well, too bad. Because _money_ is all you are ever getting from me.”

She shook her head, and tried to look at him with the same contempt and calm that he was able to muster so well.

Of course, her attempt was promptly dismissed, as he turned on his heels and glided towards the door.

“By the way…” he said, without turning around. “You will regret your decision before this day is over, trust me.”

Without much thought, she grabbed the first thing within reach – in that case, a whisky tumbler from the bar – and threw it against the doorframe, where his head had been seconds before.

Asami Ryuichi, however, had already left.

 

++++

 

Hours later, Maya was still perched on the top of a very narrow staircase, many blocks away from her own apartment.

This time, she hadn’t even bothered to lose her guards when she left home, shortly after her father. She wanted to be alone, and as long as neither Minami nor Watanabe gave her grief, she really didn’t care if they reported her moves to their respective bosses or not.

Her stomach grumbled. Her day had been so chaotic she hadn't even remembered to eat.

A soft buzz inside her pocket made her frown. It was probably her mother calling, for the twentieth time.

For the twentieth time, she didn’t answer.

She didn’t want to go back home. She didn’t want to have to look at her mother in the eye. She didn’t want to hear her voice.

_She couldn’t find the courage to._

“Hey, kiddo,” a familiar voice said, and she whipped her head around, a smile curling her lips when she saw the figure of her stepfather.

“Oji-san…” she said, allowing the tall blond man in the flamboyant mauve suit to sit by her side.

“Here,” he replied, throwing her a bag of Uji-Matcha Kit Kats – her favorites.

For very long minutes, neither said anything, and their silence was only interrupted by the sound of chocolate packets being popped open.

“When did you get back from Osaka?” she asked, after swallowing a piece of candy.

“Couple of hours ago,” he replied, his light brown eyes hovering above her face as he reached for a chocolate as well. “Your mother called me.”

She cleared her throat, feeling that uncomfortable prickling in the corners of her eyes making a comeback. It was really unusual for her to cry at all, let alone cry so many times in the same day.

It pissed her off. She didn’t know she was such a weakling.

“She is worried about you,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I think it’s time to go back home.”

She put down the bag of chocolates, and let her head drop.

It was time, indeed.

“Yeah,” she whispered in response. “I need a shower.”

The two of them chuckled, ignoring the tension that marked her words.

Maya grabbed the finely manicured hand being offered to her and helped herself up – as she did so, her gaze drifted to the man’s other hand, which was holding a bag with medical supplies, and her stomach sank.

“H-How… how is she?” she asked, dreading the response.

“She is fine,” Kazuki replied, brushing dirt off his pants as they went down the stairs. “She is a strong woman.”

Maya nodded in agreement.

One day, she hoped she would be as strong as her mother. She had had a great childhood, largely due to the fact that the woman was probably taking all the blows while she played, and laughed, and grew up. She remembered the days when her mother would work three jobs, and still find time to take her to karate classes and help with her homework. A true hero.

Their lives had been good, until the day she had officially joined the Tojo.

Then, their lives turned upside-down. Not that their lives used to be easy before, with all of the Asami Ryuichi’s shenanigans, but her mother joining a syndicate had changed _everything…_

She was still lost in thought when she realized she was standing in front of her own apartment door.

As if she was watching a movie, she saw her stepfather open it, and her eyes went straight to the woman on the kitchen, bending over the sink as she held one of her hands under the water.

“Kazuki…” Maya heard her say, still without looking at the door. “Did you fin-“

The girl staggered backwards when the woman turned around, looking terribly pale as she tried to stop the blood flowing from her recently-amputated little finger.

Maya felt her own blood drain from her face as she rushed down the fire escape, covering her mouth until she reached the lower floor.

Her knees were about to give when she bended forward, clutching her stomach as the Uji-Matcha Kit Kats she had just eaten landed on the ground with a disgusting splash, dirtying the tips of her sneakers.

She could hear hurried footsteps behind her, in front of her, and to her left, so she ran to the only area that appeared to be uncovered, and that unfortunately led to a dead end.

Luckily, her parkour skills always came in handy when she needed them.

Running even faster to gain momentum, she kicked one of the walls and bounced back to a pipe that she climbed until her feet reached the edge of a fire escape two levels above the floor.

And from then on, all she had to do was jump from rooftop to rooftop, until she was out of everyone’s sight. Minutes later, she was finally able to slow down as she went down a staircase and made her way to an empty lot, terribly out of breath.

She leaned against a wall covered with graffiti, and let her body slide to the floor until she was sitting between two filthy dumpsters. Her eyes fluttered closed as she pulled her knees up, ignoring the cockroaches that were running right next to one of her legs.

_She was going back to Sapporo first thing in the morning._

++++ 

On another part of the city, a young man bit his blunt nails, his eyes filled with concern.

It was way past 9 pm, and Akihito still couldn’t get hold of Asami.

“Just answer the goddamn phone…” he muttered, as he paced up and down between the living room and the kitchen.

He had returned to the penthouse shortly after the convoluted events of the beginning of the afternoon, hoping _– and dreading –_ he would find the older man at home, so that they could finish their earlier conversation.

He was positive he had messed up. He had to explain himself.

But… _how in hell_ would he be able to explain his irrational behavior without telling Asami about the messages he had seen on his phone?

Very simple. _He wouldn’t._

And that only meant that, regardless of how that conversation went, Asami would be mad at him for sneaking around.

Well, then be it. He was used to owning up to his mistakes.

He sighed, and hung up when his call, once again, went straight to voicemail.

His thoughts drifted to the girl he had met a few hours before.

Asami had a _daughter_ … A daughter that was almost his age…

What bothered him the most was to realize that he had been so close to hear about Maya from Asami’s very own lips. For the first time in… _forever,_ Asami was going to trust him with a secret, was going to reveal something about his life, about his past, and he had shut him out.

“Ugh,” he threw his head back, groaning. “You don’t even know if that is really what he was going to tell you…”

And now, he probably never would. What were the odds Asami would open up to him twice?

“Practically inexistent,” he answered his own question, and then pursed his lips. Even so… there were things in his life he had _absolutely no intention of giving up._

With a confident nod, he marched to the front door and exited.

If the mountain wouldn’t come to him… _Then he would have to go to the mountain._

++++

Back at the Sion headquarters, Kirishima Kei glanced at his watch.

_10:15._

His boss had locked himself in the room behind him, with express orders of letting nothing, and no one, interrupt him. And when that “nothing and no one” included Takaba Akihito, Asami Ryuichi’s well known only exception, he knew his boss was probably planning to burn down half of Japan in his retaliation against the Tojo.

Either that, or the man was just having a very bad day and planned to drink his entire supply of The Macallan single malt scotch whisky in a single night.

“Kirishima…”

His eyes went wide when the figure of Takaba Akihito materialized in front of him.

“I need to talk to Asami.”

The secretary stood up, still trying to figure out how the gritty photographer always found a way to skip all the usual procedures at the reception desk and just waltz into the CEO’s floor as if it was no big deal.

“Asami-sama is not taking calls or visits, I am afraid,” he said, watching the young man in front of him tilt his head to the side with an audacious smile. “Not even yours.”

His words seemed to make the photographer deflate a little, his eyes losing some of their spark as he looked longingly at the closed door behind him.

“Kirishima…”

_Here we go again…_

“Yes, Takaba-san?” he asked, already preparing himself for a round of the usual antics the young man employed when he wanted to have his way.

“Can I ask you a question?”

_Now that was a strategy he hadn’t seen before._

“I suppose...”

“Can you tell me…” the photographer seemed to hesitate, “…who Miyuki is?”

If he, Kirishima, hadn’t been trained so well on how to conceal his emotions, he would have probably gasped.

How Takaba Akihito even knew about that woman’s existence was a mystery to him. He honestly doubted that his boss would have willingly told his lover anything about it, considering the sensitive information it involved.

Unless, of course, their relationship had moved to the next level incredibly fast, and Asami Ryuichi had seen no problem telling the young man he was seeing a _counsellor._

“I am afraid I cannot answer that question,” he said, his face still neutral as he spoke.

“Well…” the photographer replied, but the secretary simply sat down and resumed his report reviewing, a silent indication that he was not taking that conversation any further. “Can you at least tell me if she is also family? Like… a horny cousin?” the words made Kirishima raise his gaze and push his glasses up his nose. “His evil twin sister? Maybe his _mother?_ ” he watched as the young man fidgeted in his pockets, shifting on his feet as his pitch grew more strident. “ _Another daughter?_ ” he snarled at last.

Kirishima blinked, and this time he couldn’t stop himself from frowning.

So Takaba Akihito had found out about the girl’s existence… No wonder his boss’ humor seemed to be fouler than usual.

“As I said, I have no permission to disclose such information,” he replied at last, ignoring the young man’s evil glare.

“Of course you don’t,” Kirishima heard him splutter. “You will report this to him, won’t you?”

_Obviously._

“Well, if so, then include this is your goddam report,” the photographer continued, after snapping the manila folder on his desk closed so that he could get his full attention. “If the ‘someone’ he was referring to was his daughter, ok, I overreacted, I admit. Yes, I thought he was talking about an affair,” Kirishima’s eyebrows went up when he tried to imagine such a scenario. He didn’t know what part was more absurd: Asami-sama telling his lover about Maya, or Takaba thinking the man was having an affair. “But it is his fault!” the boy squeaked. “Always with the mystery, always with the secrets, with questions that are never answered! I can’t read minds!” his eyes were wide as he ranted. “So, yeah. Tell him that if he wants to be honest with me, great. I will be waiting for him. But if he intends to play the guessing game, I am out!” he yelled, “Ok? OUT.”

And with that, he saw the young man take his theatrical leave.

At what point of his career Kirishima had become a messenger for love matters, he did not know. But he had to admit, that Takaba Akihito was indeed one of a kind.

He was about to reopen the manila folder when the photographer spun on his heels and reappeared in front of him.

“Ugh, there is a damn fingerprint on your glasses, it’s pissing me off,” the young man whispered, taking off Kirishima’s glasses and rubbing them with the hem of his T-shirt. “There.”

He picked up the glasses, at a loss for words, and put them back on, trying to see something past the grease that the young man had inadvertently spread when trying to remove said fingerprint.

“You’re welcome!” he saw the young man exclaim, before marching into the elevator and finally disappearing from sight.

“Kirishima.”

The secretary shook his head, and brought himself to a standing position when his boss called him.

“Sir?”

When he entered the room, the first thing his eyes landed on was the pile of open folders scattered across the man’s desk.

His boss was standing near the window, tie hanging loosely around his neck, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, jacket long forgotten over the couch.

“What did Takaba want?” the man asked, before leading a half empty glass of scotch to his lips.

Kirishima wondered how much of their conversation his boss had been able to hear. Knowing the man’s absurdly sharp sense of hearing, he was inclined to believe the man’s question had been merely rhetorical, and that he already knew the answer.

“To clean my glasses, apparently,” he replied, holding his hands behind his back. “And to ask who Miyuki is.”

He saw his boss shake his head, his eyes distant as he looked out of the window.

“He must have seen her messages on my phone…” he said, before drinking what was left of his whisky and heading back to the desk. “I’ll deal with him later.”

When his boss motioned to one of the chairs, Kirishima took a seat and waited for instructions. Judging by the amount of notes spread across the wooden surface, he would have a full day tomorrow.

“Tomorrow morning, you will crash the stocks of Dojima’s strategic businesses,” he heard the man say, passing him a handful of folders. “Start slow, with a billion dollars. Cause as much harm as you can, I have made a list of their shell corporations so don’t even bother with those,” he turned his laptop around so that Kirishima could see a spreadsheet full of codes and red lines. “…if anything talk to one of our subsidiaries and let them do the pump and dump…”

The secretary took notes, nodding as his boss continued with the details of tomorrow’s activities.

“…I have also highlighted the assets I have particular interest in, and the equities-”

Kirishima acknowledged the words with another quick nod, too busy typing on his own tablet to look up and see why his boss was taking so long to finish that sentence.

When he did look up, though, he let out a silent scream.

The man was clutching his chest, pale as a ghost, his eyes narrowed as if he was in terrible pain.

The secretary jumped from his seat, his own heart racing as the unlikely scene unfolded before him.

_It had to be a prank of sorts._

He had seen Asami Ryuichi survive being shot, stabbed, tortured, poisoned, nearly blown up. He had seen the man do things that would have terrorized the average man.

And now, apparently, this long down the road, his boss was struggling with _heart failure?_ _In his own office?_ Sliding down to the floor like a puppet, fingers gripping the expensive fabric of his shirt as he gasped for air?

After everything he had seen and done, Asami Ryuichi was having a heart attack _today?_ Part of the untold agreement between them was that if they ever had to die, it would be a spectacular death. A very violent one, with a large audience. Bonus points if they got to make a departure speech to someone in tears.

_Death by heart failure did not meet any of the prerequisites._

Kirishima’s nostrils flared.

“Asami-sama,” he said, his voice calm and collected as the other man’s eyes fluttered closed. “I will call Kimura-sensei. Please have some water.”

There was no response, but he could tell his boss was conscious. His breathing, however, was terribly labored.

“Y-Yes...”

“You are not dying today, sir.”

“I… I know.”

“Good,” Kirishima replied, pouring his boss a glass of water as he called the doctor, whose practice was located one block away from the building.

In less than half an hour, Asami Ryuichi was already lying on a bed with wires hooked to him and an IV dripping into his left arm. Suoh stood by Kirishima’s side in silence, the two of them studying the pale face of their boss, who seemed to have fallen asleep.

“What happened?” Kirishima heard the blond man ask.

“Heart attack? I don’t know…”

He was about to tell him about the events that had preceded the man’s sudden illness when an elderly man walked into the room, carrying a thin pile of medical records.

“Asami-sama,” said the doctor, loud enough to wake up his patient, who immediately brought himself to a sitting position. “I have the results of your exams.”

“And?” he heard his boss ask.

The secretary saw the old man raise his eyebrows, taking a deep breath.

_That was a face of a man about to break very bad news._

“Kirishima-san… Suoh-san…” the old man took a very polite bow as he addressed them. “Could you please wait outside?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My, oh my! What is wrong with the powerful Asami Ryuichi?


	10. 168 hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Asami is getting ready to face a treatment that is likely to destroy him, and Akihito lends a hand to a certain girl.

 

The next morning, Asami Ryuichi was back at Sion, wearing a fresh change of clothes and feeling surprisingly rested after eight hours of peaceful, sedated sleep. He didn’t usually allow himself to be in hospital facilities for that long, but given his alternatives, he now realized it had been the right choice.

If he had returned to the penthouse, he would have certainly run into a very distraught Akihito, who would be waiting for explanations he didn’t feel like giving. If he had returned to Sion, he knew it would be Kirishima that would not have given him a break. At least now, in the morning, his secretary had already busied himself with his assignments from the night before.

He leaned against the window frame, his back turned to the woman sitting on the armchair behind him.

“Was that your first panic attack?” he heard the calm voice of Majima Makoto ask.

He frowned.

 _A panic attack._ The words sounded just as offensive as they had sounded the night before, when his personal physician had explained other than dehydration, there was nothing physically wrong with him… that there was nothing wrong with his heart, that there was nothing wrong with his exams… and then proceeded to asking if he had ever considered seeing a _mental health specialist._

The look on the old man’s face as he spoke made it clear he had chosen his words very carefully, as if aware of what he was implying and fearing for his death because of it.

“Asami-san?”

“Yes,” he whispered in response. “The first.”

“I see,” the woman replied, running the tips of her fingers over his brailed medical records. “The symptoms are usually very alarming for first-time sufferers. Chest pain, cold flashes, sweating, nausea, vertigo, hyperventilation, difficulty moving… No wonder it can be mistaken for a heart attack, really,” she continued, her voice low and amiable. “I could say that you eventually learn to identify when you are having a crisis after recurring episodes, but I believe you have no intention of ever having another one of those, right?”

“As you can see, my personal physician ruled out possible physical causes for the… episode. My exams were all normal. I asked him if the crises could be controlled by any specific drug…”

“… but you are already taking the drug that usually does that,” the woman interrupted, “so the answer, in your case, is _no._ ” She put down the medical records, and raised her head. “That only leaves you with one other option for treatment.”

He knew very well what that option was, and it displeased him immensely.

“How long is it going to take?” he asked, crossing his arms as he paced his office.

“That’s very hard to tell. It can take one week. One month,” she said. “One year. More than that, depending on-“

“I don’t have that kind of time,” he interrupted. “There are… _things_ happening in my life that require me to be fully functional as soon as possible.”

“Fully functional?” he noticed the woman’s eyebrows had gone up. “That is what you are expecting to get out of your treatment?”

He noticed that there was a note of extreme surprise in her voice.

“Isn’t that what _everyone_ expects out of _any_ treatment?” he asked, taking a seat across from her.

She sighed, and Asami took that chance to study her deceptive peaceful features.

That woman was making it very clear she planned to break him in half.

It was an interesting prospect, but knowing himself, he knew the chances of her actually succeeding were slim.

“Think of your mind as a Pandora box,” she explained, her vacant eyes fixed on some spot above his head. “I don’t know what is coming out of it once we open it, and neither do you.”

“Oh, I know _exactly_ what is coming out of it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then…” she shifted on her seat, and for a moment Asami had the impression she was about to burst into laughter. “That is excellent. Just be aware, though, that the treatment might make you even _less_ functional before you get to that elusive upward turn,” she said, lacing her fingers over her lap. “We can start by seeing each other three times a week…”

“I have already contacted your secretary and booked an entire week of your time.”

“An entire week?” again, she sounded very surprised. Or, at least, she pretended to. “Oh, I see. So you are going for the crash course?”

As much as Asami had intended not to smoke in the woman’s presence, truth was that he had been craving for a cigarette for far too many hours.

He reached for the Dunhills in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“As I said, I need to sort this out as soon as possible,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he led a cigarette to his lips.

“When you said, entire week…” he heard her say, as she reached for a Zippo in her pocket. “Does it mean… all the 168 hours?”

“Precisely,” he answered, leading her hand and the lighter closer to his lips. “That is the amount of time you have to rewire my brain.”

He took a long drag off his cigarette, and smirked.

“Oh, you will be the one doing all that dirty work, my dear. Consider me a mere facilitator.”

“Your fees are very impressive for a mere facilitator.”

“They are, right?” she said, with a genuine smile curving her lips. “I believe your crash course will cost you a fortune.”

“I have already wired the 42 million yen to your account.”

“Of course you have… And now you expect me to deliver your purchase.”

Asami, once again, caught himself staring at the woman’s face.

More than her impeccable professional credentials, what had made him bend to her prophecy that _yes, he would be looking for her again,_ was the fact that her personal life was just as stained with blood and crime as his.

“Very well,” she said. “I do have a few conditions, though, and they are all non negotiable.”

“Let’s hear them,” he said, crossing his legs as he leaned back on his chair.

“First, beginning today, you will stop taking Prazosin. We will need those nightmares to show their ugly faces.”

He swallowed. He was not sure he liked that recommendation, but he was really pressed for time and would not stand in the way of his own recovery.

“Fine.”

“Second, you will spend the entire week in my island.”

Now _that_ was a more complicated demand.

“I am in the middle of very complicated business negoti-“

“Assign someone else to deal with them,” she interrupted, her voice stern and matter-of-factly.

“There are certain things I cannot delegate.”

“Maybe so, if you were _fully functional_ , which you _aren’t,_ according to your own assessment,” she argued, her voice still firm despite the blooming smile on her face. “Sounds like a good time to pass the baton.”

He took another puff off his cigarette.

He didn’t like where that conversation was going.

“What is the third condition?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand.

“I will need all of your personal files.”

He chuckled. _How humorous of her._

“I would have thought you had already done some research of your own,” he replied. 

“Oh, I did. The material is scarce, however, and strangely enough there is nothing to be found about the first 20 years of your life,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

He let another smirk curl the corners of his mouth. Of course there was nothing to be found. He himself had made sure his records were not in any database available to the general public or to the authorities.

“I will ask Kimura-sensei to disclose my other medical files to you,” he replied, his voice confident and calm.

“Good. But I will need more than that.”

“What do you require, exactly?”

“Everything,” he shook his head, amused at her naivety. “Your birth certificate. School reports. Police checks. Diaries. Pictures. Show me that pretty little face of yours in your early teenage y-“

“I am afraid that cannot be done,” he said, cutting her short.

“Oh. So you are saying you cannot meet my third condition?”

“Yes,” he smashed what was left of his cigarette on an ashtray. “Unfortunately.”

“I thought you needed my help?”

“I cannot risk those files ending up in the wrong hands.”

“They will not end up in the wrong hands,” her voice was, once again, stern. The only difference was that now the smile was gone. “You are not my first client with an enemy in every corner and you would not be the first to trust me with those files.”

“I can't take the chance.”

“Did I ever tell you that you suffer from paranoia?” she remarked, leaning forward as she spoke. “Consider this a part of the treatment.”

“You are very bold to even ask me to do something like that,” he snorted.

“And you are very bold to make me waste my time coming here if you are not willing to do as you're told,” she retorted, not pulling any punches. “Other people may fear you but I don't, and that is why you came to me. Are you going to back down now?”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his temple as he pondered his options.

 _That woman was bound to be his downfall_ , he could tell.

“Deal or no deal?” she insisted. “I need those files.”

“How long do I have?” he asked quietly.

“To make a decision? Two minutes,” she replied, her tone more amiable now that she could detect defeat in his voice. “To gather the files? Two days. We should start on Sunday.”

Alas, they would indeed.

He stood up, and opened the door so that the woman’s assistant, who had been waiting outside, could come in.

“Suoh will lead you back to your car,” Asami said, trying to ignore the bitter taste on his mouth when he realized the vulnerable position he was about to put himself – and his empire – in. “What time on Sunday?”

 

++++

 

Only a few blocks away from there, Takaba Akihito was about to walk into a grocery store to refill the penthouse with cooking supplies.

Someone had to do it, after all.

He shook his head, cursing at himself for still behaving as Asami’s housewife. But then, what could he do? He liked cooking. He liked taking care of the house. And he liked grocery shopping.

To hell with what Asami thought of it. He hadn't even bothered to sleep at home the night before...

He had just picked a shopping basket when he caught sight of a familiar face across the street, and his eyes went wide.

It was Asami’s daughter, alright. _But why the hell did she look like the survivor of a zombie apocalypse?_

True, being a part of that impossible man’s life was likely to take its toll in any human being, but that transformation had been too sudden.

He put down the basket, and hurried out of the store.

“Hey,” he called out, waiting for the traffic lights to change so that he could cross the street. “Maya!”

He saw the girl look around, searching for the source of that voice.

“Maya!” he waved, and waited until the girl’s eyes finally landed on him.

When they did, Akihito gasped. There were dark bags under her bloodshot eyes, her clothes were even dirtier than the day before, and her hair was tucked carelessly in a sloppy bun above her head.

“The hell do you want?” she asked bitterly, when he was finally able to cross the street.

She couldn’t possibly look more different than the spunky girl that he had met the day before.

“Stop staring at me, I know I look hideous,” the girl whispered.

“You look like roadkill, for sure…” he said, causing a spiteful glance to be cast in his direction. “What the hell happened?”

“None of your business.”

“Hey, careful!” he gleefully replied, pointing a finger at her. “Your Asami is showing...”

The glare he got in return would have instantly soured milk.

“That is _not_ funny,” she snarled.

“Oh if you could see what I see…” he chuckled, unable to _not_ find it funny how familiar those golden glares were.

He cleared his throat when he was also reminded of how murderous those eyes could get.

“Seriously, though… What is going on?” he asked again. “You don’t look like someone who had a decent night of sleep.”

“That’s because I didn’t.”

“Ok…” Akihito said, when he realized the girl was not going to give him any further details. “And where are you going now?”

“Sapporo.”

He stopped on his tracks.

“Wait,” he said, frowning. “I thought Kou had told me you were going to the University of Tokyo?”

“Classes haven’t begun yet,” she replied. “I am just having a few preparatory classes.”

“Still… From Sapporo to Tokyo…” Akihito quickened his step to catch up with the girl, who had not stopped walking as she talked. “Doesn’t sound like a realistic daily commute…”

“Look,” she whipped her head around. “I appreciate your concern, I really do,” she said, and her voice was very tired when she spoke. “But back off. I don’t need your pity.”

“Hey, this is not pity,” he replied, furrowing his brow. “Is it an Asami thing, to act all proud and mighty?”

“For the last time,” she hissed, glaring daggers at him. “I am _not_ an Asami.”

“Whatever,” he replied, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Why are you going back to Sapporo? Why do you look like you spent the night in the gutter? Did you spend the night in the gutter?” now that he thought about it, he was really beginning to worry. What if the girl had a problem with drugs or something? “Look, it’s not as if I’ll go around telling people, I j-“

He stopped talking when he realized Maya’s eyes had filled with tears.

“Look…” she said, her voice shaky as she tried not to cry. “I just… I need to go. I don’t belong here.”

“Let me help you,” he replied. “Whatever happened… Running like that is not gonna help.”

The girl merely shook her head.

“I don’t think you understand how bad my relationship with Asami is…” she whispered.

“Wait, is any of his relationships _not_ bad?” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “Except for Suoh and Kirishima, I think everyone in his life kinda finds him an asshole.”

He tilted his head, and saw the beginning of a smile curl the corners of her mouth.

“Which must have its advantages, like...” he continued, “you don’t have to remember your friends’ birthdays or… bother sending them Christmas cards because you just _don’t have_ any friends.”

“That is actually kind of sad…” she said, frowning.

“Feeling bad for your old man?” he asked, crossing his arms.

She narrowed her eyes before answering.

“ _Never._ ”

“You don’t have to go back to Sapporo,” Akihito said, relieved to see some spark back in the girl’s eyes. “You can stay here if you want.”

“Here, where?” Maya asked, raising her arms. “I can’t go back home. I can’t go to your place either, that man would toss me out of the window.”

“Give me a minute,” he replied, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Kou? Hey man… think you can come down to the Poppo Market on Tenkaichi South? It’s kinda urgent...”

 

++++

 

Much later that day, after Kirishima had reported they had successfully sunk half of the Tojo’s current businesses in the stock market, the CEO of Sion finally made time to gather his personal files from all of their elusive virtual locations. Some of them were so well hidden, under aliases he hadn’t used for so long, that he barely remembered they existed. But they did exist, much to his dismay.

His eyes darted through pages and pages of a past he just wanted to forget, and at a certain point, he had to bring himself to a break.

He was done for the day.

His gaze dropped to the tenth glass of water his first assistant had poured him in the past two hours.

“Kirishima…” he muttered, with a raised eyebrow. “You are taking my episode of dehydration way too seriously.”

“I am just making sure you won’t need another IV rehydration, sir,” the man replied, without raising his eyes from his laptop screen. “With all due respect, they did a nasty job trying to find your vein yesterday.”

Asami winced after he rolled up his left sleeve and saw the ugly bruise on the inside of his elbow.

“Did Kimura-sensei really let an intern put a needle in my arm?”

“He said it builds character to submit them to stressful situations,” Kirishima replied, and he had to chuckle at the old man’s philosophy. “And it helps him select the ones that have the right profile for the job.”

“I take this one didn’t.”

Kirishima pursed his lips, his eyebrows going up as he silently agreed.

“That’s very bold of the old man…” Asami continued. “I guess I am losing my edge, if my own private physician finds it funny to use me as a guinea pig…” he whispered, rolling down his sleeve. “Remind me to give him a raise.”

With a sigh, the CEO of Sion grabbed the glass of water and emptied half of it in a single gulp.

“Kei…” he said, his eyes turning very serious as he put the glass down. His secretary immediately closed his laptop – the use of his first name usually preceded sensitive, personal information that was hardly ever shared. “For an entire week, you will be in charge of all the administrative decisions that might determine the future of everything I have built in the past twelve years.”

“I know, sir.”

“I am counting on you to do _whatever it takes_ to protect Sion.”

“ _Hai._ I will not disappoint you, Asami-sama.”

“Hopefully I won’t disappoint myself either…” Asami whispered. There were very few occasions in which he voiced his concerns so openly, but Kirishima Kei was a man of his absolute trust.

“I have seen you overcome worse things, sir.”

“That you have…” he nodded in agreement, tapping his fingers on the desk before standing up. “What time is the charity dinner tomorrow?”

“Eight o’clock, sir. I have already book-“

“I will be taking someone else,” Asami interrupted. “So cancel whomever you picked.”

He saw a slight frown cast a shadow over his secretary’s features.

“I take full responsibility for the consequences,” he replied, his golden eyes glowing dangerously as he headed towards the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I had to break in two parts! Part 2 to be posted soon!


	11. Le petite mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There were demons inside him that fed on nothing but misery, and sadly for him they were the only ones that came to his rescue when he searched for something to offer to the man lying beneath him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A dark chapter, in which Asami ups his Bastard Boyfriend skills to a striking 11. Warning for dubious consent, reference to rape, sadistic and masochistic behaviour.  
>  

 

 

Asami was still thinking about his own reckless decision of taking Akihito to a public event when he reached the penthouse minutes later.

Pushing his concerns to the back of his mind for a moment, he glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven in the evening.

Quietly, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, quickly acknowledging the sounds and flashes of light coming from the TV. The living room, however, was dark, so he made sure to be even quieter as he walked down the hall.

As he had suspected, Akihito, wearing nothing but his boxers and a T-shirt, had fallen asleep on the couch, his head tilted in a strange angle as one of his arms hung limply by his side, the other resting on the sofa arm.

The whole place smelled like curry. When he looked at the dining table, he could see two bowls filled with food and two glasses of orange juice that had probably been waiting for him for many hours now.

He turned his head to look at his lover again, taking in the steady rhythm of the man’s breathing as his chest heaved up and down… the bangs of blond hair covering his eyes… the creamy white skin of his arms… the lean muscles of his legs…

His perfect Takaba Akihito.

Again, thoughts of the event he was supposed to attend the next day made him frown. As it was, with his fiery little lover being kept as a secret, enough danger and harm had come his way. He had been hurt, shot, humiliated and used by his enemies to gain leverage against him.

To expose him to the public meant maximising all the risks, and offering his head on a silver plate to the enemies that were still unaware of his existence.

He took a seat next to the young man, moving smoothly and quietly as to not wake him up.

On the other hand… how long could he keep a wild bird in a cage?

He finally let one of his hands travel to the younger man’s knee, his fingertips sliding gently across his thigh.

“A-Asami…” he heard the young man stutter, one of his eyes still closed as he squared his shoulders. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.”

“Shit! I need… I need t-“ he saw the young man get ready to jump to his feet, and grabbed his arm just in time, forcing him to turn around.

When he did, Asami cupped his head and brought their mouths together, gently pressing their lips together until the the warm, delicate flesh yielded to his and he slid his tongue into his lover’s warm mouth, his thumb brushing against the soft skin of Akihito’s face as the kiss deepened. One of his hands was still resting on the young man’s thigh, close enough to his groin to feel his cock twitch as their tongues danced around each other.

 “About yesterday…I… I…” the young man panted when they finally broke the kiss.

“Shinada told me you were in Kou’s apartment and that you two were not alone,” Asami whispered in response, feeling his own body react to their closeness. “There is nothing else to be said.”

“Did… Did Kirishima tell you… I thought…”

“He didn’t have to, I heard you yelling,” he replied. He really did not want to address a part of his past he had buried so many years ago, and he really did not want to think that maybe Akihito was _already_ looking at him differently, now that he already knew he had abandoned his own daughter. In hindsight, it had been for the best that he had never gotten a chance to tell Akihito about the girl the previous morning. He would have probably made a fool of himself, trying to justify his actions when nothing of what he did could – or should - ever be forgiven or justified.  “As I said… there is nothing to talk about.”

He noticed the precise moment when that familiar glint of disappointment flashed in the photographer’s eyes, and changed the subject before he dug himself into an even deeper hole.

“I have a charity dinner to attend tomorrow,” he said, tucking a strand of blond hair behind Akihito’s ear. “Would you like to join me?”

The young man’s eyes went wide, and Asami immediately realized it was not out of joy.

“ _Eee?!_ Are you out of your mind?” Akihito squeaked, jumping to his feet. “What would you introduce me as, your mistress?” his voice was a mixture of disbelief and outrage. “No, thank you.”

“I would introduce you as Takaba Akihito,” Asami replied, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “I don't owe people an explanation.”

“But you do,” he saw the young man reply, and his fiery eyes showed a distinct note of resigned anger. “I know it is part of your job - whatever job that is, to play the cool bachelor,” he said, his gaze dropping to his own feet as the words left his mouth. “Always showing up at parties with a different celebrity...”

He raised an eyebrow, studying the face of the man that now looked downright defeated. It was true, all of that. For more years than he could remember, such events had been his chance to infiltrate the network of vanity and intrigue that soiled Japan’s upper classes. Attending with celebrities served a double purpose: it helped him build the image of irresistible heterosexual Casanova that the hypocritical social circles he transited in valued so much, and it also drew attraction from the rest of the world to people that meant nothing to him, indirectly protecting the image of those that were of _actual importance_ in his life.

That was the part that the photographer, apparently, was not taking into account.

“Do you go to bed with all of them?” he heard Akihito ask, tilting his chin upwards as he crossed his arms, feigning indifference so poorly he doubted the boy was even trying to look unaffected. “Is that part of the package?”

“Why, are you jealous?” Asami quipped, trying to ignore the anger bubbling inside his chest.

A conversation with Akihito that did not end up with them at each other’s throats? Now _that_ was yet to be seen.

“Forget I ever asked,” was the other man’s response.

“If you answer my question, then I will answer yours.”

“Well, fuck you,” he saw Akihito spit out, his face a glowing red.

Asami grabbed the other man’s arm before he marched out of the room, but much to his surprise, Akihito broke free of his grasp with incredible ease, apparently fuelled by the escalating intensity of his anger.

“Not tonight,” the young man hissed, before quickening his step and running into his room.

“Akihito,” when he heard Akihito slam the door behind him, Asami felt he had finally caught up with his counterpart’s anger. “If you lock the door I will shoot it open.”

He stopped in front of said door, seeing red as his breathing became more laboured.

“Akihito… I am warning you…”

His hand reached for the Beretta snuggled against his chest, but before he had the chance of pulling the gun from its holster, the photographer blasted the door open, and marched past him, buckling up his jeans.

“Controlling bastard…” the young man hissed, picking up the backpack that was resting against the couch and disappearing behind the main door.

Asami waited until his own heartbeat slowed down to move from the spot where he had been standing as the scene unfolded. He felt uncomfortably cold as he looked around the empty, now strangely hostile living room. Every time Akihito walked away like that, the whole place seemed to echo his anger, even in his absence.

“No, you little idiot,” he said, walking slowly towards the kitchen, “I do not go to bed with all of them.”

He poured himself a glass of scotch, and the golden liquid had just touched his lips when he heard Kirishima’s voice in his head, saying that alcohol was not considered “replenishing fluids”, and therefore, should be avoided by people suffering from dehydration. Like a rebellious little kid, Asami tilted the glass, determined to go against his good sense, but the prospect of ending in a hospital for the second time in less than 24 hours made his courage falter.

He put the glass down, and the lack of his usual sedative made his discomfort reach new heights.

He narrowed his eyes, hands curled into fists as his thoughts ran wild.

 _Takaba Akihito was in for a tough lesson_ , if he really thought he could walk away from him like that.

He picked up his phone, and waited for the young man to answer after he dialled his number.

“ _What?”_ came the snappy response.

“You really have to stop storming out of our place every time you get angry. It is beginning to annoy me.”

_“Goodnight, Asam-“_

“Yes, my job requires that I control rumours about my personal life,” the older man interjected. “So yes, I play the cool bachelor. In the past, I would go to bed with whomever I attended those events with, yes. But I haven't been in the mood these days.”

His words were met with silence on the other side of the line.

“Come back home,” Asami said, his command sounding more like a plead to his own ears.

He hung up, feeling even more annoyed at himself. He was not cut for all those… _relationship shenanigans._

Less than five minutes later, Akihito was back, and his fury had apparently subsided.

“Did you even make it to the elevator or were you just chilling in the hallway?” Asami asked, while taking off his jacket.

“Yes, I was jealous, ok?” he heard Akihito admit, his voice low and serious. “I want to be the only one in your life.”

He knew what Akihito was expecting to hear in return the moment he uttered those words, his hazel eyes pleading as he stared at him.

He knew exactly what he had to say.

But what that man wanted from him, was the only thing _he could not give._

He had lost that ability - that is, if he ever had it at all- a long time ago.

His heart was not within anyone's reach.

The noble thing to do, he also knew, was to let Akihito go. Let him find someone that could live up to those expectations.

But he was not ready to give him that either.

And so, as it was, there was nothing left for him but to drag his lover back into the hell he was trapped in.

He pulled the younger man into a searing kiss, one that came dangerously close to draw blood as he nibbled at the photographer's lips. He felt his lover's blunt nails dig into his shoulder, his other hand gripping the fabric of his shirt as he they pressed their hips together, their feet dragging themselves to the bedroom.

His own hands, in the meantime, were too busy ridding Akihito of his clothes. When there was nothing else between him and the young man's skin, he let his gaze travel south, to the throbbing evidence of his lover's desire, and then up, to see the hazel eyes baring his soul to him, glowing with that usual absolute surrender, that _trust._

A gift he did not deserve, but one that he would take anyway.

He turned Akihito around, and pushed his body onto the bed, while unbuckling his own belt and unzipping his pants.

There was no need to undress. He would make it fast this time.

He straddled the young man's thighs, pinning him against the mattress as he grabbed a handful of blond hair, pulling his head upwards.

"Did you think I was cheating on you?" he hissed into Akihito's ear.

Other than a sharp intake of breath, there was no answer.

His grip on the blond locks tightened, and he pulled on the strands harder than the first time.

"Answer the question," he hissed again, between gritted teeth.

He saw the photographer cast him a sideways glare.

"Answer the question or this is going to be a very dry fuck," he snarled. 

He shuddered when wide hazel eyes stared at him, the obvious fear in them making his stomach turn, out of shame, and out of _pleasure_.

His cock twitched between his legs.

There were demons inside him that fed on nothing but misery, and sadly for him they were the only ones that came to his rescue when he searched for something to offer to the man lying beneath him.

He aligned the head of his rock hard length with the unprepared entrance of his lover's body.

"A very dry fuck it is, then."

"Y-yes!" he heard Akihito’s terrified voice as he struggled to avoid the impending damage. "Yes, I thought you were cheating on me!"

Asami released a breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding, and let go of the other man’s hair.

"You think very little of me, don't you?" he said, reaching for the bottle of lube inside one of the drawers in the nightstand.

"I can't read minds," Akihito whispered, his fearful eyes still darting back and forth as Asami's knees kept him in place.

Without much preamble, but an excessive amount of lube, he shoved two fingers inside his lover's tight little hole, and saw his body tense with the sudden intrusion.

"This is not about reading minds," Asami muttered in response, his voice far from steady.

Beneath him, the lithe body had finally begun to relax, his muscles loosening up despite the obvious anger in the face of the man glaring at him.

"Well, even worse then..." he saw his beautiful, fiery, _unbreakable_ Akihito hiss at him, no tears falling from his eyes as he dared to go toe to toe with him while he descended into the abyss. "...because I don't know what _‘this’_ is."

Asami steadied his breath, sweat dripping from his forehead as he withdrew his fingers. He quickly got rid of his shirt, eyes closed as he fisted his throbbing cock, trying to reorganise his thoughts.

"This, Takaba, _this_..." he whispered, guiding his length into the other man's body without giving it any time to accommodate its girth, feeling the muscles protest at the invasion, a strangled cry of pain ripping through Akihito's throat as he pushed forward relentlessly, until he was fully lodged inside him. " _This_ is your everything."

He watched as the young man gripped the sheets, panting, sweating, trying to breathe through his pain, and took that moment to spread the other man’s legs open with a nudge of his knees. He was about to rearrange the slender hips so that they were tilted upwards, when the photographer did so of his own accord, offering himself to him, despite the pain.

Or, more likely, _because_ of it.

Akihito’s cock – he could now see - was just as hard as his.

And, just as him, he probably hated himself for that.

As if to punish them both, Asami thrust hard, deep, fast, and if it hadn’t been for the considerable amount of lube he had used, he was sure he was about to tear his lover apart when Akihito’s body jerked forward and they reached their peak at the very same time.

He pulled out, and let his body drop limply to the bed.

There were orgasms that filled a person with unexplainable bliss, and then there were those that left them feeling bitter and empty in their aftermath. A brief look at his lover left no doubt as to what kind he had just provided them both.

His own chest felt heavy with what he quickly identified as growing guilt - by his side, Akihito had rolled on his side and was now facing the wall. He reached for the young man's arm, trying to get him to turn around and face him. What for, he didn't know. He had no intention of apologising, after all.

"Let go, Asami," he heard his lover groan as he kicked and punched, trying to break free from his grasp. "Ain't you done already..."

"Don't turn your back on me."

"Funny... My back didn't seem to bother you five minutes ago."

When he finally managed to turn the boy around, he saw his eyes were dry, glowing with anger, and he couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief.

Akihito’s fury was something he could live with. His tears, _not so much._

He realized that his lover’s eyes had shifted to his arm, and it took a while for his brain to register what the young man was frowning at.

“What is that?” he heard the photographer ask, as he pointed to the ugly bruise on the inside of his elbow.

“It's nothing,” he replied, quickly bringing himself to a sitting position.

“Did you get hurt?” the boy insisted, reaching out to touch his arm. “What happened?”

“I said it's _nothing,_ ” he snapped, his voice icy cold when he pulled his arm away from the other man’s grasp.

Of course, he could always say he had needed an IV because he was dehydrated, which was true, but things were bad enough without Akihito finding out what had taken him to the hospital in the first place.

“I don't deserve this,” he heard the photographer whisper, before jumping off the bed – just to fall on his knees, wincing in pain.

It was Asami's turn to reach for the other man’s arm, just to be immediately dismissed.

“No,” he heard Akihito say, as he forced himself up, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You see... I can put up with a lot of your shit, but this…”

The young man shook his head, his eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears.

“Akihito...”

“Oh, _now_ we are back to first names, good to know!” the younger man snapped while picking up his clothes from the floor. “Look, I get it,” he said, getting dressed as he spoke. “There is a lot going on, you don't wanna talk about it. Fine,” Asami saw him buckle up his jeans and then limp towards him. “But don't you ever, _ever_ threaten to hurt me again, you son of a bitch!” he spat out, his mouth an inch away from his face as he glared at him. “ _’A very dry fuck...’_ “ Akihito snorted, turning on his heels and heading to the door. “Seriously?”

He looked over his shoulder to stare at the older man, with an obvious glint of disappointment.

“And just so you know, your cock is _not_ my everything,” the photographer whispered, before stepping out of the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Left alone on the bed, Asami Ryuichi felt like he was free falling into darkness.

His head hurt.

He searched for his phone inside his pants pocket, and mindlessly dialled Kirishima’s number.

“Kirishima…” he said, covering his eyes with his arm. He felt exhausted, but he doubted he would be able to sleep, especially now that he was not taking his medicine. “Do you have all the files I asked for?”

_“Almost.”_

“How much longer do you need?”

_“Two hours or so. Maybe less.”_

Asami took a deep breath.

“I am flying to Tsumino tonight,” he said. “Get the jet ready and contact Suoh.”

_“But sir… I thought you had agreed to go to the island on Sunday?”_

“Plans have changed.”

There was a moment of silence on the other side of the line.

 _“What about the charity dinner tomorrow evening?”_ he heard his secretary ask.

Ah… _the damn dinner._

If only he hadn’t brought it up earlier on…

“I am not attending,” he replied, and his tone left no room for discussion. “Let me know when you are finished.”

With that, he hung up, forcing himself off the bed.

He had bags to pack.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "La petite mort" is a term that refers to the "spiritual release that comes with orgasm or to a short period of melancholy or transcendence as a result of the expenditure of the "life force", but curiously enough, it can also be used when "an undesired thing has happened to a person and has affected them so much that "a part of them dies inside".
> 
> ** Ok, another quick note. I do think Akihito likes it rough, but he, of all people, knows that there is a difference between erotic punishment and gratuitous sexual violence with the intent to *damage*.  The threat of a “very dry fuck” brings back horrible memories and Asami knows that, which pisses Akihito off even more.  I find his courage to call Asami on his bullshit (without shedding a single tear) kinda awesome, even though I know, and you know too, that he will probably cry himself to sleep as soon as anger leaves his system.


	12. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akihito can't get away from trouble, and Asami begins his treatment, unaware of a terrible presage.
> 
> “To think that in the end, we are all like domino pieces... One wrong move anywhere in the circuit and we get knocked down...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference: 
> 
> Yokai: class of supernatural monsters, spirits and demons in Japanese folklore.
> 
> Hannya: mask used in many Japanese plays, said to be demonic and dangerous but also sorrowful and tormented, displaying the complexity of human emotions.
> 
> Yama: the god of death in East Asian mythology, usually portrayed as a “large man with a scowling red face, bulging eyes, and a long beard”.
> 
>  
> 
> Gee! Three demonic references in the same chapter cannot mean good news, right? 
> 
> Right.

On his way to Kou's apartment, Akihito made a strategic stop at the nearest 24x7 convenience store.

He definitely needed some painkillers. And some ointment. And... candy. His grumbling stomach could do with some comfort food, especially now that he realised he hadn't even eaten the curry he had prepared for dinner.

He was about to pay for his purchase when the slick mess between his legs made him wince.

Now that he thought about it, he should have at least taken a shower before getting dressed and fleeing the penthouse. Did he even have any clean underwear at his friend's place?

He decided not to take any chances, and turned around to get himself a package of ugly-looking, cheap boxers. He had no problems going commando, but now that Asami's daughter would be sleeping under the same roof as him, last thing he needed was the girl to think he was a shameless bimbo that walked around the place with no underwear on.

 _Asami's daughter,_ sleeping at Kou's place, just like him.

His eyes dropped to the bag with the products he had just purchased, and he sighed.

What a mess his life had become.

He glanced at his watch, and cursed. Earlier that day, after Kou had agreed to take Maya in for the time being, Akihito had promised to come over and cook them both one of his specialties: _zosui._ Not only had he completely lost track of time at the penthouse and missed dinnertime, but now he would also surprise his friend by once again spending the night.

Kou was going to kill him.

Akihito reached for his phone, and finally saw his friend's long list of missed calls. Standing in front of his friend's door, he wondered what he was going to say to justify showing up nearly four hours late. _"I feel asleep waiting for Maya's father to get home, and then we ended up having sex"_ did not sound like a good conversation starter, he pondered, knocking quietly on the door. Neither did _"I had to stop at the store to get clean boxers because the ones I am currently wearing are dripping with his-"_

"Akihito!" he heard Kou exclaim. "Dude, where were you?"

"Sorry..." the photographer replied, noticing the girl in the living room stretch her neck to steal a glance at him. "Some... _stuff..._ came up."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Maya raise an eyebrow, sizing him up.

"I... I just need to take a shower real quick, ok?" he muttered, staring at his own feet as he blushed violently. He was positive he was reeking of sex. "Be right back."

Avoiding the suspicious looks being thrown at him, Akihito locked himself in the bathroom, dropped his shopping bag to the floor, and began to undress, trying to ignore the pain in his lower back.

With a certain amount of worry, he slowly pulled down his boxers to assess the extent of today's damage. Much to his relief, there was nothing alarming going on. Other than the usual swelling and ache, his body seemed to be fine, despite the rougher-than-usual treatment Asami had given him.

He bit his lip as he turned on the shower, jumbled memories flashing before his eyes.

He remembered Fei Long raping him for the first time. Asami calling him a little slut. Then the Russians calling him a slut. Sakazaki...

He stifled a sob.

Asami's eyes had been so cold tonight.

True, he had probably acted like a child by turning the man down when he invited him to the stupid party. But he had been caught off guard - he didn't even know where he and Asami stood relationship-wise.

He closed his eyes, letting warm water ease the pain in his body, hoping it would also soothe his mind.

All the things he had done... All the things that had been done to him... The one thing that had kept him sane was the possibility that Asami Ryuichi would always have his back.

Now he didn't even know anymore.

Akihito pressed his forehead against the cold tiles, and let tears wash his face as his shoulders shook. For the first time, he had come dangerously close to confessing his feelings. He had admitted to being jealous, he had admitted he wanted to be the only one in the man's life, and all he got in return was a threat and a quick fuck.

Count on that asshole to derail his life...

He stepped out of the shower after cleaning himself thoroughly, and rubbed the fog off the mirror to study his reflection.

His fingers ghosted over the hickeys on his neck... The bite marks on his collarbone and around his nipples... The bruises on his hips, where Asami's fingers always dug deep when he came...

That man would have to do better than that if he really wanted him by his side.

"Yo, Akihito," Kou's voice brought him back to reality. "You alive in there?"

Akihito quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door just enough to make himself heard.

"Sorry, man..." he whispered.

"Dude, it's three people for one bathroom now..." Kou replied, matching his low tone. "And now there is a girl..."

 _And not just any girl,_ Akihito's brain added, and his eyes went wide.

"Uhh... Kou..." he said, his eyes falling to all the marks in his body - the evidence of his and Asami's very heated sex life. "Can you get me my shorts and a t-shirt? I forgot to bring them in and I don't want Maya to see me naked."

He heard his friend snort behind the door.

" _Oho_ , I don't wanna see that either, man..." Kou said, just to return a minute later with a small pile of clothes folded in his arms. "Here. Now get out cause-"

"Five minutes," Akihito quickly replied, reaching for the contents of his shopping bag before slipping into fresh clothes.

After he had brushed his teeth and made sure the bathroom was clean and tidy for its next user, Akihito stepped out of the bathroom with a couple of tablets in his hand.

"What are those for?"

Maya's voice made him jump. She was standing in front of him, arms crossed as she blocked his way into the kitchen.

"Headaches," he lied, taking a large gulp from a bottle of water to wash the painkillers down. "Boy, I am starving..."

He then proceeded to take a step towards the stove, where he could see steam coming out of a large pan - just to be gently pushed back.

"It's past midnight," she said, tilting her chin upwards with a defiant grin. "You should have been here four hours ago. But you were not, so no food for you," she said, nudging him with a smirk that Akihito couldn't quite identify as playful or threatening.

He narrowed his eyes.

_Oh, that girl was trying to start a war._

"Look," he whispered, "I know you are new here and all, but here is rule number 1," he took a step closer to the girl, who was looking at him with a mix of surprise and apprehension. "No one gets between Takaba Akihito and food," he said, his voice deadly serious. "Those who tried did not survive to tell the tale."

He let out a smirk of his own, and with a gentle, yet firm motion, pushed her out of the way.

A startled chuckle behind him made him smile.

"I see you are feeling better," he said, while pouring himself a bowl of rice soup. "And you look refreshed," he turned around, letting his eyes take in the slender figure who now had her slick black hair cascading beautifully down one of her shoulders, eyes lively and sharp. Her arms had bandages on them, and her clothes were clean and smelled like laundry detergent. "How was your day?"

"Better than yours, apparently," she replied, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter, next to him. "Your eyes are puffy."

He swallowed, and forced himself to smile after shaking his head.

"Nah, I'm okay," he whispered. "I am just a bit tired."

She nodded, an arched eyebrow showing she was really not buying that explanation.

"Ugh, Kou!" he yelled, making a face after taking the first spoon of the soup to his mouth. "Why does the _zosui_ taste like medicine? What kind of spice did you use?"

"I was the one that cooked it," he heard Maya say, casually looking at her nails as she spoke. "I asked Kou to call you and check the ingredients but you didn't pick up the phone, so I had to improvise..."

"The ingredients are leftovers," he sighed. "How can anyone mess up a recipe that takes leftovers?"

"It is easier than you imagine..." she replied, scratching her chin. "Is it really that bad? Kou said it was delicious."

"Oh, I am sure he did..." Akihito whispered, chuckling.

"Did I hear my name?" his friend asked, walking into the kitchen.

"Guys..." the photographer replied, his voice turning serious. "We need to talk."

"We sure do," Kou said, crossing his arms. "I ran out of tea and I have no idea where everyone is gonna sleep, we need to talk alright..."

"Yeah, about that too," Akihito added, as the three of them headed to the living room and sat around the coffee table.

He, of course, not without great difficulty - he couldn't help but wince when his abused bottom touched the hard floor.

"You sure you're okay?" he heard Maya ask as he placed a pillow under him and tried to make himself comfortable.

"Yeah. I just... fell when I was getting off the bus and..." he whispered, trying to come up with a convincing lie as his eyes scanned the room in search for inspiration, "...and landed on a glass..." he frowned at his own words, but now that he had started it, he would go all the way. "On... on broken... glass."

"A glass, huh?" Maya snorted. "Good thing you didn't land on a _gun_ , at least..."

Kou gasped, and buried his face on the glass of water he was holding.

"You are not letting that one die down, are you?" Akihito said, narrowing his eyes.

"I wish I could, trust me," the girl replied.

"Yeah, me too..." Kou whispered.

"Well then, here is a suggestion," the photographer snarled, the tips of his ears going pink. "Stop bringing it up all the time, and eventually, _it will die down!"_

"Fine, whatever," Maya waved a hand dismissively. "What is it you wanna talk about?"

"You tell me."

"Hmm?"

"What happened to you yesterday?" Akihito asked, his face serious as he stared at the girl sitting across from him.

"Nothing," Maya replied, her eyes drifting to the floor.

"Look," Akihito pressed on, noticing that her chin was trembling slightly. "I can help you, Kou can help you too, but we need to understand what is going down."

By his side, Kou nodded in agreement.

"I... I can't get you involved, ok?" the girl replied, still avoiding his gaze. "The less you know, the better. Things are bad already, my mother..."

Her voice broke, but she tilted her chin upwards and blinked away tears.

"Sorry," she said. "You should stay out of this."

"Maya, I am an investigative photographer," he replied. "If you don't tell me, I have other ways to find out. I figured we could save some time here."

"Why do you care?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"Because..."

Akihito paused. _Why did he care?_ He had known that girl for less than two days. In those two days, they had talked for less than an hour in total. Still, despite the circumstances, or _precisely due to the circumstances_ , he already felt an unexplainable need to keep her safe.

"I don't know, ok? I don't know. I am just... following my gut, and my gut is telling me to help you. I don't know why. Just..." He took a deep breath. "This is alien to me as well, ok? I... Just let me help you."

Maya’s gaze finally met his, and he was once again reminded of the similarities between the girl and her father – the biggest one being, of course, those powerful golden eyes.

“I hacked the Sion,” she said, crossing her arms. “I was lurking around when I found this directory filled with subfolders named after flowers. I found one called _‘Lily of the Valley’_ … I was curious, so I downloaded it,” she continued, with a shrug. “When I realized it had info on Chinese dealers and stuff, I deleted it. As in, I overwrote everything until the data was no longer recoverable, I eviscerated all the damn files,” she said, frowning. “And still, don’t ask me how, the Tojo Clan received said files in an email, apparently sent by the Omi Alliance.”

“Ok, you kinda lost me at ‘eviscerated’,” Akihito said, trying to understand what had happened… and failing, “but did you just say Tojo Clan and Omi Alliance?” he asked, wincing as he brought himself to a standing position. “As in, the two biggest crime syndicates in Japan?”

The girl nodded in response. Next to her, Kou’s mouth was hanging open.

“You’re a hacker?” the dark-haired man asked. “Wait, what’s your handle?”

“Y0kai,” she replied, with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you wanna know? You a hacker, too?”

Akihito turned around to look at his friend, with a similarly inquisitive expression. He didn’t know Kou was into that kind of thing.

“No, n-no, me?” he stuttered. “No. Haha, no…. I was just… curious.”

“It’s not as if you would know me anyway, that handle is recent,” she added. “I had to change it because… I have a record,” she paused, deliberately avoiding their eyes. “I used to be Sakura Storm.”

Akihito’s face remained blank. Was that supposed to mean something? When he heard Kou whistle, he realized that apparently… yes.

“Wait a minute…” the photographer heard his friend say as he too stood up, face scrunched up as if he were deep in thought. “Sakura Storm? Crashed fifteen hundred and ten systems in one day?” he asked, his voice low and serious despite the maniac gleam in his eyes. “Biggest crash in history, front page, The Japan Times? How long ago was that, four years?”

“Five,” she replied, trying not to smile. “And a half.”

“Yo, man!” Kou cried out, throwing his hands to his head. “I thought you were a dude! Yo, Akihito! This is Sakura Storm!”, he continued, barely able to contain his absolute fascination. “This is far out!”

Akihito was looking at him with narrowed eyes.

_Not a hacker my ass._

“She’s Sakura Storm, man!” Kou went on, bowing respectfully. “Wooo, haha!”

“Hey, fanboy,” Akihito slapped the other man’s head. “Give it a break. You,” he continued, pointing an accusing finger at the girl, who had stood up as well. “Did you know that there are rumours that the Omi and the Tojo are about to go to war against each other?”

“Yeah, I heard the rumours…” she said, her face serious again. “But their war isn’t against each other, not this time.”

The photographer swallowed, fearing he knew exactly what the girl was implying. Much to his relief, Kou seemed too busy typing on his laptop to pay attention to their conversation – he really didn’t want to drag his friend even further into trouble.

“I think their war is against Asami Ryuichi,” she completed.

“Shit…” Akihito leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling very ill. Japan’s two strongest syndicates against a single man? As powerful as he knew Asami was, that put him in great danger.

“Akihito…” Maya whispered. “My mother is with the Tojo, she responds directly to the Chairman,” she explained, her voice shaking slightly as she spoke. “She will suffer the consequences of whatever I do. Can you understand why I really should not get involved in any of this?”

“Yeah…” he nodded in response. “Yeah, of course…”

“I don’t think you should get involved either…” she said, and he realized she seemed genuinely concerned. “It’s too dangerous.”

He pondered her words for a while, and was about to open his mouth to respond when Kou’s shriek made the two of them jump.

“Guys!” he yelled. “You’re not gonna believe this!”

“What?” they both asked, at the same time.

Kou closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before speaking again.

“There is a new episode of Sherlock!”

Akihito’s body went immediately slack. Next to him, Maya had let out a relieved sigh.

“What, are you guys kidding me?” Kou squeaked. “More than two years waiting for this, and that is the reaction I get? Come on, guys, you’re killing me!”

The girl let out a chuckle as she bent down to look at the laptop screen.

“Are you sure it is not the Christmas special?”

Akihito heard his friend scoff.

“Please, are you serious?”

“Well, then,” the girl sat by his side, rubbing her hands excitedly. “What are you waiting for? Hit ‘play’!”

“Hold on, I’ll get the popcorn ready!” Akihito interjected.

He quickly walked into the kitchen, and his expression immediately hardened.

After throwing a bag of popcorn into the microwave, he took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he found Mitarai’s number.

 

_Meet me tomorrow at 11, in front of the Millenium Tower. It's about the syndicates._

 

His eyes danced over the words he had just typed. Before he had time to change his mind, he pressed ‘send’, grabbed the popcorn that had just finished popping and headed back to the living room.

Dangerous as it was, he could not afford to stay out of that one.

 

++++

 

It was three in the morning when Asami Ryuichi arrived at Tsumino, with a particularly heavy folder under his arm.

“Asami-san,” he was welcomed by Majima Makoto, who seemed unfazed by the fact he was two days early. “ _Konnichiwa!”_

Her secretary, on the other hand, could not look more distraught by his presence. Asami bowed politely, his eyes never leaving the Chinese woman’s pale face.

“So…” he heard Makoto say. “I suppose you are anxious to get started.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I have already transferred another 42 million yen to your account.”

“Oh,” the woman frowned. “Are you planning to stay here for two weeks, then?”

“No,” Asami answered, ignoring the puzzled look in the counsellor’s face. “I just felt I should compensate you for the inconvenience of my early arrival.”

He reached for the Dunhills inside the pocket of his trench coat, but paused after leading one to his lips.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes,” was the friendly response. “But go ahead, you sound like you really need a hit right now.”

He looked at Suoh, whose face was impassive by his side, and then to the Chinese secretary, who was now avoiding his eyes.

 _What was that supposed to mean?_ That he sounded stressed? _Desperate?_

He put the cigarette back in the packet, frowning.

“Were you able to gather the information I required?” he heard Makoto ask.

His fingers unconsciously clutched the folder containing, essentially, _his entire life_.

“Yes…” he whispered. “But I didn’t have time to braille all of it.”

“That will not be a problem.”

There was a moment of silence, in which nothing but the chirping of crickets and the sound of waves crashing against the shore could be heard.

“Li,” the woman told her secretary, grasping her white cane. “Show Suoh-san to his room, will you?”

Asami waited until the two assistants disappeared onto a hallway to speak again.

“This island is bigger than I imagined…” he said, as the two of them walked slowly past a pond, towards the pavilion where the main house was located.

“It is… Tomorrow morning I will show you around, if you want to.”

His eyes took in the simple, yet beautifully decorated main hall when she pushed the front door open. Between two spiral staircases, was the painting of a Hannya surrounded by flowers that seemed to float on a pitch-black river.

He recognized the image, but thought it would not be wise to bring it up at the moment. Perhaps there were boundaries he was not meant to cross _yet_.

“I usually assign cabins to my clients, but I suppose you won’t mind staying in the main house?” he heard the woman by his side ask, as she unlocked a door at the far end of one of the corridors. “ I have arranged for Suoh to be in a room on the same floor as you.”

He remained silent. So far, it felt just like a business stay in a hotel. Perhaps the whole thing wouldn’t be so complicated, after all.

“Are you nervous?” Makoto asked.

“No,” he replied, and it was the truth. “I’m tired.”

“Of yourself?”

His lips curled in a smirk before he answered.

“Maybe...”

“That is a good beginning,” she replied, her tone amiable and casual. “The documents?”

Only then did he realize that the two of them were standing in front of a safe.

“What is this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh dear,” she replied, turning her head around. “Are we in the right room? Don’t tell me we are in the kitchen.”

“We are not in the kitchen.”

“Good. Then, I suppose that what I just opened is not the fridge,” she said, her lips curling into a smirk of her own. “Could you provide visual confirmation that what I just opened is a _safe,_ Asami-san?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice dry. “It is a safe.”

“The documents?” she asked again, outstretching her hands.

He clutched the folder even harder.

“Asami-san?”

He was experiencing a moment of internal struggle. Part of him was telling him to turn around and go back home, because that woman was trying to rope him into games he really did not feel like playing. Another part of him, however, was just too tired to put up a fight.

He handed the documents to the woman by his side.

“Thank you very much,” the woman replied, putting the folder inside the safe, and snapping it close. “This safe has a palm lock and an iris structure recognition mechanism. In other words, after you put in your biometrics, you will be the only one with access to what is inside.”

Asami narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what exactly the woman was getting at.

“You’re not even going to open the folder?” he asked.

“No,” she answered casually. “In time, you will tell me everything I need to know about you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then your 42 million yen was a really bad investment,” she shrugged. “Or should I say, 84 million?”

Asami was not sure if what he was feeling was relief or anger – probably, a combination of both.

“Then the point of me wasting my time to get all these documents is…”

“Trust,” Makoto answered, her expression still friendly despite the slightly harder tone of her voice. “The only way we can get this to work, is by you trusting me.”

In silence, he studied the tiny figure in front of him, with her short hair, delicate features and fragile frame. But beyond all that, the woman in front of him had something rare: the guts to challenge him.

She had earned his respect.

“I know it was not easy, but you did it anyway,” she completed. “I expected no less from a man like you.”

He watched as she gave him a key, and turned around to walk towards the door.

“This is your room, by the way, and that is the key,” she said. “Do what you want with the safe, and with the documents inside it. But be aware that if you choose to burn them, all rooms are equipped with fire and smoke detectors,” she stopped, and turned her head. “I would go for a bonfire, outside, of course. It is much more symbolic and… less risky.”

Asami watched her as she bowed, and took her leave after addressing him for one last time.

“Try and get some rest.”

 

++++

 

Five minutes later, Majima Makoto was knocking at the door of Li Jiao’s room.

She heard the hurried footsteps, and the familiar voice of her assistant.

“Majima-sama.”

“Li, my apologies for waking you up.”

“I was not asleep, ma’am.”

“Can I come in?”

“Please!” she felt her secretary hold her hand, and lead her to an armchair inside. “Here.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like some tea?” she heard the Chinese woman ask.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Makoto replied. “I won’t take long.”

She paused, and in the silence of the room, her ears could pick up the shallow breathing patterns of the woman sitting across from her.

“You see… Asami-san seems to be very intuitive,” she said. “He probably noticed your unusual reaction to his arrival.”

“M-Majima-sama…”

“There was a moment I felt your hands grow very cold, and your pulse was abnormally fast,” the woman explained. “It must have shown in your face.”

Her words were met with silence, so she continued.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“I…” her assistant’s voice was hesitant and barely audible when she replied. “I saw it,” Li said. “Behind him, by his left side.”

“Ah... I see.”

Makoto let her thoughts drift to the day, more than 12 years ago, when Li Jiao, her faithful assistant, told her something similar - that she had seen _"it"_ hovering like a dark cloud over her head.

 _"It"_ being the shadow of Yama - the Chinese woman would have then explained. Coming from a family of strong beliefs and superstitions, Li Jiao claimed she had the strange ability of ‘foreseeing the demise of people close to those unfortunate enough to receive the visit of the god of death’.

Makoto, at the time, found the whole thing tremendously absurd.

_Seven days later, she was burying her husband._

Even so, she would have rendered it a sinister coincidence, hadn't it been for the fact that in the years to come, her secretary would make other predictions of the kind with a staggering accuracy rate of 100%.

Whether the fatal victim would be a parent, a kid, a lover or a friend, the woman could never tell. But the unsettling fact remained: whenever Li Jiao had claimed to see death heading towards someone's way, death was sure to follow.

“Did you see it when you met him earlier this morning?” Makoto asked, her voice quiet as she spoke.

“No, ma’am.”

“That's intriguing…” the counsellor replied, resting her face in one of her hands. “I wonder what changed in the grand scheme of things, in the few hours that went by…” she whispered. “To think that in the end, we are all like domino pieces... One wrong move anywhere in the circuit and we get knocked down...”

They were silent for a long minute, until her assistant spoke again.

“Will you tell him?”

“Should I?” Makoto replied. “I wonder... if it would be of any benefit to him… I do not believe in superstitions, but I know the power of suggestion,” she said. “You tell him that someone close to him will die, you put him in a no-win situation. If he chooses not to act on that knowledge and something happens, he will blame himself for not doing anything to stop it. But if does choose to act and something happens anyway... He might come to the conclusion that he was the one that triggered the tragedy.”

She paused, memories of her own past filling her thoughts.

“Did I tell you, Li, that I completely chose to ignore your prediction, until the day Majima told me he was attending a meeting with a rival clan?” she said. “Yeah... Then I remembered your words. That I would lose someone close to me, and for the first time, I feared that something would happen to him.”

“So, I convinced him not to attend. We went to the movies instead, you remember that, don't you?” she asked. “And as you must also remember, because you were there... we were about to into the mall when he was shot by an Omi officer.”

She felt a pang in her heart as the sounds of that day played in the back of her mind.

“So I started thinking... What if he had gone to the meeting instead? With his usual security team? In the safety of his own office, chances were that he would have survived….” Makoto said, her voice filled with resignation and sadness. “I realised that, in trying to stop his death, I might have caused it.”

She shook her head, and smiled sadly.

“Or maybe not, but I will never know, will I?” she asked. “That is a doubt I have to live with. I don't get an answer.”

Her secretary remained silent, but the slight change in her breathing pattern made her suspect that the woman was either crying, or about to.

“Anyway…” Makoto said, standing up. “It is very late. I guess we all could do with some sleep, right?”

Her hand quickly located the doorknob, and she stepped outside.

“Goodnight, Li.”

Left alone with her own thoughts as she walked to her own bedroom, Makoto suspected, however, that none of them would be able to sleep well that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Both Makoto and her husband in this story were inspired by their [Ryu ga Gotoku's counterparts.](http://shukukaja.tumblr.com/post/142546018235/mild-spoilers-majimas-storyline-in-0-made-me)
> 
> 2) Kou's fangirling was totally inspired by Hackers' Lord Nikon. I regret nothing! XD


	13. Losing control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami struggles with his need to control and the realization that he is actually losing it, while somewhere in Tokyo, Akihito oficially signs himself up for trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first day of Asami's treatment is very light and refreshing, basically because he is still able to keep the gates of his private hell carefully shut. But when they finally break open... things won't be so nice, lol.

From behind the lenses of his wayfarer sunglasses, Asami watched the waves breaking against the shore, with Suoh by his side. The two of them smoked in silence, enjoying the breeze and the welcoming warmth of the sun that had risen many hours before.

The dark-haired man adjusted his glasses, and took another gulp from the bottle of water he was holding. His morning had basically consisted of a quick tour of the island, in which Makoto had shown him the village and its residents – mostly former yakuza who had refused to join another family after their patriarch, Majima Goro, was murdered.

He remembered the woman telling him she had considered building an orphanage in the island, to bring the remote village some _new blood_. He chuckled. An orphanage… in the middle of an island crawling with all sorts of maniacs. Luckily, Makoto herself had realized what a terrible idea that would be.

His thoughts were interrupted when a slim, long-haired Japanese girl wearing a kimono kneeled by Suoh’s side, and refilled the empty cup on the table next to his chair with some steaming hot amber liquid.

“What is that?” Asami asked, taking off his sunglasses.

“Chrysanthemum with honey,” the girl replied.

“I’ll have mine without the honey...”

The girl nodded politely, and quickly walked back to the main house, leaving the two of them alone again.

“I wonder how much more tea they will make us drink…” Asami heard his head of security ask, as he slowly took the cup to his lips, frowning.

He really had to be grateful for having such loyal subordinates. Suoh could have easily turned down the infinitude of teas that had been poured into their cups since the sun rose – from the harmless and familiar pomegranate green tea to the rather suspicious looking Ashwagandha lemon infusion. He was not the one undergoing treatment, anyway. Still, the bulky blond assistant had been diligent in keeping him company as he endured his tea-induced detox ritual. He loooked at the cup Suoh was holding, and wondered if he should be drinking those things at all. Majima Makoto could easily poison them both, burn their bodies, and no one would ever know. 

But his instincts were telling him to trust her, and his instincts had yet to fail him.

Still...

Asami cracked his knuckles, reaching for another Dunhill as he began to feel uneasy. The fact that his phone - or any phone – had no reception in that island only made him feel even more restless. Although he had been repeatedly reassured that Kirishima had the number to the only satellite phone in the island, and would be able to reach him in the event of an emergency, Asami felt strangely vulnerable, now that he depended on others for such simple things as a phone call.

Oblivious to his concerns, the waves kept rolling, as if daring him to just _relax._

But he couldn’t.

He was not used to just… _chilling,_ not like that, at least. That one time in the island with Akihito had been different. And it hadn’t been chilling _per se._ It had been more like helping the young man heal after everything he had endured.

He cracked his knuckles again, as he remembered Akihito’s nightmares…Akihito nearly drowning in the pool…Akihito, asking to be ravished… surrendering everything, even his life, to him…

He felt his stomach clench uncomfortably when images of those days were replaced with the disappointed look in the young man’s eyes the night before.

As if that were not enough, there was still all the trouble at Sion… The Tojo Clan morons trying to pick a fight with him…

His… _daughter…_

With a quick movement, he snatched the cup from Suoh’s hand and swallowed the tea, with honey and all, in one large gulp.

He winced when the sweetness finally registered on his tongue, but before he could complain, Makoto’s secretary materialized in front of them, holding two spears.

“Asami-san,” he heard her say, bowing. “Do I have your permission to challenge Suoh-san for a fight?”

Asami’s eyebrows went up, and he slowly turned his head to look at his equally puzzled head of security.

“Be my guest,” he whispered, a small smirk curling the corners of his mouth. Of course, given Suoh’s occupation, Asami himself had made sure the man was fully proficient in all kinds of martial arts, and that included the _Sōjutsu_. However, what Suoh had in strength and power, the Chinese woman probably had in agility and dexterity, and that made an enormous difference when it came to the art of the spear.

_That would be fun to watch._

Asami crossed his arms and chuckled when his blond bodyguard received the first loud blow to his head.

“Suoh,” he yelled, trying to ignore the laughter rattling inside his chest as Li Jiao literally handed the man’s ass to him, hitting him so fast and hard Suoh could barely locate where the blows where coming from. “Don't hold back just because she is a woman!”

For once, Suoh was able to dodge a hit, and his spear finally connected with the woman’s ribs.

“Ah…”

Asami turned his head in time to see Makoto take a seat next to him. “It looks like my assistant is giving Suoh-San a bit of trouble.”

“Nothing that he can't handle, I'm sure,” he answered, still smirking as he smashed what was left of his cigarette on an ashtray.

“You see, “ the woman said, “I am used to receiving my clients in this island, but I guess you could say they are not exactly good-looking…” she continued, and Asami knew exactly what she meant. The realms of politics and crime were nothing short of eyesores. “So, of course, when two charming gentlemen like you show up, it is only natural that my ladies' interest is piqued, so to speak.”

“Charming, huh? “ Asami asked, a note of amusement in his voice. “Did you pick that up from our voices? Our...breathing patterns?”

“Oh no, not really,” Makoto replied, waving a hand. “Li described you both in _excruciating_ detail after our first meeting.”

Her lips curved into a malicious smile.

“In _excruciating_ detail?” he asked, still amused.

“Yes. I will leave that to your imagination,” he heard the woman answer. “But I confess...I was disappointed that Kirishima-san did not join us here as well.”

Asami raised an eyebrow when the woman sighed, wantonly.

“Kirishima?” he asked, his voice filled with surprise. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Out of the three of us, he is the one that piqued your interest?”

“Well, _sexually,_ yes.”

He whistled, his eyes searching for a distraction to stop him from laughing.

“I get the feeling he is a closeted sub,” the woman completed.

Asami, who had just taken a puff off another cigarette, broke into a coughing fit, perhaps out of shock, after finding out that his apparently harmless counselor was into bondage, or perhaps because he had most certainly not expected her to be a Domme.

Most certainly because he had never thought of Kirishima like _that._

“A sub?” he asked, when he was finally able to catch his breath. “Kirishima?”

He shook his head, still coughing.

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?” the woman asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Kei is extremely sadistic, I should let you know,” he answered, his smirk back in place. “That is why we understand each other so well.”

That was the most absolute truth. He had known Kirishima Kei long enough to know very well what a _beast_ the man could be when the situation required it.

“Kazumi is probably a sub,” Asami added, pointing his cigarette towards the blond man, who seemed to be giving Li Jiao some trouble, at last. “Kei is _definitely_ a Dom.”

“Well…” the woman next to him merely shrugged. “Hopefully one day I will get to find out if you’re right.”

“I wish you both the best of luck,” he replied, fully conscious that his smirk had turned into a very small, almost unnoticeable smile.

He then raised an eyebrow, noticing how relaxed his demeanor had become after the introduction of such an unlikely conversational topic.

_That woman knew what she was doing._

“For now, I believe we have more urgent matters at hand…” he heard the counselor say. “Are you ready to get started?”

 

++++

 

Majima Makoto let out a sigh.

It had been at least half an hour since the two of them got to her office, and Asami Ryuichi remained silent.

The man was proving to be a very tough nut to crack.

Not that she hadn’t expected it, of course. Controlling men like him did not usually take very well to the idea of sharing what is on their minds with other people. Counseling, for them, was the ultimate symbol of failure.

She rested her face on one of her hands, thinking. One week. Seven days. That was all she had to unveil Asami Ryuichi’s secrets.

Sadly for her, the man did not appear to be willing to cooperate. Her question, _‘So, what do you want to talk about?’_ had been met with a very honest _‘Nothing.’_

Perhaps things would change later, when the properties of the teas he had been drinking finally kicked in. That man did not know yet, but sooner than he imagined, he would be losing his finesse, and she could not wait to hear him pour his heart out.

She let out a smile. Makoto knew, from the first time she sniffed the testosterone-filled air around him, what would _float his boat_ , and she would use it to her advantage.

“What’s so funny?” she heard him ask, his irritation obvious in his voice.

 _“Nothing,”_ she let the word roll off her tongue with a very distinctive note of pleasure. “Here, I have an idea.”

She opened the diary she was holding, and tore out a random page.

“Will you please cut this into five slips?” she asked, holding the piece of paper in front of her. “When you are done,” she continued, “I would like you to write down the names of the five most important people in your life, other than you, of course.” She leaned against her armchair. “Do you have a pen?”

“Yes…”

The man’s voice was so dry that she could only imagine the huge frown on his face.

“Just to reinforce it,” she said, keeping her voice casual. “Please do not include yourself.”

“Do they need to be alive?” he asked, after another moment of silence.

“Not at all.”

She waited a few seconds before she spoke again.

“Let me know when you are d-“

“Done,” he said, his voice matter-of-factly.

She raised her eyebrows, taking a mental note of how quickly he had come up with that list. For a split second, it occurred to her that he might be cheating – it was not as if she would be able to check whether any of the slips were blank or not, for starters.

Asami Ryuichi, however, did not strike her as a cheater.

“Good,” she whispered, reaching for an empty glass by her side. “Please put them in the glass.”

She felt him reach for the container, and heard the soft rustling of folded paper when she gently shook the glass.

“Here,” she said, after picking one of the slips and unfolding it. “Could you please read the name aloud?”

She heard the man scoff before speaking.

“Takaba Akihito.”

His voice couldn’t possibly be more strained, which only made Makoto think that she had hit the jackpot.

_There was some gold to dig in there._

“Great,” she replied, lacing her fingers together. “Who is Takaba Akihi-“

“Can you pick another one?” he interrupted.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she made another mental note.

Apparently, there was _a lot_ of gold to dig in there, if that name made the man _that_ uncomfortable.

“Well, since I have not set any rules, yes, I can,” she replied, folding the slip and putting it back in the glass. “But whichever name is picked now cannot be returned.”

“Fine…”

“You pick it, this time.”

She held out the glass, waiting until the slender fingers had fished out a slip from the container to put it back at the table next to her.

Another scoff.

“So...?” she asked, leaning forward.

There was a moment of silence, in which she could hear the man shift on his seat before saying again, with the same bitter tone as before.

“Takaba Akihito.”

 

++++

 

The soft buzz of the cell phone in the pocket of his shorts made Akihito open an eye, and he winced at the pain that immediately shot through his neck.

He had fallen asleep sitting on the floor in the middle of Kou’s living room, his head leaning against the coffee table in a very unfavorable angle.

Next to him, Kou was still snoring, his chin resting against his chest. Akihito’s eyes went wide when he realized that one of his friend’s hands was resting on one of Maya’s thighs.

Still half-asleep, he reached for the TV remote, and snapped it across Kou’s arm.

“Gahwaaaah!” his friend yelped in response, jerking forward as he rubbed away the sting in his arm.

“Since when you go around groping sleeping girls?” Akihito grumbled, his brow furrowed in a very intimidating expression.

“I was not… groping, _what?_ ”

Kou sounded, and looked, deeply disoriented, his hair jutting in all the craziest directions as he looked around, only to blush furiously at the realization of the warm body now stretching lazily next to him.

“Shit, what time is it?” Maya asked, her voice still hoarse as she forced her eyes open.

“Eleven,” Akihito replied as he scrambled through his duffel bag, trying to find a clean pair of jeans.

Good thing he had left a decent supplies of his stuff at Kou’s place the last time he spent the night – otherwise, he would have to meet Mitarai wearing nothing but boxers and a T-shirt.

“WHAT?!” both Kou and Maya screamed, at the same time.

“Oh man, my boss is totally gonna kill me,” the girl whimpered as she stood up.

“Wait, you have a job?” Akihito asked, getting into his jeans as fast as he could.

“Well, yeah, money doesn’t grow in trees…” she mumbled back, rubbing her eyes with the back of her arm. “I mean… I hope I still have a job, I didn’t even go in yesterday…”

Akihito chuckled. Asami Ryuichi’s daughter had a _job,_ just like any ordinary citizen? He would really love to learn more, but his phone buzzed again, reminding him of the cranky colleague waiting for him at the Millennium Tower.

“See, that is why people that work Saturdays don’t marathon TV shows on Fridays!” Kou complained.

“Excuse me, whose idea was that anyway?” Maya replied, her hands on her hips.

“Yeah, Kou, whose idea was that?” Akihito added.

“Well, fine!” Kou threw up his hands in the air. “Next time, can one of you try and stop me?”

Akihito took a quick few steps towards the bathroom, but the two other people in the room had the same idea.

One bathroom, three people late for work.

Life certainly was unfair.

“Ladies first,” he whispered, shoulders drooped in defeat. “Wait, let me grab my toothbrush.”

And that is how he found himself brushing his teeth on Kou’s kitchen sink, with his friend turning on the coffeemaker with a clearly confused expression on his face.

“Dude…” he whimpered, rubbing his neck. “This is madness.”

He cast a guilty look towards his friend. It was his fault, after all, that Kou’s life had turned upside down, _again._

“We’ll figure something out when I come back,” Akihito said, patting his friend on the shoulder before grabbing his bag and rushing past the door.

 

++++

 

“You are a waste of time, did you know that?”

Akihito ignored Mitarai’s usual hostility as he got off his scooter.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“I guess life is easy when you have a sugar daddy to rely on…” the other photographer whispered, a malicious sneer making his whole presence even more unpleasant.

“The hell did you just say?” Akihito’s ears had turned a very glowing shade of red, and he had to use every inch of his willpower not to punch Mitarai right between the eyes.

Much as he did his best to prevent the scrutiny of his private affairs, Akihito was no fool. He knew the man in front of him, with that nonsensical goatee and his prying eyes, kept tabs on his relationship with the _mysterious man in the dark suit._

The greedy idiot.

If Asami ever found out he had been sneaking on him, Mitarai was as good as dead.

Akihito let out a sigh, and soon enough he had regained his composure.

“I want in,” he said, his eyes fiery as he spoke.

“You sure?” Mitarai asked. “I think this one is way out of your league.”

“If it is out of my league then it is out of yours too, Mitarai,” he snapped. “Cut the fucking crap, you know I am just as good a photographer as you are.”

“But unlike you, I do not get emotionally invested in the stuff I am supposed to investigate,” the other man replied, his eyes matching Akihito’s in defiance. “That is quite a difference, don’t you think?”

Akihito bit the inside of his cheek. He wished he could counter that, but he obviously couldn’t. Mitarai was right. The amount of times he had given up a scoop because he cared about the people involved was surreal, and it was ruining his career as an investigative photographer.

He blinked nervously, trying to pinpoint the exact moment of his life in which his priorities had changed so dramatically. At some point in the past, he would just capture things in his viewfinder and wait for the headlines. Now, every time he used his camera to unveil the secrets of others, he found himself hesitating…

_Like now._

“Anywho, my source says that the Chairman of the Omi Alliance is in Tokyo, and he’s gonna meet with the the Tojo tomorrow evening, in their headquarters,” Mitarai explained, crossing his arms. “Shit might go down, looks like their talk is not gonna be amiable.”

“I want in,” Akihito repeated, fidgeting nervously as he pushed his own doubts to the back of his mind. “You get the scoop, the pay, I don’t care. But let me in on the investigation.”

Mitarai frowned.

“Wait, are you serious?” he asked. “I get the scoop, _and_ the pay, _the whole pay?_ ” the man looked shocked. “Since when do you work pro bono?”

Akihito’s features softened, and he smirked.

_It was time for a little retribution._

“I guess life is easy when you have a _sugar daddy…_ ” he said, letting the two final words roll off his tongue with extra malice.

Mitarai looked like he had just been forced to suck a lemon.

Akihito climbed back on his scooter, making a face as he mentally repeated the words he had just said. Obviously, he had no intentions of _ever_ becoming Asami’s mistress, living off the man’s wealth, but since Mitarai was so obsessed with that idea, then the least he could do was play along.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Akihito said, before speeding away.

 

 ++++

 

Many miles away from Tokyo, Asami Ryuichi also looked like he had been forced to suck a lemon.

“Who is Takaba Akihito?” he heard his counsellor repeat.

_How did he even begin to answer that question?_

“He is...” he said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, “… a freelance photographer.”

And then, he stopped. _Answer only what you are asked,_ he told himself mentally. _Keep it simple._

“Ok. Let me rephrase the question,” he heard the woman say, quietly, as if measuring each word. “What is your relationship to Takaba Akihito?”

_That was not simple._

“Undefined,” he replied, after a brief moment of hesitation.

 _‘Undefined’_ , he pondered, was a better answer than _‘I don’t know’._

“Does he work for you?”

“No.”

“So he is a part of your private life,” the woman said. “How long have you known each other?”

“Three years, roughly.”

He drew in a long, deep breath.

So far, so good. He could do that all day.

“Why... did you write down his name?”

He watched Makoto’s face as she spoke, noticing the curiosity in her facial features. He felt his jaw clench involuntarily as he scanned his unlimited intellectual resources for an appropriate response to that question, picking up the most logical, and the most objective one he found – although, perhaps, not the most honest.

“Because I am extremely attracted to him,” he said, his voice void of any extravagant emotions.

“Elaborate.”

“He is the best sex of my life, and I had plenty of sex before him.”

“I am sure you did,” he heard the woman whisper, before continuing. “Why is sex with him so good?”

Another question he could answer with very objective tidbits.

“He has a great body,” he said, his voice still dangerously casual and indifferent. “He submits to me, willingly.”

“And the others before him didn't?”

“It was different.”

“How?”

He swallowed, feeling he was walking into some terribly slippery terrain, and that soon enough his objective answers would no longer suffice.

“He has this...fire in him,” he said, his voice losing a fraction of its neutrality. “He is honest. He makes me feel...”

And just as he predicted, objectivity had fled, leaving him stranded with an unfinished sentence hanging in the air.

He raised his eyes to the figure of the woman in front of him, and saw her nodding encouragingly.

“Relaxed,” he said, after finding himself navigating on the deep sea of emotions that his brain associated the photographer with. “Calm. Ha-“

He stopped.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he said, when he realized he almost took a dive that was perhaps a little bit too deep. “He makes me feel calm and relaxed.”

“What else does he make you feel?”

_But the woman wouldn’t let him steer his boat back to shallow waters, would she?_

Asami crossed his legs, desperately craving a cigarette. Maybe he could try and bring himself back to the realms of more objective observations?

“I am amused by him,” he said, coming up with a quick list of harmless topics. “I like his food. I enjoy his company. Should I go on?”

“Yes, if you please...”

“I find him inconvenient at times, but I miss him when he is not around,” Asami continued, frowning slightly at his own statement. “He is rash but I like it. He cries easily. He has a good heart.”

“You are describing him, not your feelings.”

 _‘Well, yes, that was the point!_ ’ his mind yelled, patting itself on its metaphysical back for going off on a tangent so smoothly.

Asami merely shrugged.

“Well, I have nothing else to say about my feelings.”

For another long minute, not another word was spoken. The woman merely stared blankly at him.

He pinched his temple, one of his elbows resting on the arm of the couch. _Is that what I paid almost 100 million yen for?_

“How did the two of you meet?” she finally asked.

He was still pinching his temple when his other hand involuntarily gripped the expensive fabric of his grey slacks. That question had placed him in a very uncomfortable precipice within his own mind – one that was ten times worse than just a slippery slope. It was more like a downward spiral, ready to swallow him whole.

“Work,” he replied, his voice slightly strained.

“At work?

“Something like that.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“No,” he said, and his voice was final. A thin layer of sweat had begun to form on his chest, and all of a sudden his polo shirt felt terribly constricting.

“Ok…” the woman’s calm voice seemed to soothe his internal turmoil. “Is that all that you have to say about Takaba Akihito?”

“Yes,” he answered, ignoring all the other voices inside his own mind that threatened to blurt out a very loud _‘no’_.

“Alright,” he heard the woman respond. “Then I guess we are good for the day.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Already?”

“You said you don't have anything else to say, right?”

“About him, but there are other slips,” he retorted, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of having sabotaged his first therapy session. “We can move on to the next name.”

He watched Majima Makoto stand up, looking at least half a meter taller than him at the moment.

“I am afraid that is not how it works,” she said, a genuine smile carefully placed on her lips as she walked past him, towards the door. “I will see you tomorrow, Asami-san.”

 

++++

 

If there were pebbles in the corridor that led to his room, Asami Ryuichi would have kicked all of them, hands in his pockets, with a pout on his lips to complete the piteous image of a boy who had just misbehaved, and now felt bad about it.

That is, of course, if he were not Asami Ryuichi, the man who never felt bad for anything.

Let alone _pout._

But he _did_ have his hands in his pockets as he walked down the corridor, lost in his own thoughts. His fingers brushed against the layers of fabric covering the hardening flesh of his sex, and he frowned. His body was not behaving properly.

But then again, neither was his mind.

He shrugged, looking up just in time to see Suoh exit a room that was most certainly _not his_ , while adjusting the buckle of his belt.

The blond assistant froze in the spot when their eyes met, but Asami remained silent.

Soon enough, they were walking side by side.

“Suoh, I don't want problems with Majima, so I will only ask one question,” he said. “Was it consensual?”

He turned to look at his assistant, whose face remained impassive.

“Very much so, sir,” the man replied, his voice just slightly strained. “Li Jiao…invited me for tea, so to speak.”

Asami let a smirk curl the corners of his mouth. Well, of course... If that morning fight hadn’t been some sort of prelude to a mating ritual, then he didn’t know what was.

“Good thing that at least one of us is getting their needs met…” he sighed.

“Asami-sama...” Suoh brought himself to a halt, looking deeply concerned. “Has anyone in the island caught your attention? I can arrange-“

“My needs are very specific, Suoh,” Asami replied, while images of a certain photographer insisted on testing his self-control. “But I appreciate the thought,” he nodded towards his assistant before unlocking the door to his room. “Good night.”

When he closed the door behind him, he was frowning.

_Was it night already?_

A glance at his watch showed him that it was still five in the afternoon, and he threw his head back.

 _What would he do with the rest of his day?_ He had nothing to entertain him but the biography of Akira Kurosawa and a massive erection.

One did not go well with the other.

He looked down at the bulge tenting the front of his pants.

“Why are you up?” he whispered, palming the throbbing flesh. “You are not going to get what you are looking for… Go back to sleep…”

He covered his face with both hands.

Oh great _, he was talking to his own penis._ He had hit rock bottom.

He pinched his temples, trying to get his mind back on the right track. His brain was not acting properly, neither was his body, and he hated feeling that his self-control was slipping like sand through his fingers.

That devilish woman had probably poisoned him with all those teas, but he was not going to capitulate.

He pulled out a chair and sat, opening his book with a determined look in his eyes.

If there was one thing he had become an expert at, was turning his never-ending libido into a competitive advantage. Sometimes, when he felt particularly horny, instead of literally fucking someone into oblivion, he would make Sion's profits soar by shoving very solid liabilities into his enemies' tight assets.

After all, as the years went by, he learnt that the art of sublimation was one he would need to master if he was to get to the top. If he were to be ruled by his rather intense sexual urges, he would spend most of his time, and money, humping strangers in the cold confides of 5-star hotels.

He let out a sigh. These days, though, he doubted that fucking strangers would give him the kind of blissful satisfaction he hoped to get out of sex.

_That stupid photographer had ruined that for him as well._

He bit his lower lip when images of the lithe body once again flashed before his eyes, the perky nipples at full display, begging to be bitten... Those beautiful eyes and the flushed cheeks of his over sensitive lover… the little moans that left his lips, always so red and soft and warm as he opened his legs, offering his tight little-

"No," Asami roared, forcing his own legs shut. He never touched himself because he considered that an ultimate waste of energy. He was not going to start today.

He opened the door again. All he had to do was get Suoh to spar with him for a few hours, until he sweated all that surplus energy out of his system.

Unfortunately for him, Li Jiao had beaten him to it. He watched as the woman disappeared behind his assistant’s door for another round of action.

Asami cursed silently, studying his options.

He was literally going blind with the need to fuck.

Keeping his eyes on the ground to avoid spotting something or someone that he could use as an avenue of release, he made his way to the beach, stripped until he was wearing nothing but his boxers, and jumped into the ocean.

He mentally calculated that swimming for an hour or two would tire him out enough for his mind and body to go back to normal.

_If only that was the case._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The connection between *certain teas*, erections and "pouring one heart's out" might not be clear yet, but it will be in the next chapter, I promise. XD


	14. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asami finally admits his feelings for Akihito, and Kou once again proves he deserves an award for putting up with his friend’s…sexual shenanigans.  
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry for taking so long to update! But I am finally back, ready to post at least other two chapters until the end of this week! That being said, here is chapter 14.
> 
> Warning for…foreshadowing? *raises eyebrow, twirls imaginary moustache*
> 
> For reference: Ookini – “Thank you,” in Kansai.

 

"A-Asami...more..."

He threw his hips upwards, lodging himself even deeper inside the body gently rocking above him, and steadied himself, feeling his sex stir and expand as he brought his thrusts to a halt just to feel his lover's muscles clenching around him.

"Don't...move...Don't..."

His hands kept the slender hips in place as the blond man panted, his skin moist with sweat as he trembled, eyes tightly shut as the throbbing cock inside his slick tunnel rested against his prostate, the pressure against the sweet spot making the lean body strain as waves of pleasure rolled over him.

"Oh...A-Asa...Asami..." 

He let his eyes shift from the parted lips to the red, twitching cock jutting from his lover's cock, warm, clear droplets of precum oozing from the tip onto his lower abs. He knew that one more thrust would send them both over the edge, but just like the young man riding him, he didn't want it to end. He looked at the moisture dripping from his lover's ass, sliding down the base of his cock, and knew that he was leaking rivers of precum as well, his body craving that final release...

"You have taken it all in.. Akihito...Look..." he whispered, thumbs pressing even harder into the soft flesh of the man's hips. "My cock...all of it...inside you..."

He saw his young lover lower his head, shaking, his pupils blown back as he licked his lips.

"Fill me...cum..." he heard his lover pant, his blunt nails digging into his arms. "Inside me...cum-nnngh!"

A groan left his lips when the soft flesh around his cock quivered and then clamped down on him, spurts of cum landing on his chest as his lover screamed his release. He closed his eyes, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead as he felt his own hips jerk violently, bolts of electricity ravishing his body from head to toe, as he spilled his seed into the velvety confides of his lover's ass.

"A-Asami...more..."

When he opened his eyes, Akihito was again crawling up his lap, the same sex-starved, fiery eyes staring at his face.

He was, apparently, in the middle of an orgasm loop.

For the first time, he noticed the sand on his lover's knees, and the waves gently sweeping across his own stretched legs. He looked around, and saw that they were fucking in the middle of a rather crowded beach, but no one around them seemed to care.

He hissed when his lover once again lowered himself onto his already hard and throbbing length.

"Asami..."

_Yes..._

"Asami."

_So good..._

"Asami, wake up."

His eyes snapped open.

Instead of his delectable lover, however, the face he saw hovering above his belonged to a very tiny Japanese woman, who apparently had just poked him with her white cane.

He blinked, trying to make sense of his whereabouts, and a number of realizations struck him at once.

First, he realized he had probably fallen asleep on the sand, after swimming until exhaustion the night before. What he noticed next did not come as a surprise: his clothes were nowhere to be found. It was not as if he had been careful keeping track of where he had thrown them before getting into the water, in the first place.

It was realizations three and four that had him pissed.

He glanced down at himself, and noticed the rivulets of semen slowly dripping down his inner thighs. He carefully shifted his hips, and grimaced when even more of the sticky fluid escaped his soaking wet boxers, a generous amount of it pooling under his ass as he brought himself to a sitting position.

His eyes were positively murderous when he lifted them to his counsellor, the fourth realization making his anger soar to even higher levels: even though the woman couldn’t _see_ his piteous state, it was fairly obvious that the potent, musky scent of his arousal could be detected from at least two miles away.

“I was beginning to worry,” he heard Majima Makoto say, looking incredibly unfazed for someone _who obviously knew_ she was sitting two feet away from the cum-covered privates of Asami Ryuichi.

“How long have you been here?” he snarled, stepping out of his underwear.

At that point, he doubted that standing naked in front of that woman would make much of a difference, anyway.

“Long enough to rescue you,” she replied, blinking repeatedly as a powerful whiff of ocean water and _something else_ found its way to her nostrils. “Nocturnal emissions are natural but you have been having them since Suoh spotted you sleeping here, and that was a few hours ago…”

He gritted his teeth, and considered gagging the woman in front of him with the boxers he was still holding firmly in his hands.

“I asked him to bring you a robe,” she added, gesturing to the items lying neatly on a chair next to her, her voice still calm and collected as she let out a little smile. “And your cigarettes. Figured you would need them.”

His heart was still pounding irregularly inside his chest. He did not have “nocturnal emissions”, not him. What was that woman doing with his mind?

“What kinds of tea did you give me?” he asked quietly, after tossing his underwear to the side and putting on the robe.

“Ah, the teas, yeah…” she replied, her smile widening as he laced her fingers on top of her crossed legs. “I guess I gave you all kinds of tea, really, mainly to improve blood circulation.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Improve blood circulation to my _genitals,_ you mean,” he said, his voice strained as he fought the urge to strangle the woman talking to him.

“Well, obviously,” she chuckled. “You see, even though I do tend to disagree with a lot of Sigmund Freud’s theories, his ideas surrounding erotic energy and its impacts in one’s psyche are very accurate, just as the perception that sublimation is actually a very refined defence mechan-“

“What is it that you are trying to find out about my psyche?” Asami interrupted, his annoyance once again reaching new heights. “Or is it my sex life that is under scrutiny here? What _exactly_ do you want to know?”

“Well, I do believe that your assessment of the sexual attraction towards your current partner was somewhat lacking-“

“So you wanna know why sex with him is so great, fine, I'll tell you,” he replied, his entire body straining as he attempted to regain control of his own thoughts. “Because that is the real thing. The real feeling,” he hissed, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “And the half word from before, when you asked me how he makes me feel? I was going to say happy,” his face remained impassive, but his voice modulation was somewhat out of place, as if he was trying to sound calm but coming out as hysterical instead. “That he makes me _happy._ But that would be an understatement, because it is so much more than that. My body, splitting him open, making him scream my name until he passes out, that is all that matters,” he continued, barely taking a break to breathe as he spilled out whatever came to his mind. “The _only f_ eeling. The pleasure in his eyes. Him, giving me everything he has. Did I make him addicted to it? Probably, but at least now he knows he has nowhere to run to, and even when he runs he knows he is not going anywhere because I _own_ him.“

When he finally paused, he realized he might have overdone himself, and his stomach sank.

“You _own_ him?”

He winced when the woman made sure to pick up his _faux pas_ , and throw it back at him. That ending had come out completely wrong, and he had inadvertently given Makoto all the ammunition she needed to tear him down.

“So he's your slave?” she pressed on.

“No,” he whispered in response.

“But you just said-”

“He is not my _slave_ ,” he said, feeling his heart thump harder inside his chest. “He can go whenever he wants.”

“That is not what you just said…”

Asami pursed his lips, and reached for the packet of cigarettes with a frown. He knew where that conversation was going, and he _hated_ it. He had just led a Dunhill to his lips when Makoto held out his lighter an inch to close to his left ear, almost setting his hair on fire.

With a sigh, he led her hand to where the tip of the cigarette was, and realized his own fingers were shaking slightly.

“Tell me what you are feeling, Asami.”

“I can't,” he whispered, his voice coming out strained as he took a puff off his cigarette. He didn’t want to open that can of worms, he didn’t want to voice the truth - just the thought of it made him feel like the ground was opening under his feet.

“You can,” he heard the woman insist. “You need to, if you want this to work.”

“No.”

Makoto let out a sigh, and passed him a bottle of water before speaking again.

“You make my job so much harder than it should be…” she whispered. “Here, have something to drink, you must be thirsty.”

He took a gulp of the water, still lost in his own thoughts. _Why had he even agreed to try counselling?_ He was obviously not ready, or willing, to talk about his _feelings._

He now realized, though, that he really had no choice.

“I don't want him to leave me,” he whispered. “I know he came to me for the sex. It was not for the money, that much I know,” his voice was void of emotion, although the words leaving his mouth were making his entire body throb with embarrassment and guilt. “I shouldn't care about him,” his voice was barely audible as he spoke. “But I do. It's not just the sex.”

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, trying to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth. He was used to fighting the most gruesome battles in his line of work. He had come unscathed out of all kinds of perils. And of all things… it was his feelings for a reckless photographer that was bringing him to his knees.

“You speak as if that is bad,” he heard his counsellor say, after giving him a long minute to recollect his thoughts.

“Because it is,” he answered.

“Why?”

He chuckled sadly. There were so many reasons why that relationship was bound to be a disaster for both of them... So many reasons why he should have never allowed his own feelings to get in the way…

“Do I have your permission to bring your late husband into this?” he asked quietly.

The woman next to him seemed to hesitate for a few seconds.

“Go ahead,” she said at last.

“When I met Majima Goro, he was at the top of his game. I saw him bust his fair share of skulls, I saw him strike impossible business deals, I remember it all very well,” Asami explained. “He was a man that never hesitated. He was loyal, charismatic. No wonder he was such a big shot in the Tojo Clan,” he added, tempted to add that in short, the man was an equally powerful, but much less handsome version of himself. “Then one day, I found out the circumstances in which the two of you met, and how he had ended up leaving you to for your own good,” he lifted his gaze to Makoto’s eyes, and realized that her face remained serene, except for a minor wrinkle in her forehead. “I have no doubt whatsoever that his feelings for you were intense, and rumour has it that after you two separated he grew even more... ruthless, so to speak.”

He paused, and took another drag off his Dunhill before continuing.

“Some months after that, I was very surprised to find out that the two of you had gotten married,” he said. “But, I regret to tell you this, I was not surprised when he was killed two months later.”

He paused again, this time to wait until the woman had finished shifting around on her seat.

“The world Majima belonged to, the world I belong to, reeks of blood,” he explained. “He and I, we were both very practical men. Emotions are an inconvenience,” he added, reciting a line that he had repeated so often in his life that the whole thing felt like his own, personal tagline. “And it never fails, does it. It never ends well.”

The woman in front of him remained silent, but her face spoke volumes. He knew he was about to be torn down, again, much before the first words left her lips.

“So if you had to choose between emotional or practical,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “you would describe yourself as _practical_?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

He merely inhaled in response.

“And you also think that my husband was practical?” she asked, her voice carrying a distinct note of disbelief. “A man who was known as… _Mad Dog_ Majima?”

Asami merely looked away, after another obvious strike out.

That woman was blowing holes in all the walls he had carefully built around his own feelings and beliefs, and he cold do nothing but watch his own lies shatter like thin ice under his feet.

“Asami-san...I can do this all day, all week,” she said, lacing her fingers and letting them rest on her lap. “For a month, a year even. It's okay. As I said, some people need more time than others to-“

“I don't need more time,” he snarled.

And, as usual, his words were met with the same smirk of disbelief.

“Join me for a walk?” she asked, before standing up. “I guess we could do with a quick break.”

Still frowning, Asami offered his arm, and soon they were both walking down the beach, in silence.

“It is very relaxing, isn’t it? The sound of the ocean…” she asked, stopping for a while to close her eyes and tilt her head upwards, as the sea foam gently curled around their feet. “Do you ever meditate, Asami?”

“I used to, yes,” he replied, watching he waves.

“Why don’t you anymore?”

“I don’t have the time…”

“You should find the time, then,” she said. “It will be good for you.”

He nodded in silence, and they continued walking.

“Is it fair that a yakuza boss finds love and family when so many lawful citizens die alone and unloved? Probably not,” she said. “Is love impractical? Well... Yes. I became Majima's liability. It was bad for him and even worse for me. I was kidnapped countless times even though he had Tokyo under his grip. But people came from Osaka, Sapporo... I was a target,” her voice was very calm, just like her face. “We both knew it would be a bumpy road.”

It was his turn to stop on his tracks.

“A bumpy road? Makoto...” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Majima was _murdered_ in front of you.”

“He was,” she replied, with the same usual serenity, as if her husband’s death had been nothing but a mishap. “Maybe you too will be murdered one day, Asami, let's be realistic,” apparently, talking about _his_ death was not enough to disconcert her either. “The underworld is not a territory known for its compassion. Call it occupational hazard.”

Asami blinked, acknowledging the harsh reality of the woman’s words despite the sweetness of her voice.

“Majima knew he was flirting with death in his line of work. He never got out of it because he never wanted to,” she continued. “And at the end of the day, he knew he had two choices. Either he lived alone and mighty and died alone and miserable one day, or he took the leap... And ended up with something he could be grateful for.”

Asami kept his gaze down, looking at his own feet as it sank into the sand at every step.

“That day... The bullet went straight to his brain. Immediate death,” he heard the woman continue, and for the first time, her voice seemed to falter. They stopped, and he looked up. “I don't even think he saw me holding him, there was no time,” she whispered, her glassy eyes glistening slightly. “But I know he died knowing he was loved. That he had made the right choice.”

And then, her serene expression was back on, and they were walking again.

“If the day he proposed to me, someone had come to me and said that in the end I would only get to spend two months with him, I think I would still have said yes,” she continued, a sad smile curling her lips. “Maybe he would have died in two months anyway, with or without me in his life. But, because he chose to take that leap, he didn't die _alone_ ,” she concluded. “I would say it was not a bad ending for him at all.”

Asami felt an unexplainable wave of anger flood his veins. Of course, what a romantic tale the woman had just told. A yakuza boss, dying in his wife’s arms, feeling _loved_.

As if _that_ was the worst-case scenario.

“What if it had been _you?_ ” he asked, his voice cold and piercing. “That bullet, in _your_ brain instead? Do you think he would be able to... _Live on?_ ” he snorted. “To put it behind him?”

He watched as Makoto remained silent, her face impassive.

“He wouldn't. Ever” he replied, biting his lip, still feeling his pulse quicken. “The world I live in will crush him,” he added, graciously making the transference she had surely meant him to make that entire time. “It is already crushing him.”

His voice was strained, and he realized he no longer wanted that conversation to continue.

“Asami...” Makoto, however, went on. “I was always aware of the risks. I am quite sure that your Takaba Akihito is, too,” she added. “You are expecting me to tell you that he will be fine, that no harm will come his way because you can protect him, but the truth?”

There. _That_ was the reason that conversation should have ended. He _did not_ want to hear the truth.

“Maybe you won't be able to,” she said, and Asami merely closed his eyes, fighting the feeling of terror trying to get hold of him. “Or maybe you will, and he will still find a way to... Choke on a dry plum and die on you regardless,” he swallowed, trying to ignore the words stabbing him in his most vulnerable spots. “Death is something you cannot control. What you can control is what you do with the time you're given.” 

“That's not enough,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the end.

“It's more than enough,” she whispered, reaching out to hold his hands. “It's all you need.”

For a minute or two, he stood still, unable to find a snark remark or something demeaning to say. That island seemed to be stealing him of his usual confidence, and suddenly the sound of the waves was no longer relaxing, the sun on his skin was no longer filling him with warmth.

“Your hands are cold, the _qi_ flow in your body must be all whacked, sunshine,” he heard the woman say. “I suggest we work on that, before continuing with our talk. Let’s give you a little boost,” she continued, rubbing his hands between hers. “You can choose between acupuncture, tai chi or karaoke.”

He frowned, and his lack of response probably clued her in.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Singing is said to be one of the best therapies!”

“I doubt that has ever been proved by science…”

“Well... I can’t really tell,” she responded. “But you _do_ have a good voice.”

For the first time that morning, he found it in him to let out one of his trademark smirks.

“I will stick with the needles, for now,” he said, before the two of them changed route, and slowly walked back to the main house.

++++

Takaba Akihito woke up with a start, when a pillow hit him square on the face.

"Dude, like, seriously," he heard a very sleepy, slightly distraught Kou say. "Go take a cold shower."

His foggy brain was barely able to process the words leaving his friend’s mouth, until the strange dampness around his crotch made him frown. He pushed the blanket back, and his eyes went wide when he realized his shorts were soaking wet, just like his inner thighs and, apparently, all the area surrounding his still very hard cock.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, despair filling his heart when he noticed he would probably have to buy Kou a new couch, unless the man agreed to keep it regardless of the giant circle of semen that now stained one of the seats. “Fuck! _Shit!_ ”

"Shit indeed,” Kou replied, covering his head with a pillow. “You've been moaning loud enough to wake up the dead, man..."

Akihito swallowed, trying to ignore the very vivid details of his dream.

He was at the beach… _They_ were at the beach, going at it, once, twice, three times… It had felt so real…

 _"Asami, oh, Asami, more..."_ he heard Kou say, in an annoyingly high pitch that made his twitching cock lose some of its enthusiasm.

"Shut the fuck up, Kou."

"And don't even get me started on the hardcore bits," his friend replied, his voice low and serious. "What was heard cannot be unheard..."

"Oh, crap,” Akihito felt his heart skip a beat when he realized that if he had been loud enough for Kou to hear him, then… “Did Maya..."

"…hear you?” the photographer saw his friend bring himself to a sitting position, one eye still closed. “Of course she did,” Akihito whimpered at the words, wishing for the ground to open and swallow him. “But I let her borrow my earbuds so in the end I was the only one hearing the... _enticing_ details of your wet dreams."

It had been a very long time since Akihito felt so embarrassed, and that was saying something for someone that constantly found himself in _extremely compromising situations._

"I...I don't...I,” he stuttered. “This is very unusual for me."

"I hope it is, or I will have to gag you next time you go to sleep,” Kou said, before letting his body fall back onto the mattress on the ground. “Though I'm not sure that would help much..."

"What time is it?" Akihito asked, still dreading his friend’s reaction when he saw the damage he had made on his couch, in the one single time they had switched places and Kou was the one sleeping on the floor.

"Almost 8..."

Akihito slowly slipped back under the blankets. He still had many hours until his stakeout, and in the meantime, he would better think of a very good plan to contain Kou’s fury when he found out about his newest… _sexual achievement_.

++++

Meanwhile, in the dojo of the Tojo Headquarters, Hayashi Mirai took her stance, fists raised and arms held out in front of her. Her elbows were slightly flexed and one of her legs was bent, while she rested her weight on her other foot.

Her eyes were studying the opponent in front of her – a bald, slender man who was one or two inches taller than her, hands raised as claws as he took his stance.

She saw him make his move and tried to sidestep, but once again she was tackled to the ground.

“Still too slow, Hayashi,” her trainer, Kanda, hissed in her ear as he shifted his body around and managed to lock one of her legs between his. “Is that how you expect to come out of a fight with your virtue intact?”

She winced when she felt the pressure on her knee joint increase - if he completed that twisting lock, her knee would be as good as bust.

“Use your abs, woman, come on. Once they get you on your back, it’s all over,” he hissed again, and she bit her lower lip, the desire to hit his neck with a hand knife strike making her blood boil.

A punch to her solar plexus made her gasp.

“You are leaving your diaphragm exposed, concentrate!” the man snarled again, and she forced herself to breathe and empty her mind.

With a swift move, she managed to shift her body around so that she was no longer underneath her opponent, her trainer’s hips locked between her legs as her forearm pressed against his neck on a front naked choke.

She let out a triumphant smile when the man finally tapped out.

“Not bad,” Kanda said, massaging his neck after Hayashi released him, waiting for the blood supply to his head be fully re-established. “Not bad at all…”

She stood up, and bowed respectfully to her instructor before heading towards one of her assistants.

“Your phone is ringing, Hayashi-sama,” the man said, passing her the buzzing device with his head slightly bowed. “Unknown caller.”

She dismissed her assistant with a movement of her head, and headed outside.

“Hayashi.”

_“Mirai? It's Kei.”_

“Hold on,” she replied, looking around to make sure she was alone. “Hi,” she then whispered. “What's wrong?”

 _“Nothing, for now,”_ she heard the man reply. _“By the way, good morning, I'm fine, thanks for asking.”_

She chuckled.

“It's been a while since you last called me just to make small talk,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

 _“I don't remember ever calling you to make small talk,”_ was the response. _“I am a very busy man.”_

“True that,” she conceded. “But I miss those days when the worst I could expect from one of your calls was you complaining about having to attend another parents’ meeting at Maya's school.”

There was a faint chuckle on the other side of the line.

 _“Well, what can we do… I blame it on our career choices,”_ the man said casually, before his voice got serious again. _“How have you been?”_

“Fine.” 

_“Mirai…”_

She swallowed when the man paused. It was almost as if she could read what was going on in his mind.

_“You don't have to be polite with me.”_

“I'm fine, Kei,” she insisted, shrugging her sadness off as she spoke. “It was just a finger.”

Another pause.

_“I'm not talking about the finger.”_

Of course he wasn’t. Kirishima Kei was one of the very few people who knew her daughter had left home, and on top of all that… much as she would never admit… all the memories that had been haunting her nights after her visit to Sion…

“You know me too well, don't you?” she chuckled again, but this time, there was no joy in her voice. “I'm fine, I think. Keeping myself busy.”

_“That's what we always tell ourselves, isn't it?”_

“Do we have any other choice?” she said, a little smile curling her lips as she let her friend’s voice give her some perspective. “So...other than to make small talk,” she inhaled deeply, “to what do I owe the honour of your call?”

_“Takaba Akihito.”_

“What about him?” she asked, frowning.

She heard the man let out a very long sigh.

_“I believe he might cross your path very soon.”_

“Meaning?”

 _“Shinada reported he met with a colleague of his yesterday, and from what he could hear, they were talking about syndicates...”_ Kirishima explained _. “Looks like Takaba has decided to look into what is going on between the Tojo and the Omi.”_

“Oi...”

_“Yeah.”_

“What the hell does he want?” she asked, scratching the back of her head as her frown intensified.

_“He's your wide-eyed version of a vigilante, so to speak. He aims to capture the evil of the world in his viewfinder.”_

“And he ended up with Asami?” she snorted. “Talk about a plot twist…”

_“His downfall, indeed. Or, should I say, the downfall for them both.”_

“One of them will have to cave in, eventually,” she whispered, lost in thought for a moment.

_“Yes...And that is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”_

She nodded, and when she spoke again, so did the man on the other side of the line.

 _“Which one?”_ they both asked, at the same time.

“Kei...” she let out a sigh as she spoke. “I can't really afford to babysit him. I have a lot on my hands already…”

 _“I don't want you to babysit him. I just want to ask you not to kill him if he becomes too much of a nuisance. Or should I say, when?”_ the man explained. _“Because that seems to be his M.O., to act as recklessly as he can, much to everyone's dismay...”_

“Huh… Say,” she muttered, as the image of the spunky photographer flashed before her eyes. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does Asami care about this kid?”

_“From 1 to 10?”_

She heard the man chuckle again, before answering her question.

 _“A very big eleven,”_ he said. _“Though, of course, he will never admit it.”_

She nodded in silence, pondering her next words.

“Fine,” she whispered. “I'll see what I can do.”

“ _Ookini_ , Mirai.”

She put away her phone when the man hung up, letting the confirmation sink in.

And so, someone had finally managed to capture Asami Ryuichi’s heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief reminder: Dark! Asami is far from happy with all the counselling shenanigans, by the way. Expect him to make a triumphant return one of these days…


	15. The Panther of Dojima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito and Mitarai's stakeout takes an unexpected turn, and a phone call updates Asami on the latest events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference: _irezumi_ in an ancient Japanese tattoo style in which wooden handles and metal needles are used instead of electric guns. Because of its ritualistic nature, that is the kind of tattoo adopted by the yakuza – a body suit (covering the arms, back, upper legs and chest) can take up to five years of weekly visits to be finished. ~~For those of you who are curious, in this story, Mirai’s body suit took three years and a half to complete.~~

Akihito adjusted the lenses of his camera one more time, hiding in the shadows of an abandoned building that had a partial view of the Tojo Headquarters’ backyard.

By his side, Mitarai glanced at his watch, and sighed. It was past seven, and still no sign of trouble of any kind.

“Told you this was a lousy spot,” the older photographer whispered.

“Well, that’s the headquarters of a syndicate,” Akihito responded, zooming in as much as he could, trying to detect some movement in the small area he could visualize. “It’s not as if they would let any area unguarded for strangers to sneak up on them…”

He took a deep breath himself, and leaned against the wall.

“The place is a fortress…” he added, pulling his beanie further down his forehead. “Not to mention they have a ridiculously tight surveillance system…”

Hours before, he had scouted the area – or at least, tried to – only to find out the whole building had basically no surrounding constructions that could serve as an observation point. Not to mention that the whole place looked like a freaking Edo period castle tucked in a distant corner of Tokyo, crawling with security guards that more than once seemed on the verge of telling him to piss off.

That was something that Akihito had never understood. Everyone knew that place was the headquarters of one of the world’s most dangerous criminal organizations, and yet the authorities made sure to turn a blind eye, as if they were just a bunch of harmless citizens.

He frowned as he looked at the imposing building, shining in all its glory, shielded by its shady agreements with Diet members and other powerful figures in Japan, including – he tried to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth – Asami Ryuichi. Much as the man had - _to a certain extent_ \- made him realize syndicates were not exactly the devil spawn as Akihito once painted them to be, the truth was that he knew his fair share of people that had their lives crushed by the yakuza’s brutish methods.

Still lost in thought, he remembered the day he had come face to face with Maya’s mother, and the menacing aura that seemed to surround the woman. It had been what, a week? Probably less than that.

He let out a sigh.

His life had taken so many crazy turns that he could barely keep up.

Akihito snapped back to reality when Mitarai elbowed him in the ribs, the frenetic sequence of clicks coming from his camera indicating that their wait had been worth it, after all. He lay down on his stomach, his chin resting on the edge of the window as he prepared to capture the scene in his viewfinder.

“Brawlers will brawl, right?” he heard Mitarai mutter, as he too snapped his pictures of thugs throwing punches at each other in a far corner of the headquarters’ yard.

In the meantime, Akihito was zooming in on the two individuals that seemed to be at the centre of the conflict. One of them was a beefy, bald man whose distended stomach hung limply above his belt, his tattooed torso shaking like jelly upon the impact of the vicious punches being thrown at him by the much leaner, gracious figure in front of him.

Akihito gasped when her face finally came into view, his index finger straining over the shutter as he watched Maya’s mother take down her opponent with a roundhouse kick.

“Whoa!” he heard Mitarai exclaim. “The Panther of Dojima is a _woman_?”

“The _what?_ ” Akihito asked, frowning.

“Look at the tattoo on her back.”

He zoomed in again, adjusting the focus so that he could see the _irezumi_ covering the woman’s skin under her backless vest. Framed by drawings of waves, peonies and lotuses, was the profile of a golden-eyed panther, stretching from her shoulder blades to her lower back, part of it hidden under the fabric of her black trousers.

“This might make it to the news…” he vaguely heard Mitarai whisper, too lost in his own thoughts as he kept snapping pictures of the woman’s tattoo. “That’s Tojo’s number one killer, man!” Mitarai went on. “Legend says he… or, I mean, _she,_ never misses a shot…If you are one of her targets, you are as good as dead!”

“Oh…” a mindless Akihito whispered in response, zooming out so that he could snap a full-body picture of his target. “Right…”

Once again, he tried to ignore the conflicting ideas crossing his mind. On one hand, he had known right off the gate that Mitarai was looking for a scoop that would somehow confirm the Tojo Clan and the Omi Alliance were preparing for war. On the other hand, he also knew that the woman his colleague was planning to expose was Maya’s mother, and the whole point of him joining that investigation was to help the girl find out what was going on between the syndicates and Asami…

He sighed, knowing that before the day was over, he would have to find a way to make sure Mitarai’s pictures did not make it anywhere near a newspaper.

Akihito had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely acknowledged the moment a tall man in a suit approached Hayashi Mirai, and all of a sudden he found himself staring at her eyes through his viewfinder.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, clumsily crawling backwards to hide behind a wall. “Shit!”

“What?” Mitarai asked, still snapping pictures of the man who had just been knocked unconscious, surrounded by a group of men in suits.

“They know we are here,” Akihito replied, his heart racing as he spoke.

“What?!” Mitarai gasped, finally hiding behind the wall as well. “That’s not… How?”

Akihito took that moment to steal another glance towards the area, just to find out the woman and the man who had approached her were nowhere to be found.

“We gotta get out, fast,” he said, putting his camera back in his backpack as his eyes darted around the cluttered room, looking for an emergency exit. “We can’t go out through the front door, they must be waiting for us there. Quick, this way!”

The two of them ran towards a door leading to a blocked staircase, and after climbing on top of broken desks and chairs, jumped on the steps leading to the floor below.

When Akihito looked down, he saw two men going up the stairs, with their guns in hand.

“Shit, turn left, turn left,” he said, pushing Mitarai past one of the doors.

They both stopped on their tracks when they found themselves in front of two men throwing punches at each other.

One of them, Akihito was quick to notice, was his bodyguard, Shinada.

“Fuck!” he whispered, running in the opposite direction with Mitarai at his heels, to hide from other two men that had just busted one of the main doors open.

When the blond man turned his head to look behind him, he saw a shadow move swiftly past the dusty bookshelves, and a quick mental calculation told him they would be intercepted if they kept moving forward.

“Mitarai, go back, go back!” he hissed, motioning for the other man to hide behind one of the desks as they took a right turn and waited for the hurried footsteps in the room to grow distant.

Akihito’s heart was still pounding in his ears, and he forced himself to hold his breath when his eyes landed on a pair of pointed toe boots approaching them.

He could literally hear the blood rushing through his veins as he struggled to remain immobile, his eyes darting to Mitarai crouching under the desk just in time to see his camera dangling from his bag, threatening to fall on the ground.

With a swift move, Akihito threw his hand forward, grabbing the equipment before it touched the ground. With a triumphant smile, he finally released a breath, and moved back to his spot.

His heart stopped when his cell phone started buzzing in his pocket.

With trembling fingers, he reached for the device, pressing all kinds of buttons in an attempt to silence it, but not fast enough – in a matter of seconds, he heard a loud gasp and a thud, and when his eyes finally moved to where Mitarai was hiding, all he could see was the man’s unconscious figure lying face down on the ground.

When he finally lifted his gaze from the pointed toe boots in front of him, he saw Hayashi Mirai staring at him, her eyes cold and calculating as she snatched Mitarai’s camera from his hands.

“Well, well, what have we here…” she said, and before Akihito could open his mouth to reply, he felt someone behind him grab the collar of his jacket, forcing him to stand up.

“So you thought you could just sneak in and take some pictures, huh?” the woman continued, taking a step closer to look at the photographer as the person behind him held both of his hands behind his back.

“Haya-“

Before he could finish the word, Akihito saw her nod to whomever was holding him, and a hit on the back of his head made everything go immediately dark.

++++

Many miles away from there, Asami Ryuichi looked at the small patches on his wrist – a reminder of his acupuncture session a few hours prior.

 _‘You and I belong in the same place... **Hell** ,’_ he heard a familiar voice say inside his head, and blinked.

If anything, no sane man would pay much attention to the words uttered by an individual like Liu Fei Long, the epitome of contradiction and emotional unbalance.

Still, his words kept echoing in his head, just like the annoying buzz of bees that flew too close to one’s ear, but not close enough for one to reach and slap them away…

 _‘You have seduced Akihito...You are nothing but an addiction, Asami...’_ the voice went on, taunting him, daring him to prove it wrong. _‘He is not with you out of love... He comes to you out of need...’_

Asami shifted on the bed, lying on his side to face the wall in the small bedroom. There were so many other things happening on his life that he should be worrying about, and instead he found himself moping over the bitter words of a mafia leader about his love life.

_Pathetic._

He turned on the bed again, frowning. He wanted to go back to those days in which his business affairs mattered more than everything else, in which nothing ever hindered him or made him hesitate, in which he could simply go back home without wondering if _he_ was there, and when he wasn’t, wondering if something had happened to _him_ …

He wanted to go back to those days in which he, Asami Ryuichi, was his one and only concern.

‘No… you don’t,’ he heard another voice inside his head say, and this time, it was not Fei Long’s.

_It was his._

He brought himself to a sitting position, drawing in a long breath. He was indeed in dire need for medical help if he couldn’t even come to terms with his own thoughts and desires.

“Asami-san?” he heard the voice of his counsellor call out, after knocking twice on his door. “Phone call.”

He jumped from the bed, and opened the door after two long strides. The woman was already holding out the only satellite device in the island, and quickly retreated into her own room to give him some privacy.

“Asami,” he said, after closing the door behind him.

 _“Asami-sama,”_ he heard his first assistant say, a note of concern evident in his voice. _“I apologize for disturbing your retreat, sir.”_

“No need for that,” Asami replied, feeling incredibly relieved at the prospect of having a business crisis to deal with. At that point, anything would be better than being left alone with his own thoughts. “What is the emergency?”

_“I just got a call from Saejima Taiga.”_

Asami raised an eyebrow.

“Tojo’s second in command?” he asked. “What did he want?”

 _“To schedule a meeting with you,”_ he heard Kirishima reply. _“Considering the fact he is not exactly…business savvy, I would assume he was assigned by Dojima to conduct peace talks.”_

“Indeed… Which is nothing short of ironic for a man that spent 25 years in jail for murdering an entire rival clan.”

 _“His file indicates that the Ueno Seiwa Clan hit was a setup…”_ his secretary explained. _“He was proved innocent five years ago.”_

“Which makes everything even _more_ ironic, don’t you think? Peace talks…” Asami scoffed. “If I had been unfairly sentenced to life and spent more than two decades of my life in prison, I would want _anything but peace_ the moment I got out…”

_“He is indeed a…peculiar man, sir.”_

“Try to meet with him as soon as possible,” Asami said. “Dojima probably wants a truce.”

_“Will you accept it?”_

“No,” he answered shortly. “I want to make it clear that now that they were foolish enough to make a move against me, I am not done with my retaliation yet.”

_“Hai, sir.”_

“To all due effects, simply meet with Saejima, hear what he has to say, ask for some time to analyse his proposition,” Asami added. “I should be back in Tokyo by the beginning of next week, we can decide on our next move then.”

_“Understood, sir.”_

“Is there anything else?”

 _“Nothing that requires your immediate attention,”_ he heard Kirishima reply, his voice final and unaffected.

His secretary was, indeed, a very sadistic man. After three years, he was fully aware of what part of his report was missing, and yet, he would make him ask for it…

“What about…Takaba?” Asami asked, trying to keep his voice as casual as if he was merely going over the items on a sales report.

“ _Ahh…_ ” the secretary replied, his voice both amused and disheartened. _“He had an accident this morning, apparently.”_

Asami’s heart skipped a beat.

“An accident?” he asked, trying not to show much concern and failing miserably. “What accident?”

 _“Nothing serious,”_ he heard Kirishima explain, after a sigh. _“Apparently, the only casualty was his friend’s couch.”_

“Care to explain?”

 _“He called me earlier today to ask for advice as to where he could have certain…stains removed from a couch’s fabric,”_ he heard the man explain. _“He seemed to infer I had the required expertise on the matter, due to the things I had probably seen at the couch at your office and… at the penthouse… and the limo…”_

“Ah, I see...” Asami whispered, and a smirk curled the corners of his mouth. He wondered what circumstances had led his fierce little lover to have such… _an accident._ Maybe he had gotten carried away masturbating, like that day in his own office? Maybe he had fallen asleep and dreamt of him… _of them_ …taking refuge in each other’s bodies? He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I assume he sounded positively mortified?”

_“He did.”_

Another smirk.

“And then?” Asami asked, deeply amused by Kirishima and his lover’s antics. “Did you send the couch to be cleaned?”

 _“Well, obviously not,”_ Kirishima replied, matter-of-factly. _“I told him that I needed formal authorisation from you.”_

Asami chuckled at his secretary’s words, as his mind provided him with the image of Takaba Akihito tugging at his hair in frustration.

“You really don't make his life easy, do you?” he asked at last.

 _“He tried calling you, but obviously your phone has no reception...”_ Kirishima continued. _“So he ended up asking his other friend to help him get rid of the couch... Shinada reported they went back to Kou's place with some derelict piece of furniture that seemed to belong in a lower class museum.”_

“He really refuses to use the credit card I gave him...” Asami snorted. “Brat...”

He pondered for a moment. Even after everything the two of them had been through, Akihito had never once asked for any kind of financial assistance. Even though Asami knew he struggled to make ends meet, the photographer had never taken advantage of his status as his lover to get hold of his money, even though he would be more than happy to provide for them both.

Just another thing about the young man he found absolutely fascinating.

“Kirishima…” he said at last, “…ask Shinada what the couch looked like, get estimate measures. Then order an exclusive piece from one of our suppliers and have it delivered to Kou's place.”

 _“Certainly, sir,”_ the other man replied. _“Should I include a note?”_

“Yes,” Asami’s lips curled up in another smirk. “Write: _‘To Takaba Akihito. Try not to ruin this one.’_ ”

He heard his first assistant chuckle on the other side of the line.

_“I will arrange it to be delivered first thing tomorrow.”_

“Good,” Asami replied, reaching for his cigarettes. “Is that all he has been up to?”

 _“There is also the usual…”_ he heard the man say, after a particularly sharp intake of breath, _“…getting into trouble issue. Shinada reported that he headed to a stakeout in the Tojo territory…”_

Asami’s pulse quickened slightly at the words, but it was not as if that had come as a surprise.

“I suspected he would, he mentioned a lead on a war between syndicates a while ago…” he whispered, pinching his temple. “But I assume Shinada is following him closely? Did you allocate extra personnel for his security?”

 _“No, sir, but…”_ he heard Kirishima pause, and could literally visualize the man pushing his glasses further up his nose. _“I have talked to Hayashi-san about his intentions.”_

Asami’s fingers unconsciously clutched the phone against his ear, one of his eyebrows going up as he spoke.

“Kirishima…” he whispered, his voice carrying a distinct note of threat. “I have always trusted your judgment, so could you please enlighten me as to why you think Mirai would agree to keep Akihito safe?”

There was a moment of silence, and when the secretary spoke again, his voice was terribly quiet and serious.

_“With all due respect, sir… Perhaps she deserves to be given a little more credit.”_

Under any other circumstances, Asami would not put up with the criticism underlying that statement. However, Kirishima Kei was no mere subordinate. He was his right-hand man, his most valued ally, and the closest thing he had to a friend – one that even with his privileged status, never lacked the professionalism to follow every single one of his orders.

Not to mention that by now, it was safe to assume Kirishima knew Hayashi Mirai much better than he did.

“Fine,” Asami said simply, his voice slightly strained. “But I want you to-“

_“Just a minute, sir, I have another call coming in.”_

Asami let his eyes dart mindlessly across the room as he waited.

_“Sir, it was Mir- I mean, Hayashi-san.”_

“And?” Asami asked, noticing the man now sounded much more agitated.

 _“She said Takaba and his colleague were spotted by Tojo’s security team but she has things under control,”_ Kirishima explained. _“I am meeting her now to retrieve him.”_

“Call me again as soon as he is with you,” Asami replied, feeling a mix of relief and concern pump through his veins. “I want a complete report on his situation - if any of Dojima’s goons have hurt him in any way, I want names, Kirishima.”

_“Certainly, sir.”_

He hung up, and sat on the bed with the phone firmly secured in his hands.

Hopefully, the bad feeling he had about the whole situation was simply his mind overreacting to a relatively harmless situation.

His intuition, however, tended to be painfully accurate all of the times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am unable to share a picture of what Hayashi Mirai's back tattoo looks like because first, I can’t draw to save my life, lol. Second, panthers are not a usual motif in the yakuza mythology, so even though I did some extensive research, I found nothing that comes remotely close to what I want her body suit to be. So… well! I will leave that one to your imagination ;D


	16. Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparks of jealousy and bullets cut through Tokyo's skyline when Asami's past and present lovers have to work together to escape an ambush.

Hayashi Mirai leaned against the wall inside one of the dusty rooms of the abandoned building her men had just left, upon her orders.

 _She would deal with the blond photographer on her own._ That statement had her subordinates bowing respectfully as they cast glances towards the unconscious man sprawled on a corner, probably pondering that the young man was lucky to be a civilian. If he weren't, they knew it would either come down to them having to scrape his remains off the ground, or having to dispose of the relatively intact body, in case she chose to finish him with a quick, clean shot between the eyes.

After making sure that everyone but her had returned to the Tojo headquarters, she let out a sigh, and finally looked down at the LCD monitor of the camera in her hands one more time.

So many images of her that she should be deleting...And yet, she could not bring herself to do so, or to stop looking at them. There was something different about them, something personal, and it was not only the lighting or the angles... It was almost as if the person behind the viewfinder was looking for something else, something that was nowhere as objective as his colleague's intentions when taking pretty much the exact same pictures...

She frowned, staring at one particular frame in which everything but her was out of focus. For a very long time, she found herself looking at her own face from someone else's perspective, and her eyes were so bleak and vacant that she wondered, for a second, if that was always what she looked like to others or if that kid had been able to capture her in an extremely rare moment of vulnerability...

Her gaze dropped to the young man lying on the ground, still unconscious.

Takaba Akihito. The chosen one. The _eleven_ in a world of fours or fives.

Perhaps she, herself, had never been more than a six.

She chuckled, crouching to take a better look at the lean figure at her feet, his chest heaving up and down as he breathed. Her eyes were quick to locate the small bruises on his chin and collarbone, the fading love bites on his neck...

_His marks._

No wonder that man disliked tattoos so much - only he was allowed to carve marks in his lovers’ bodies. Just another reason for her to cover hers in ink - the drawings and patterns would forever hide the skin that had once been his blank canvas. 

To think that she had been a part of his life for 12 years... Her mind drifted to memories of such distant days that it almost felt like she was revisiting events of another lifetime. Distant memories of distant feelings, but that were still strong enough to remind her that for over a decade, she had been Asami Ryuichi's blank canvas in many more ways than one.

She still carried his marks, many layers below her skin. 

Her jaw clenched involuntarily, and she gently slapped the face of the unconscious man in front of her.

"Hey," she whispered. "Wake up, kid."

++++

Akihito blinked once, then twice, trying to make sense of his whereabouts. When his eyes finally landed on the woman crouching in front of him, he brought himself to a sitting position, and his mind started replaying the latest events to force him back into reality. 

“Where is Mitarai?” he asked, looking around.

“He will wake up in the Millennium Tower, with a terrible headache,” the woman in front of him replied, getting back on her feet. “Nothing to worry about.”

 “Shinada?” 

“He’ll live.”

Akihito closed his eyes, and winced when the back of his head touched the hard surface behind him.

“Sorry for the cut in your head, one of my men pistol-whipped you,” Hayashi explained. “It’s not as if I could give you cover in front of my subordinates.”

He cursed when his hand located the point in his scalp where he had been hit, wincing one more time after looking at his bloodied fingertips.

“I had to delete the pictures your colleague took, I am afraid I can’t let those be published.”

“What about mine?” he asked, for the first time noticing that his beloved camera was still in the woman’s hands.

“They’re still there,” she answered quietly, as she handed the camera back to its rightful owner. “What are you planning to do with them?”

The photographer frowned, and lifted his gaze to the woman’s face.

If he was completely honest with himself, the pictures he had taken were not news material. He had not been looking for the perfect shot of a criminal, but of a person...

“I don’t know…” he whispered in response, fully aware that by now Hayashi Mirai already knew that she had been the target of his viewfinder. “Who was the man you were fighting with?”

“Sengoku Hiroshi, Omi Alliance,” she answered, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms as she spoke. “He is a sadistic prick. Potential rapist. Thought he could take me on, I had no choice but to prove him wrong.”

Akihito watched as she let a small smile curl the corner of her lips, one of her eyebrows going up as she looked at the floor. If it weren’t for all the tattoos covering her body from her neck to her fingers, she could as well be one of those women in the cover of beauty magazines.

“You wiped the floor with him...” he said, letting his eyes fall back to his own camera as she chuckled. Despite the casual tone of their conversation, it was very clear neither of them was entirely comfortable with each other’s presence.

“Why are you here?” she asked, offering a hand so that he could get up. “What were you expecting to find?”

For a moment, he thought of ignoring her hand – he could stand up on his own, thank you very much – but that could be seen as an act of hostility and the last thing he needed was to ruffle the feathers of _Tojo’s number one killer._

“I…I want to help Maya,” he said, tilting his chin upwards as a way to shield himself from another glare. “She told me someone set her up with all the…hacking thing.”

“She should not have gotten you involved in this,” Hayashi replied.

“She didn’t want me to. I insisted.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to help her. And…”

He swallowed, feeling his explanation would culminate in a person that was bound to remind them both as to why there was such tension in the air between them.

“Because of Asami?” she asked, her voice unaltered although her eyes were gleaming dangerously as she stared at him.

He remembered her words, that her relationship with Asami was ‘purely professional’ those days, and raised an eyebrow, still holding her stare.

_As if._

There was nothing professional in those brown eyes burning with _jealousy._

“Look…” she said, taking a deep breath and blinking until her face was showing nothing but utter indifference. “I believed Maya when she said she hadn’t sent anyone the information she stole from Sion, but that doesn’t make things any easier,” she continued. “The chairmen of the Tojo and the Omi just met to discuss what is going on…” Akihito squared his shoulders and nodded, putting aside their personal issues for the time being and focusing on the reason for his stakeout. “Whoever started this, was not acting on orders from either of them.”

“So there is a traitor?” he asked, finally grasping the seriousness of the situation when she frowned and nodded in response.

“Or _traitors,_ ” she explained. “People trying to make Asami and the syndicates go to war against each other.”

He scratched his neck and cursed silently before speaking again.

“Do you have any leads?” he whispered. “Do you…suspect anyone?”

“Not yet, no,” Hayashi replied. “We have a lot of ground to c-”

“Takaba-san.”

They both turned around at the same time to look at the man who had just joined them.

“Kirishima,” Akihito heard the woman say, a smile curling her lips as she walked towards Asami’s first secretary. “Thank Heavens, I was beginning to think I would not get home in time for dinner…”

Akihito raised an eyebrow when the remarkably stoic man let out a very small, almost invisible smile of his own.

“Unless you are planning to have a very late meal, Hayashi-san,” he said, “I am afraid you have already missed dinner time.”

The photographer narrowed his eyes. So other than professional assassin and Asami’s ex, Hayashi Mirai was also Kirishima’s _bestie_?

He snorted. Up until then, he hadn't even known the secretary could make casual conversation, let alone _smile_. And that was because they had been in and out of each other’s lives for more than three years.

_Traitor._

The bespectacled man cleared his throat when he realized Akihito’s stare, and was back to his usual emotionless self when he spoke again.

“Takaba-san, if you will excuse us for a moment…”

“Sure…” Akihito muttered, with his arms crossed as he leaned against a wall.

His eyes followed the two of them as they walked to a corner of the room, their voices low and urgent, but their body language showing that very high level of comfort and intimacy that one would expect from very close friends.

Akihito shifted on his feet, feeling uncomfortable at the realization that no one in Asami’s life, other than his estranged daughter, seemed to see him as an ally, let alone a _friend._

He looked away, trying to find a distraction from the depressing thoughts filling his mind. Not a a minute later, Kirishima was walking towards him.

“Time to get you out of here, Takaba-san.”

“I could have gotten home on my own, you know,” Akihito snapped, zipping up his jacket and stuffing his hands on his pockets as he walked to the front door. “I don’t need a p-“

The three of them were about to leave the building when the sound of metal clicking made Hayashi take a step backwards, throwing an arm in front of the photographer and forcing him to stand away from the door and take cover behind a pillar.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered, looking at Kirishima, who was also taking cover next to the doorframe.

"A suppressed weapon," the secretary answered, reaching for the Glock 17 concealed under his jacket as he studied the mark the round left on the wall a little to the right of where Akihito had been standing a minute ago. "Probably a 9mm sub machine gun?"

"Yeah, a MP5SD most likely..." she replied, looking at the still smoking bullet hole as well. "But not a sniper rifle, so the shot came from the ground..."

The photographer noticed that the two of them had turned to look at him, with the same frown on their faces.

"And you seem to be their target," Akihito heard Hayashi say.

" _Their?_ W-Who?" he heard himself stutter in response. "Why?"

"I don't know, and I don't know either," the woman replied, sticking her neck out to steal a glance towards the apparently deserted street ahead. "But we need to get you out of here, fast."

"We should head to the back-"

"No," she interrupted. "There are people by your car, Kei, no matter the route you take, they will be waiting for you. It's an ambush."

Akihito saw the usually impassive face of Asami's first secretary scrunch up in concern.

"So they knew I was coming?" he whispered.

"I don't know..." Hayashi replied, reaching for the semi-automatic pistols in her belt. "But someone, somewhere, is acting like a double agent, that's for sure."

Akihito made sure to take as many mental notes as he could before panic flooded his system.

"I-I don't have a gun!" he muttered, memories of the last shootout he had been in flashing before his eyes. "Can one of you-"

"You won't need a gun, kid," he heard Hayashi reply. 

"Stop calling me a kid, I am not _a kid_ ," he retorted, his voice slightly shaky with a mixture of annoyance, fear and pride. "I am a grown up man, old enough to-"

Luckily for him, his mouth slammed shut of its own accord before the words he intended to say escaped his lips.

_It was not a good time to bring up his and Asami's sexual feats._

"My apologies, _of course_ you are a grown-up man," she hissed back, and Akihito did not miss her death glare. "I am still not giving you a gun, neither is Kirishima."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Akihito squeaked, his eyes darting from the woman's figure to Kirishima's face. 

"I will take them down," Hayashi whispered, checking the rounds in her cartridges and snapping them back in place. "Akihito, you run to the car, Kirishima will give you cover."

"How many people could you count?" the secretary asked.

"Two behind the main gate, three to the left, hiding behind two cars, other two to the right," she replied, both index fingers resting along the triggers of her pistols.

"There are too many," Kirishima replied. "I will help you-"

"Oh, please..." she snorted. "It's very chivalrous of you, but I have handled larger numbers without assistance."

After giving up hopes that his assigned role in that plan would go beyond ‘running’, Akihito merely watched the two of them talk.

"Are they Omi?" Kirishima asked, motioning for Akihito to get behind him as he held his gun close to his face.

"Probably. They are wearing pins but from this far I can't really make out what family they belong to,” Hayashi replied, both arms stretched by her side as she prepared to head outside. "On my signal, you two run as fast as you can, and do not look back.”

And so, after the woman made her triumphant exit and the bullets started flying, Takaba Akihito did exactly as he was told – he ran for his life, with Kirishima guarding him and shooting at least three people that tried to cross their path.

However, because he was Takaba Akihito and hardly ever did as he was told, he looked back, just in time to see Hayashi Mirai slide across the hood of a car, each of her guns pointed towards a different direction, shooting other two men in the head as if it was no big deal.

He gasped, the shock of seeing people be killed in front of him making his blood freeze.

That was something he would _never_ get used to.

“Get into the car, _now._ ”

Kirishima’s voice brought him back to reality, and in a matter of seconds they both were speeding off in the black BMW.

++++

Kirishima adjusted the rear view mirror as he drove as fast as he could out of the conflict zone. The last thing he saw as he sped past the front gates of the Tojo’s headquarters, was a crowd of men in suits running to where Hayashi Mirai was.

He let out a relieved sigh. Much as he trusted the woman’s skills, he also knew that all it took was _one shot_ to bring even the best fighter down.

At least now she had her men to protect her.

Casting another glance towards the rear view mirror, he saw Takaba Akihito leaning against the backseat, as pale as a ghost, staring out of the window.

“I am taking you back to the penthouse,” he said, his tone making it clear his decision was not open to debate.

“Why?” the photographer asked. “Did Asami tell you to? Where is he, by the way?”

“He is out of town,” Kirishima responded. “The penthouse is the best place for you to be right now.”

“No,” he heard the young man reply, crossing his arms. “I would rather stay at Kou’s.”

The secretary inhaled deeply, and would have rolled his eyes if only he were not way too tired for that. Without waiting another second, he pressed a button on the steering wheel, and soon enough they could both hear the sound of speed dialling echoing inside the vehicle.

He could see the photographer lean forward, his eyes darting back and forth as he heard the ringback tone once, twice…

 _“Asami,”_ the imposing voice of his boss soon surrounded them both, and he heard the younger man gasp behind him.

“Asami-sama, you are on speaker,” he said.

_“How is he?”_

“Unharmed,” Kirishima replied, casting a quick glance towards the photographer. “But on our way out we were caught in a shootout between the Tojo and the Omi. We were not able to identify who started it, but Takaba-san appeared to be the target.”

There was a moment of silence, and when the man on the other side of the line spoke again, his voice was cold enough to make him shudder.

_“Names?”_

“Hayashi-san mentioned she had an earlier run in with Sengoku Hiroshi, of the Omi Alliance,” the secretary explained. “According to her description, he is mentally unstable. He might have been involved.”

“Asami, where are you?” he heard the young man ask, a frown wrinkling his forehead as he spoke.

Another pause.

_“I am out of town… I have some problems to sort out.”_

“But wh-“

“Takaba-san refuses to go back to the penthouse, sir,” Kirishima interrupted, paying little attention to the glare he got from the young man in return.

“Well, at least with Kou and Maya I won’t be alone, isn’t that safer for me?” he heard the photographer reply.

 _“It’s not safe for any of you, if you are a target,”_ said the baritone voice. _“Also, I have no idea what the security status on Kou’s residence is. The penthouse just went through major improvement works, we have much better surveillance, it is safer than it has ever been in the past.”_

“Yes… I-I know…” Takaba Akihito’s voice, he noticed, had lost a great deal of his usual confidence. “But…I…I-just…”

_“Akihito…”_

On the other side of the line, his boss seemed to have realized the same thing, and the man’s voice was much softer when he spoke again.

 _“I know you don’t like to be alone in the penthouse, not after what happened some months ago…”_ Asami said. _“I wish I could be with you tonight.”_

Kirishima took that moment to steal another glance towards the photographer, whose face seemed to have relaxed a great deal.

_“I would tie you to our bed and make lov-“_

“Asami!” he heard the young man squeak, probably blushing all kinds of red. “You are on speaker!”

 _“I know,”_ came the response. _“But Kirishima doesn’t mind, right, Kirishima?”_

_After three years of hearing them having sex on the backseat while he drove?_

“Not at all, sir,” was his honest response.

 _“Akihito…”_ he heard his boss insist, his voice even smoother. _“Go to the penthouse. I would feel much better knowing you will spend the night in a safe place.”_

Kirishima heard the young man behind him let out a sigh, and knew the battle had finally been won.

“Fine...” he heard the photographer whisper. “But only tonight. When are you coming back?”

_“In a few days. Just stay put until then.”_

“I can’t promise anyt-“

The young man was still talking when three soft beeps indicated the call had been ended.

“Asshole!” he exclaimed. “Does he always hang up on people like that?”

“Most of the times, yes,” the first assistant replied.

Less than a minute later, the photographer was speaking again.

“Kirishima…” The secretary raised an eyebrow at his quiet tone, bracing himself for either an outrageous request, or an indiscreet question. “Is Asami okay?”

He frowned, glancing at the young man looking at him through the rear view mirror. Given the current circumstances, that apparently harmless question would have to be handled with care.

“Why do you ask?”

“The last time I saw him…” the photographer’s voice was low and hesitant, “he had…he had a bruise inside his elbow…” Kirishima kept silent as he waited for the young man to conclude his thought. “Has he been using drugs?”

The secretary’s eyes immediately drifted from the road ahead to the worried face staring at him in the mirror. _Drugs, of all things!_ But again, that bruise on his boss’s vein had been ugly enough to raise that kind of suspicion…

“No,” Kirishima replied. Perhaps that was not a story he was meant to be telling, but letting the young man think his boss was an _addict_ did not sound like a good idea either. “He was suffering from dehydration. He needed an IV but whoever picked his vein did a very poor job.”

“An IV?” he heard the photographer ask, his voice loaded with shock and disbelief. “Like, in a _hospital?_ Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t _anyone_ tell me?”

“He didn’t want you to worry, that’s all.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

Takaba Akihito was still cursing and scoffing when they finally got to the penthouse.

“Takaba-san…” the secretary said, as soon as the young man opened the door of the BMW. “I know it is part of your job, but just until Asami-sama gets back…please stay away from anything connected to the Tojo and the Omi Alliance.”

The two of them exchanged a long glance, in which the photographer seemed to be weighing his options.

“Fine, whatever…” he heard the young man whisper, before slamming the BMW door shut and making his way to the entrance hall.

Kirishima Kei let out a relieved sigh.

Takaba Akihito was back in safe territory, his boss would be able to sleep in peace, and he could finally turn his thoughts to the very complicated day that awaited him tomorrow.


	17. Dumbass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami’s past was like a giant jigsaw puzzle, and the girl at his side seemed to be one of the very few people to have some of the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference: kaasan = mom

_“Ryuichi…son…look at me…”_

_He looked around, but it was so dark. He couldn’t find her._

_“Ryuichi…”_

_He blindly reached for what he assumed was a door and pushed it open, just to find himself in the same dark cubicle._

_Another door. Same cubicle. Again. And again. One more door, just darkness._

_He was already sweating. He wanted to call out for her, but she had told him to be quiet. But then, she had also told him not to open the door, and look at him now._

_“Kaasan…” he whispered. “Kaasan…”_

_His voice grew louder, and louder, and before he knew he was screaming at the top of his lungs, his eyes shut tight._

_When he opened them again, there was light, a lot of it._

_He looked down, at the body covered by a thin blanket. It was windy._

_The blanket fluttered once…twice…_

_He saw her dress, her beautiful flower dress. Torn._

_Blood._

_Thin red rivulets dripping down the inside of her legs._

_Someone had hurt his okaasan…_

_The wind blew the blanket away, and he screamed again, louder than ever, when bony fingers reached out for him, the ghostly face of a young woman with her dead eyes calling out his name again…_

_No._

_NO._

Asami woke up with a start, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, was both Suoh and Majima Makoto at his door.

“Asami-sama!” he heard the blond exclaim, his eyes scanning the room to find the source of such disturbance. “Are you-“

“Get out,” Asami whispered in response.

It was Makoto’s turn to speak.

“You were sc-“

“ _Now_ ,” he snarled, his voice as lethal as his eyes.

When the two of them left, he closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. Mindlessly, he touched his face, just to find his skin moist - probably out of sweat but mostly because of tears.

That stupid nightmare, again.

He was still cursing silently when he got out of bed. Judging by the fact both Suoh and Makoto were already dressed and appeared to be fully awake, either they had gotten up very early or he had overslept.

He picked up his watch from the nightstand, and let out an unhappy sigh.

8:26

As if it hadn’t been bad enough that the previous day had been as inefficient as it could be, a combination of wet dreams, phone calls and long naps, the woman had let him oversleep.

He got rid of his clothes and turned on the shower, still frowning.

That whole counselling conundrum was beginning to feel like an absolute waste of time.

++++

It was 9 in the morning when Akihito woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. It took him a few seconds to get a grip on his surroundings – it had been a while since he had last spent a full night at the penthouse.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the mild disappointment at the realization that yes, the other side of the bed was empty; no, Asami had not yet returned home.

“Hello-“ he said groggily.

 _“Takaba-san,”_ he heard the hurried voice of Asami’s first assistant reply. _“I have arranged for Shinada to take you to Kou’s place, please reorganize your schedule so that you can be back at the penthouse after lunch.”_

Only then did he notice that someone was knocking at the door.

He frowned.

“Kirishima?” he asked, one of his eyes still closed. “Why is Shinada…Is he here?”

_“He should be, yes, I told him to be at the penthouse at 9 o’clock sharp.”_

“Oi, thanks for telling me ahead of time…”

 _“I assumed you needed to rest after last night’s…”_ the secretary paused, _“…events.”_

“I’m fine, I told you already,” Akihito retorted, finally getting out of bed. “Why are you so worried?”

 _“Because you are my responsibility until Asami-sama is back,”_ he heard the man reply. _“I can’t risk you getting caught up in another conflict.”_

“You are being paranoid.”

 _“I am being cautious,”_ Kirishima replied. _“And Takaba-san?”_

“Yeah?”

_“Please do not tell anything about last night to Maya.”_

The photographer frowned again. It occurred to him to ask why Kirishima even cared if the girl found out or not. Maybe he was just acting on Asami’s orders? He wondered if the girl even knew her mother and the bespectacled man were so close…

“Uh…Okay…” he muttered in response, too tired to start an argument.

 _“Thank you,”_ he heard the man reply. _“Have a good day.”_

“You t-“ Akihito rolled his eyes as he put the phone away. “Of course, he hangs up on people as well, I forgot.”

Still wearing nothing but his boxers, he opened the door to let his bodyguard in, after a long sigh. And so, today he would have to go around town with his 6’2’’ tall _babysitter._

When exactly had he agreed to follow Asami’s and Kirishima’s advice when it came to his security?

 _‘Maybe after you were abducted…shot…molested…stabbed…then shot again…’_ his mind replied.

He gulped.

_Whatever._

In less than ten minutes, he was already leaning back against the seat of the BMW, after taking a shower and grabbing an apple that he was now mindlessly munching on.

“Takaba-san,” he heard Shinada say, when they parked in front of Kou’s apartment building. “Could you please text me your schedule for the day?”

 _‘What schedule for the day?’_ Akihito asked, mentally.

“Uh…sure…” he whispered in response, slowly getting out of the car and waiting for it to disappear around the corner to climb the staircase leading to his friend’s place.

_What was he going to do with the rest of his day?_

He had promised Kirishima – and Asami, by default – that he would stay put until the man got back. But then, what was he supposed to do? Just sit and wait for hell to break? It was obvious the syndicates were up to something, there was a traitor going around, one that could be literally _anywhere_ – in the Tojo, in the Omi, in _Sion._

Akihito tried to ignore the knot in his throat. Asami’s life could be in danger, and he was just supposed to _stay put?_

Still lost in thought, he used the spare key that Kou had gotten him to open the front door, just in time to see his friend sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room, with a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

“What the…?” the photographer asked, as soon as he spotted the plastic sheet on the floor, and the mirror taped to the wall.

“Ah, look who has decided to show up…” he heard Maya say, while taking a pair of shears from under her belt. “Good morning to you too.”

“Good morning…” he replied, raising his eyebrows when the girl took a comb out of one of her pockets, and moved behind Kou. “What is going on in here?”

“Oi, Akihito,” Kou replied, raising a hand with a very excited smile on his lips. “Maya is a hairstylist, didn’t you know?”

Akihito chuckled as he watched the girl graciously take the first snips at his friend’s hair. So other than hacking computers, that was what Asami’s daughter did for a living?

He wondered if Asami even knew, and if he did, what he thought of it.

“Since Kou won’t let me pay rent, I thought I could at least give him a free haircut,” she shrugged, looking at Akihito’s reflection on the mirror with a malicious smirk. “And a scalp massage…” she whispered into Kou’s ear, her eyes still shining with mischief as she kept looking at the blond man, “… _if he so desires_.”

The photographer saw Kou’s eyes widen, and simply shook his head at the girl’s antics.

“A scalp m-massage…?” the dark-haired man stuttered.

“Yeah. It increases blood flow to your hair follicles,” she answered, her voice casual as she trimmed another dark lock. “It’s really good for your hair.”

“And they say it increases blood flow to _other parts_ of the body as well…” Akihito added, mercilessly teasing Kou as well. Good thing that, for once, _his_ sex life was not the conversation topic of the moment.

“True,” Maya continued. “Some people might even get a little bit too _…stimulated_.”

“Uh-huh…Okay…Huh…” Kou muttered in response.

Akihito had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh. Judging by Kou’s blushing face, he was already way _too_ stimulated just from the dirty looks Maya was giving him.

Damn the Asami clan for knowing how to tease their preys.

He was still trying to stifle the laughter rattling inside his chest when Kou cleared his throat.

“Speaking of _stimulated_ , Akihito...” he said, “I have been meaning to ask...” when he raised his eyes to Kou’s face, he realized his friend was about to turn the tables on him. “Care to explain what happened to my couch?”

Akihito’s smile died on his lips, but Maya looked positively amused.

“Ah. Well. I... I…” the photographer scratched his head as he hunted for an excuse. “I spilled coffee on it. Couldn't get the stain out. So...” he looked at the derelict couch he was currently sitting on, and tried not to blush at the memories of him and Takato getting rid of Kou’s beloved sofa the day before, “…I got you a new one,” he added, patting the seat next to him. “Don't you like it?”

“I am quite sure that couch is everything but new…” Kou complained, frowning.

“And I am quite sure it was not coffee that he spilled…” Maya added, raising an eyebrow.

Kou merely rolled his eyes, sighing.

“The one time I let him sleep in my designer couch...” he said. “Unbelievable.”

Akihito crossed his arms and snorted at his friend’s disdain, even though he knew he deserved the heat he was getting – mainly for tossing his friend’s beloved couch in a dumpster two blocks away.

“It could have been you, Kou,” he said casually, looking at his own fingers as he tried to ignore the slight blush creeping up his neck. “Don't you ever have... _dreams?_ ”

The photographer let out a smile when his friend’s startled gaze shifted to Maya, and then back to his reflection on the mirror.

“Oi _, Akihito!_ ” Kou squeaked.

“Just saying,” the blond man replied, trying to bite back a chuckle when he realized his friend was also blushing all kinds of red.

“Can I do it?” Maya asked, pretending to be completely unaware of the reason why Kou seemed so distraught when he spoke again.

“D-do what?”

“The scalp massage.”

“Yeah, Kou…” Akihito said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at his blushing friend with a mischievous smile. He was finding the other man’s embarrassment far too amusing. “Let her give you a scalp massage...”

“You two are acting like children today, what is going on?” Kou snarled when the other two people in the room started giggling. “No, I don't need a massage, that's enough, thanks,” he said, pulling the towel off his shoulders.

“Ok, let me just blow it then,” Maya replied, looking deadly serious as she spoke.

Akihito had to cover his mouth not to laugh when Kou’s eyes went wide.

“E-excuse me?”

“Blow it dry, Kou, your hair,” Akihito heard the girl say, her voice strained as she tried not to laugh. “Maa…You guys only think about sex!”

The photographer was still laughing when she leaned forward to plug the hair dryer into the electrical outlet on the wall, deliberately stretching her arm in such a way that her T-shirt rode up and Kou would have no option but to look at the bare skin of her stomach right next to his face.

“Akihito,” he heard Kou whimper, “tell her to stop!”

The photographer, however, was too busy laughing as he headed towards the door to see who had just knocked on it.

When his eyes fell upon two men carrying a sofa, his laughter slowly turned into a puzzled look.

“Takaba Akihito?” he heard one of the men ask, as he glanced at a piece of paper tucked between the seats.

“Akihito?” he glanced over his shoulder to look at Kou. “Who is it?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s me…” he told the men holding the couch. “But there must be some kind of mistake, I didn’t ord-“

“It says here that this piece was invoiced to…” the man once again glanced at the paper, “… _Asami Ryuichi_.”

Behind him, he heard a gasp. Of course. Now his disgrace was complete. Not only did Kou have confirmation of _what exactly_ happened in his couch, but now he, Akihito, knew that Asami knew too.

“Here, there is a note,” the man added.

A very flustered Akihito snatched the piece of paper out of the man’s hands, cursing in silence as he felt his face get hotter by the minute.

_‘To Takaba Akihito. Try not to ruin this one.’_

“Son of a…” he hissed, reading the words again and imagining the infuriating smirk on the man’s face as he came up with that message. “How did he even know?”

The image of a bespectacled man flashed before his eyes. _Kirishima._ Why had he even looked for that man for help, in the first place?

“Well,” Akihito cleared his throat. Hell if he was going to accept that damn couch! “As I said-“

“Whoa, is that a Motomi Kawakami’s Sestina Lux?” he heard a very enthusiastic Kou say, as he looked at the tag hanging from one of the sofa arms. “Man…I always wanted to have one of those, but his pieces are way out of my league, budget-wise…”

Akihito rolled his eyes. Now that his friend had confessed his love for the apparently ultra expensive, artsy-fartsy piece of furniture, he could not actually turn it down, could he?

“Where do I sign?” he muttered, after letting out a sigh.

++++

Asami had just finished drinking his tea when his counsellor materialised next to him in the patio.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine,” he replied, pretending not to notice the distinct note of concern in her voice. “Why do you ask?”

When there was no response after a good few seconds, he finally raised his eyes from the newspaper he was reading to look at her face, in time to notice she had an extremely irritating little smile on her lips.

“No reason,” she replied. “I am ready whenever you are, by the way.”

“Good,” he said in response, his voice still showing no emotion. “Do you want to go inside or can we stay here?”

“Your choice.”

He crossed his legs, and rested his hands on the arms of his chair. For the first time since he had arrived in that island, his mind was beginning to show some severe signs of tiredness, and he was growing impatient.

“I could do with some fresh air…” he whispered, reaching for the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. “And also, I would like to ask you to give Suoh his gun back.”

He saw the expression on the woman’s face change from amiable to indifferent.

“Why the sudden request?” she asked. “I thought I had made it clear when you first arrived at the island, that you will not need your guns here?”

“I noticed that your assistant carries one,” he answered, after taking a long drag off his cigarette, “which makes me think that maybe this place is not as safe as you want me to believe it is?”

When the woman spoke again, her voice was just as firm as before, but her expression was once again friendly.

“She carries a gun to protect me from the people I bring to this island, Asami-san,” she explained, “not from the people that are already here.”

“You don’t trust me and Suoh, then?”

“I just happen to think that letting my clients near guns while on treatment is a recipe for disaster,” she said, her tone casual and final as she took a seat across from him. “I assume you understand the reason why.”

He snorted, and smashed what was left of his cigarette on an ashtray. Of course he understood why. The woman presumed he was mentally unfit, and the possibility that she might be right bothered him more than anything else.

“Shall we begin?” she asked.

“Yes…”

“Good…” Makoto whispered in response. “So, Asami-san…”

Asami shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

He already knew what her first question would be. Obviously, she would want to know what kind of intense dream had woken him up in tears and screams that morning….

“…what was your dream job as a kid?”

His mind was still so busy trying to find an appropriate way to go off on a tangent in case she chose to inquire about his nightmares, that he barely registered what her real question had been.

“Excuse me?” he asked, after a moment of hesitation.

“I asked,” she repeated, lacing her fingers over her lap. “What was your dream job as a kid, do you remember?”

He studied her face for a moment, his own expression a mix of mild surprise and suspicion.

“Yes…I remember,” he replied, his expression softening as his mind drifted back to his early childhood days. “I wanted to be a race car driver.”

“Is that so?”

He let a small smirk curl the corners of his mouth. Such a silly aspiration…

“Yes...”

“How many race cars do you have today?” he heard her ask, and chuckled in response.

“Seven,” he said, as he mentally went over the images of every single one of his precious vehicles. “But my favourite one was the Ferrari 250 GTO.”

“’Was?’” she asked. “What happened to it?”

He swallowed, and took that chance to glance inside his half empty packet of Dunhills. He was going through his supply of cigarettes incredibly fast, and if he kept that going, he would run out of his nicotine hits much before that week was over.

“I gave it to someone else,” he answered, resisting the urge to light up another cigarette.

“That is very generous of you,” Makoto said, a genuine smile curling the corners of her lips. “I imagine whoever got it must have been truly happy.”

He let out a sigh, and remained silent.

_If only._

“So, a race car driver, huh?” he heard her speak again. “When I was a child, my dream was to be an idol, can you believe that?” she chuckled. “An idol, of all things…” he kept watching her face as she shook her head. “At what point do we give up those innocent ambitions, I wonder?”

“I know when I gave up mine,” he answered, letting his own thoughts drift back to the not-so-happy part of his childhood as his gaze shifted to the waves crashing on the horizon, somewhere far behind the woman’s head. “When I was sent to foster care,” he added. “By then I knew what I would truly become.”

He paused, his eyes shifting back to her face before he spoke again.

“The most powerful man in Japan.”

Makoto nodded slowly in response, as if taking in all the new information he had shared in such a short period of time.

“Quite an ambitious goal you set for yourself,” she said at last.

“Oh, I know,” he answered, finally succumbing to temptation and leading a cigarette to his lips. “But one should never settle for less than one deserves, right?”

“That is true,” she replied, her gaze even more vacant than usual. “Would you say that you succeeded?”

He let the warm cloud of nicotine fill his lungs, closing his eyes with a triumphant smirk on his lips.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Was it worth it?”

“Absolutely.”

He saw the woman nod again, but this time, her lips were pursed, as if she was deep in thought.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“See,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned forward on her seat. “I have this one theory about ego states, wanna hear it?”

“Entertain me…” he said in response, his cigarette dangling from his lips as he narrowed his eyes.

“I believe that our ego is like a car,” she explained. “What kind of car? That depends. It can be anything from a 1961 Beetle to a Bentley Mulsanne.

In your case, your ego is the Bentley. It is a fantastic car. Very efficient, glorious to look at, has a powerful engine. Delivers what it promises,” she continued. “Now… the driver is the superego. He is the one following the rules, turning left or right, in short, steering the car in the right direction. Again, it can be anything from a drunk beggar behind the wheel to a skilled, handsome driver in an exclusive Italian suit. Needless to say…” she let out another little smile. “Your superego is the skilled driver in the expensive suit. _A hell of a skilled driver_ , by the way, with an iron grip on that Bentley. Avoiding the bumps on the road ahead, keeping the car on the road even when it is on icy surfaces…A fantastic thing to watch, really, the superego. Yours is truly fascinating.”

She paused, and the smile slowly faded from her face.

“But see…” when she spoke again, her voice was lower and less amiable. “The whole point of our chats here has nothing to do with either,” she said. “What I am curious about is what lies in your subconscious, or as I call it, the monkey on your backseat. That hairy little animal that every now and then just jumps forward, grabs the driver by the hair and forces him to take one of his hands, maybe two, off the steering wheel,” she paused again, and the smile was back on her face. “Leading to catastrophic results, of course. The car might then just swerve off the road, crash into a tree, fly off the road and over a precipice… All kinds of chaos might ensue, but isn’t that what this is all about?”

He watched, in awe, as the woman leaned back on her chair. She seemed to be having a great time describing how that whole treatment was likely going to result in him _flying off the road and over a precipice._

“I see,” he whispered, raising an eyebrow. He knew exactly where that conversation was going. “You will be disappointed to find out then, that the monkey on my backseat is very well behaved.”

“Is it?” it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “So that's why you've been having nightmares?”

Asami felt one of his eyes twitch. Apparently, his _harmless_ counsellor would not pull any punches.

“Panic attacks?” she added, her tone back to its neutral zone.

“ _Attack_ ,” he corrected. “Singular.”

“Still...” he saw her shrug. “I'm not so sure you have your inner demons under control at the moment.”

“So you want me to let them come out and play?”

That sounded like such a terrible idea that he frowned at his own words.

“That would be fantastic,” Makoto replied.

“That would be _catastrophic_ ,” he said. It had taken him so many years to put all those memories away…He wasn’t even sure he would be able to remember half of the things he had done.

He didn’t want to.

“Yes, it would,” she said, still smiling. “Try to give me something juicy today, Asami-san. “

“Wasn't what I gave you yesterday juicy enough?”

She shrugged, and let out a sigh before speaking again.

“I think you can do much better.”

“Ok…” he replied, squeezing the packet of cigarettes as he willingly walked into her trap and decided to go for something _juicy._ “I have a daughter,” he said, his voice calm and controlled even though the palms of his hands were slightly clammy. “There. Does that pique your interest?”

His shoulders almost drooped in defeat when he saw her smile widen.

“It certainly does,” she said. “Go on.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked, clenching his jaw.

“What do you want to tell me?”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek not to give her a very rude answer.

“A tip?” she said, her voice more friendly and gentle than ever before. “Start from the beginning.”

++++

“How often do you dye your hair?” Akihito heard Maya ask, as she covered his shoulders with a towel.

“Once a month,” he answered, a proud smile curling his lips as he spoke.

He closed his eyes when the first sprays of cold water wetted his hair. He had no plans for the rest of the day, Kou had already gone to work, and Maya herself didn’t go in until lunch time.

No reason, really, for him to turn down her offer when she asked if he would like a haircut as well.

“It’s a beautiful colour,” the girl said, as she untangled his hair with a comb. “And very rare in Japan. When was the last time you had it cut?”

“It's been a while. Why?”

“It's full of split ends,” he heard her reply. “And it's kinda dry and brittle.”

He opened his eyes to study his reflection on the mirror.

“Is it that bad?” he asked.

“What kind of shampoo have you been using?”

“The… cheapest available?” Akihito replied, faking a smile.

“Nah, don’t do that to yourself,” she replied. “No need to go for the fancy expensive stuff, but at least make sure you get products with no sulfates…Usually the cheap ones are loaded with all kinds of chemical crap…”

He heard the first snips of the shears, and soon enough the plastic under their feet was covered with small locks of his hair.

“No sulfates…” he repeated, mindlessly. “Alright…”

“And you should have your hair hydrated sometimes,” Maya added, raking her fingers through his hair.

“That’s expensive…”

“If you go to hair salons, yeah,” she said, “but you can do it at home.”

He pondered for a moment. He had never paid much attention to his hair – he had always assumed it would look nice no matter what. Which, apparently, was not entirely true, not if it looked all dry and brittle. Maybe he should go to a salon sometime, after all…

A frown wrinkled his forehead. Asami would tease him endlessly if he ever told him he was planning to have his hair hydrated. He snorted. He still remembered his mockery that day he had gotten the Bloody Mary skin treatment. _‘It’s something a woman would do, isn’t it?’_ The asshole…But well…If anything, not even Asami would have the nerve to say he hadn’t enjoyed his skin afterwards.

He had enjoyed it _a lot._

_Many times._

_In many different positions._

“Let me show you something.”

Maya’s voice made him jump, and he cleared his throat. Good thing the girl interrupted his thoughts, or the memories of those days in the tropical island would have made his body react in a very visible way.

“Here,” Maya said, placing an avocado on his hands.

Akihito looked at it with a saddened expression. Another edible item he was bound to misuse if Asami ever got hold of whatever treatment she was about to propose.

“You take one avocado…” she explained, cutting the fruit in half and putting spoons of it into a bowl, “…mix it with one teaspoon of wheat-germ oil…” he watched when she opened two small bottles, “… and one… of jojoba oil,” she concluded, giving him both containers as she mixed everything in the bowl. “You can keep these, I have a few.”

“They smell great,” he said, after taking the small bottles to his nose.

“Yeah. You just… spread it all over…like this…” he winced at the sight of the green paste being rubbed onto his scalp. It might be effective and cheap but it definitely did not look good, “…then put on a shower cap… and wait for 30 minutes. Voilà.”

He looked at his reflection on the mirror, studying the pink, flowery shower cap covering his hair, and tried not to blush.

“Heh.”

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the smirk Maya was giving him.

“I would have thought he paid for that kind of stuff...” she shrugged. “Sent you away to spas and stuff…”

“He doesn't, actually,” Akihito replied, crossing his arms. “And he never complained about my hair,” he added. Which was true. Asami could say and do a lot of things that did not always sit well with him, but he had never, not even once, criticized his appearance, even when he was absolutely convinced he looked like crap. “Or my skin. Or my clothes…”

His eyes were glued to the ones staring at him from the mirror, and he couldn’t help but notice they seemed to have lost some of their glow.

“Good for you…” the girl whispered, shifting her gaze to the towel on his shoulders.

There was a very long pause, in which neither of them seemed to have something good to say.

It was Akihito who broke the silence.

“Did you go to school to learn how to be a hairstylist?” he asked.

“Nah. My mom taught me,” Maya replied, and he was relieved to see a smile back on her face. “It was one of her jobs back in the day, before... Ya know.”

Akihito nodded. _Before she became an assassin for a syndicate_ , but he didn’t need to be reminded of that, and neither did the woman’s own daughter.

“She never wanted Asami's money,” she continued, “so she always worked to provide for herself. She only accepted his money when it came to my education.”

The photographer kept looking at the Maya’s face, after nodding silently. Asami’s past was like a giant jigsaw puzzle, and the girl at his side seemed to be one of the very few people to have some of the pieces.

“Do you have a picture of you...” he asked, his voice slightly hesitant. He did not want to intrude in what he believed was a very intimate and personal family issue, but his curiosity about their past was bigger than his restraint, “…of when you were young?”

The girl raised an eyebrow.

“Of me, or of _us?_ ” she asked.

“Both.”

He watched as the girl reached for the phone in her pocket, and unlocked its screen. A few seconds later, his eyes fell upon the image of a very young Hayashi Mirai in shorts and a T-shirt, with her long brown hair and a wide smile on her face, holding a small girl by the ankles. 

“Your mother looked like a model…” Akihito said, as he took in the figure of Maya’s mother without her usual tattoos, looking surprisingly _happy._

“Yeah…”

“How old were you here?” he asked, as his eyes shifted to the laughing child in a jeans jumpsuit.

“Five,” the girl replied, another small smile curling her lips.

“So she was your age?” the photographer whispered, after doing the math.

“Yeah... Twenty-one.”

“Who took this picture?” he asked again. “Asami?”

The girl merely shrugged, her smile gone once again. Apparently, that name had the power of immediately souring her mood.

“Dunno,” she muttered. “Maybe.”

Akihito swallowed. Perhaps he was going too far, but now that he was at it, he might as well just ask.

“Do you have...any pictures of the three of you, together?”

His hazel eyes darted from the phone to the mirror, just in time to see the muscles of her jaw clench.

“No,” she answered, and Akihito felt himself deflate a little. “But I have a video.”

His eyes immediately shot up to her face again.

“It's kinda low quality, tho,” she warned, taking the phone from his hands with a weak smile on her lips. “Wanna see your boyfriend do cartwheels?”

The photographer gasped in response.

_Asami? Doing cartwheels?_

“Hell yeah...” he whispered, his heart racing at the prospect of seeing a part of the man’s life that he assumed was extremely private and very well-hidden.

The girl pressed play, and Akihito found himself staring at a patch of grass and people sitting around picnic baskets, until the camera shifted and the image of a tall young man came into focus.

Again, Akihito couldn’t help but gasp.

A very young Asami Ryuichi, wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt, was watching a very little girl with her dark hair in pigtails run towards him.

“You were so small...” he whispered.

“I was 2,” Maya replied.

He kept staring at the screen, a smile curling his lips when the tiny girl gingerly got to her destination, and wrapped her little arms around one of her father’s legs.

When Asami picked her up on his arms, the camera zoomed in on his face, and Akihito felt his jaw drop.

“Oh wow…” he whispered again, “he looks so young…”

“He was 18.”

The photographer swallowed, feeling all kinds of strange things as he looked into the familiar golden eyes, the familiar chiselled jawline, framed by the familiar bangs of dark hair… The younger version of the Asami Ryuichi he knew was just as gorgeous as he had imagined him to be…

 _“Show her how to do cartwheels!”_ Akihito heard a young, female voice say.

_“She is two years old, Mirai…”_

He chuckled at young Asami’s voice, so smooth and deep for his age, but nowhere as sexy as it turned out to be almost twenty years later.

 _“I know, dumbass, that is why I am recording it!”_ the girl operating the camera replied. _“So that she can learn it when she is older!”_

 _“So that_ you _can learn it, you mean_ ,” Asami replied, staring at the camera with a tentative smirk – an art that he would come to master in the future.

_“Heh…”_

_“So come here and hold her,”_ the 18-year old boy said. _“Put the camera in the tripod.”_

 _“Fucked if I know how to use this damned thing…”_ the girl responded, her voice no louder than a frustrated whisper in the recording. _“Ah, here, got it.”_

Akihito watched in awe as the camera shook for a second, and then the teenage version of Hayashi Mirai appeared on the screen, running towards the other two people in the frame. She had her dark brown hair held up in a bun, and her eyes were covered by sunglasses when she picked the little girl from Asami’s arms and sat on the grass, holding their daughter on her lap.

The photographer covered his mouth when Asami did one cartwheel…two cartwheels… three cartwheels...He felt like applauding just like the teenage girl in the recording… or maybe just giggling like the little kid in her arms…

But before he had the chance to do so, the video was over.

“And that's it,” he heard Maya say, quietly. “I guess that is the only register that he was ever a part of our lives…”

Akihito, however, was still too fascinated by what he had just watched to give her words much thought. He would later, when his mind finally processed how the lives of the three people in that short video connected to his.

At that moment, though, he really did not care.

He pressed play again.


	18. Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> _I will concede: maybe he has feelings. Maybe he has a heart. But he probably locked everything away ages ago and lost the key. These days, he can't bring himself to care for anything or anyone, I saw it in his eyes when he got here three days ago. I get the feeling that whenever he tries to feel, a part of his soul fights back and makes him even more cruel. (_ Fei Long, in response to Takaba Akihito, Chapter 3)
> 
>  
> 
> In which we find out that Fei Long's assessment of Asami and his feelings is relatively accurate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Not so) Funny fact: _Burakumin_ refers to the “untouchables” of Japan. Back in the day, people whose jobs were related to death (butchers, undertakers, etc) were considered the scum of the scum, and suffered all sorts of discrimination. The surprising fact? Up to this day, there are still people in some small towns that receive hate mail because they have one of the “tainted” professions – butchers included. Some employers, up to this day, might turn down a candidate if their _koseki_ (Family Registration) shows any kind of connection to a _buraku_ (the places where the _burakumin_ lived).
> 
> On with the story!

“Ah, can you feel the difference?” Maya asked, raking her fingers through Akihito’s wet hair after he had rinsed off the avocado mixture.

“Silky,” he said, touching his hair as well.

“Exactly.”

He nodded, his thoughts still drifting to the video he had seen at least half a dozen times, before the girl took her phone back.

“When we met, you said Asami disappeared for good when you were 9,” the photographer said, knowing he was about to push his luck by asking the question he was about to ask. “What happened?”

Maya merely shrugged in response.

“I don’t know,” she replied, plugging in the hair dryer as she spoke. “He just…disappeared.”

“And you never talked to him again after that?”

He kept studying her reflection on the mirror, the sadness in her eyes making it obvious that his question had hit some kind of nerve.

“Nah…” she whispered in response, still avoiding his gaze as she began to dry his hair. “Not until some five years ago,” she added. “But he was paranoid enough to keep a team of operatives checking on us in Sapporo… every now and then Kirishima would show up as well.”

“Kirishima?” the photographer asked, frowning.

“Ah, I forgot to tell you,” she snorted, after shaking her head. “If you look at the official records, you will see that Kirishima Kei is my father.”

Akihito’s eyes went wide.

 _“What?!”_ he exclaimed.

“Blame it on your boyfriend’s shenanigans,” he saw Maya shrug, with a sneer on her lips. “He forged my _koseki._ I guess Asami didn’t want his mighty name to be associated with a child born out of wedlock,” she said, her voice full of mockery. “And yet he never hesitated to send me all kinds of outrageously expensive birthday presents... Go figure.”

It was obvious that the girl was trying not to show any signs of being hurt by her father’s _shenanigans_ , but he would have to be blind not to see the obvious disappointment in her eyes. Akihito felt a pang of sorrow when he remembered the video he had just seen. To think that he and Asami would probably never have met if that little family of three had not crashed and burnt in the first place… Much as Maya addressed the man by his last name and pretended that she could not possibly care less, no one walked around with a family video on their phone unless they wanted to be reminded of said family.

“Maybe that is his way of showing that he cares…” he whispered, partially as a peace offering and partially because he truly hoped that was the case.

“That he _cares?_ ” he saw her raise her eyebrows in response. “Yeah, right,” she snorted. “You wanna know what he got me for my 21st birthday?” she asked, and continued speaking when the photographer nodded. “A Ferrari 250 GTO. Now, if he cared, he would have known that I don’t drive,” the girl added, shaking her head. “Even if I did, what kind of person goes around town in a luxury race car?”

“You don’t drive?” Akihito asked, and saw the girl blush slightly. “How come?”

“I can ride motorcycles, but cars…” she said, making a face. “I tried to learn but I don’t think it is for me.”

“Well, yeah, it is different, for sure, but it is not that hard, really,” the photographer replied, a smile beginning to curl the corners of his mouth. “I’ll tell you what, I can teach you how to drive, if you want.”

“Oh yeah?” Maya’s eyebrows went up again, and her voice was full of suspicion. “I didn’t know you had a car…”

“I don’t, but we can…” he paused, and scratched his neck before speaking again, “… _borrow_ one.”

The girl scoffed.

“Forget it, I am not borrowing anything from Asami’s fancy collection.”

“I wasn’t thinking about _his_ cars, it can be…any car.”

Their eyes met for a moment, and Akihito saw realization finally dawn on the girl’s face.

“Oh,” she whispered. “So you mean, _borrow_ a car, like that day I had to _borrow_ a motorcycle to escape Asami’s goons?”

He nodded, with a mischievous smirk on his lips. Was it a good idea? Probably not, and therefore, his specialty.

“Yeah,” he said casually, as the girl brushed his hair. “I mean, we will return them eventually.”

“Uh-huh…” Maya pursed her lips, still looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “That is what I always said, when they caught me stealing,” she whispered. “That I was going to return it.”

“What, you got a record for stealing?” Akihito asked, faking surprise.

“More like _records_ ,” the girl replied, smirking. “Plural.”

“Shame on you…”

“Spoke the guy that _borrows_ vehicles!”

 _“Borrowed,”_ he replied, crossing his arms and stuffing his chest. “Past. My days of wrongdoing are over.”

“Oh, too bad,” she said, a wide smile curving her lips. “I was thinking of taking you up on that offer for the driving lessons.”

They both chuckled.

“Just so you know, my juvie records are probably laughable compared to yours,” Akihito pointed out.

“Eh, that is quite the assumption…”

“Aren’t you the legendary hacker that did _I-don’t-know-what_ to _I-don’t-know-how-many_ computers?” he asked.

“Ah, yeah…” the girl’s voice was a mix of pride and nostalgia. “ _That_ … Heh…” she muttered, her gaze distant as if she was lost in memories. “That one was bad…”

“See?”

“Mainly because when they searched my apartment to get hold of my computer, they found out I had a gun,” she explained.

“A gun?!” Akihito’s body tensed, and his fingers clutched the arms of the chair, unconsciously. _Did everyone in that family have a fetish for weapons?_

The girl, however, couldn’t possibly look happier with herself.

“I know, right? Asami was so pissed…” she chuckled. “What a hypocrite. Though, I have to admit…” she said, after letting out a sigh. “If it hadn’t been for him stepping in to clean that mess…I guess even my mother would be in jail right now.”

“Whoa. I-I…” the photographer stuttered. He had been bluffing when he said the girl had a bad track record. If anything, he had thought of vandalism or maybe more cyber stuff, but _guns?_

“Ok, so yeah, my records are probably worse than yours, happy now?” she said, still giggling.

“I knew it,” he lied, his voice casual and unimpressed as he shrugged. “What did I say?”

“What are your juvie records about, by the way?” Maya asked, as she shook his hair and applied some serum to the ends of his blond locks.

“Nothing that exciting,” he replied, memories of the last time he had been sent to jail mixing with images from his troublesome teenage years. “Joyriding. Disorderly conduct,” he paused. “Burglary...”

_“Burglary?”_

“Yeah...” he blushed, “but just once.”

“And you got caught?” she asked, her eyes shining with curiosity as her mouth gaped open.

“It was the house of a police officer,” he whispered, blushing even harder.

He saw the girl burst out laughing.

“Well, shit, ” she muttered, still giggling. “You should have done more research on your target….”

“I guess,” he let out an unhappy chuckle, as thoughts of another target filled his mind. “I know for a fact that if I had done more research I probably would not have gone anywhere near your father…”

He gasped at his own words, and lifted his eyes to the girl’s just in time to see her looking intently at him. That was probably not true at all. He had done his fair share of research on Asami before and after they came across each other, and the fact the man was such a mystery was exactly what had drawn him in, like a moth to a flame. He had always known he was heading for trouble…if anything, he had been a willing prey.

“What, you tried to steal one of his cars or something?” she asked. “Is that how you two met?”

“No…” he whispered, as he let his mind travel to the day when it all began, “…it was an investigation…”

He remembered it all so well. The first time he had laid eyes on the almighty Asami Ryuichi as he was held down by his subordinates…That one escape from the rooftop, that precise moment in which they stared into each other’s eyes and the game was on.

Oho, how naïve had he been, to think that he could stand _a chance_ against that man…

“I had taken some compromising pictures of his… business…” he went on, his voice just as distant as his thoughts.

“Uh-oh…” he heard the girl reply. “Someone must have been in for quite the beating…”

“Not exactly, no,” he replied, blinking when the memories of his punishment filled his mind. “He used... _other methods…_ ”

“Please _do not_ elaborate,” he heard Maya say, with a very obvious amount of panic in her voice. “I get the feeling I don’t really want to know what methods you are referring to.”

Akihito wanted the ground to open and swallow him. _Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?_

“I keep telling you the most embarrassing things, don't I?” he said, his voice quiet and apologetic as he spoke.

“I was gonna say traumatising,“ Maya scoffed, raising her eyebrows. “But yeah, let's stick to embarrassing…”

“I-I’m sorry,” the photographer stuttered, feeling his face grow hotter by the minute. “I sometimes forget you are…his daughter.”

He noticed the girl purse her lips as she removed the towel from over his shoulders.

“Well… as he says…” she said, her tone casual and indifferent although her eyes, once again, were bleak. “We just happen to have an _‘unfortunate biological connection’_ , so I can’t blame you for forgetting I am his daughter,” she added, with a snort. “He apparently forgot that as well, a long time ago.”

Their eyes met again, and he felt like saying that was probably not true, but who was he to say anything about how the man felt about a daughter he had never even mentioned in the almost three years they had been together?

Still… he couldn’t help but hope that there was still a chance for father and daughter to reconnect somehow. Maya was beginning to grow on him, and he knew the only reason she had approached him in the first place, was to get Asami’s attention.

If he was meant to be the bridge between those two…then be it.

“You are good to go,” she said at last, folding the plastic bag under their feet. “I should be heading to work now…”

“Wait,” he said, in a desperate attempt to change the subject and end that conversation on a less depressing note. “So what did you do with the Ferrari?”

The girl chuckled.

“I am a volunteer in a non-profit that fights for the rights of the _burakumin,_ ” she explained, “I donated it so that they could auction it.”

“Holy crap!” Akihito exclaimed, with his eyes wide. “You donated a _Ferrari?_ Like, seriously?”

“Yeah...” she said, her voice casual as a little smirk curled the corners of her mouth. “I mean, in the end they only got something like 7 million dollars and later I found out that car was worth at least 5 times as much, but for a non-profit, seven million dollars is some serious crazy money.”

“That is…awesome,” he muttered, his eyes still studying her figure as she put on her jacket. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I will take that as a compliment,” she replied, still smirking as she headed to the door.

“Heh…”

“Take care of that hair.”

“Hey, Maya?” he called out, and waited until the girl turned to look at him to speak again. “Thank you.”

The girl nodded silently, and left.

Akihito hoped she had understood he was not merely referring to the haircut she had given him.

++++

Asami Ryuichi kept staring at his own nails as if they were the most interesting thing on earth, as he sat across from his counsellor, legs crossed, in silence.

That woman had roped him into very dangerous territory, but he was too proud to step back. Now that he had started it, he might as well see it to the end. He would just have to choose his words very carefully.

He drew in a long breath, sorting out which demons he was ready to let out, and which ones he would rather not awake.

“My daughter’s name is Maya, and her mother’s name is Mirai,” he said at last. “For your reference.”

He fished out a cigarette from its packet, taking another strategic pause.

“I was sent to foster care when I was 11 years old. That, however, is a story for another day….” he quickly added, before he was asked questions that he really did not feel like answering. “I met Mirai when I was 13. Her father, a butcher, had been an accidental casualty in the war between the Tojo and the Omi, when she was only 5. Her mother died of overdose eight years later, and because she had no other known family, she ended up in foster care too,” he continued, leading a Dunhill to his lips as he spoke.

“She was a very pretty girl. Half Thai. Almond shaped brown eyes, long brown hair, thin. She was different. Her attitude was different. She was my age but she looked much older. She was always frowning, so the other kids wouldn’t even come close to her. I guess she didn’t want them to,” he chuckled, as he revisited memories he had avoided for more than ten years. “I remember thinking at the time, _‘if I can get that girl to notice me, conquering the rest of Japan will be a breeze…’_ ” Asami was about to chuckle again, when his smile died on his lips. For crying out loud, _what was he doing?_ Was that his definition of choosing his words carefully, telling the woman the thoughts of his 13-year-old self?

He cleared his throat and shifted on his seat, feeling uncomfortable. What a poorly thought plan that had been. To be objective while talking about that chapter of his life was, perhaps, beyond his abilities.

And that was _precisely_ the reason why he never talked about it.

“Anyway…” he said, ready to take the plunge and go downhill for once and for all. “The first time I tried to approach her, she broke my nose. I was so mad, but I couldn’t bring myself to say a word. I just…stood there, with blood all over my face, staring at her,” he continued. “I think she was used to intimidating other people, but I wanted her to realize that was not going to work with me. I stood my ground, and eventually, she did apologize. More than that, even, she started…wiping my face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, telling me that sometimes she just felt so angry at everyone…”

He took a long drag off his Dunhill, and narrowed his eyes.

“And then we kissed,” he said, his gaze vacant as he lost himself on distant memories, of distant days. “It was not my first kiss, but in a way, it felt like it was. I feel like she was my first in many aspects...”

That entire topic made him so unhappy that even cigarettes tasted bad as those words left his lips.

“But I will spare you the details,” he said, after shaking his head and forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. “What matters is, we were both teenage orphans, and that is prime merchandise for brothel owners, drug dealers, loan sharks, gangs…they fight each other to see who gets to recruit first. At the time, Mirai had this other kid under her wing, a boy who was three years younger than us, Kazuki. He was very shy, very delicate, long brown hair, looked like a girl. It was not easy. The sex industry will go to great lengths to get hold of children like him. I think he just looked like someone who needed protection, so Mirai and I ended up taking the kid as our sidekick as we planned our way out of the system.”

He paused, and shook his head. Kazuki…To think that in the end, he had been the only one in the trio to actually succeed in life as a law-abiding citizen…True, not without his fair share of trauma, abuse and violence, but at least he had gotten his act together, and worked hard enough to own a few clubs across Japan…

“It was just the three of us for a while, living in Sapporo…” he continued. “We had agreed to work hard in school to get the best grades so that we could pass the entrance examinations for a national university. I, of course, never considered any other place but the University of Tokyo, because of its history. I knew I would need that kind of credential in the future, and I knew that was the kind of place where I would be able to meet people from influential families, to make connections. I guess I just dragged Mirai and Kazuki along as I set my plans in motion. He was never much of a good student though, so I knew that at some point he would fall behind. But Mirai…” he paused again, taking his time to revisit those memories. “She was smart, so she could keep up. Her grades were outstanding. She had this…incredibly sharp mind, she was a natural number cruncher,” he chuckled. “When Kirishima met her a few years later, he would get so mad. He has a very sharp mind too, Kirishima, but he has always been the kind of person that works hard, that has discipline, that is diligent doing his assignments. In the accounting tasks, Mirai could come to the same results as him without breaking a sweat. In minutes, she would solve problems that took him hours. She was just this random phenomenon when it came to numbers...” he narrowed his eyes, and when he spoke again his voice was extremely low. “Maybe that is why she is so precise with guns, her mind must probably make all kinds of calculations before she pulls the trigger…”

Asami blinked, trying to remember how he had gotten to that dead end.

“I apologize,” he said, after noticing he had mindlessly gone off on a tangent. “I believe my timeline is somehow irregular.”

“Don’t worry,” he heard his counsellor reply, breaking her absolute silence for the first time since he started talking. “Our memories are not linear, they don’t follow a timeline. It is only natural that thoughts from different times of our lives, end up in the same cluster,” she explained, her voice just as serene as her face. “Go on.”

“So, I was saying…It was just the three of us for a while,” he drew in a long breath, feeling he was approaching a part of the story that would cost him. “When I turned 16, I had already been working as a pusher for local gangs for two years. Not because I wanted to join the yakuza or anything, but because I needed the money, and I also needed the contacts,” he said. “I wanted to know where they got their guns from, where they got their drugs from, who in the police they had to bribe to operate… One day, I would have the means to use all of that information to my advantage, and I would be the one calling the shots.”

He paused again, and peeked inside the packet of Dunhills. Empty.

“It was all going according to plan, until the day Mirai got pregnant,” he said, matter-of-factly. “ _That_ was certainly _not_ a part of the plan.”

He had reached the part of the story he really didn’t want to revisit, and now he would have to do so without the comfort of a cigarette.

“Mirai dropped out of school. Kazuki disappeared. I…went on,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “I kept studying hard, so two years later I was accepted into the University of Tokyo with a full scholarship. Four years later, I graduated with honours, while still working with the gangs I used to be a pusher for. The difference was that I was no longer a minion. I had gathered enough information, enough contacts, and enough money, to become their leader.”

His eyes had drifted to the ocean far behind Makoto’s head, and he kept staring at it the entire time, letting the waves lull him into a hypnotic state, the words flowing from his mouth easily and steadily.

“When I started my MBA, I already had the master plan for Sion and all its subsidiaries ready to go. It was all mapped out, I just had to…push through. I started with small acquisitions, built enough of a reputation as a businessman for people to start inviting me to gala events. If I had to sleep my way into certain circles, I would,” he admitted, without a hint of regret in his voice. “Blackmail, extortion, swindling…I used every single trick in the book to get what I wanted.”

He felt strangely detached as he talked, as if his life – and his sins – belonged to someone else.

“People learnt my name. People started talking about me. And when they did, I could finally turn the tables. All the knowledge I had gathered…all the secrets…I had them wrapped around my finger. Politicians, syndicates, the media, civilians…” he continued. “It took me a while. It took…years of nonstop work, of planning. Years of missed birthdays, of New Year Eves spent alone…But I got to where I set myself to be.”

He took another long, deep breath, thanking his mind for allowing him to overlook the consequences of his actions as he talked about the choices he had made.

“There was a point when things could have taken quite a different turn, though,” he said, averting his eyes to his counsellor’s face.

“Is that so?” she asked, quietly. “What happened?”

“Maya was 9,” he promptly replied, trying to take advantage of the fact his mind and heart appeared to have shut themselves to feelings of any kind at some point of his account. “As time went by, I became more successful as a businessman and, unsurprisingly, a remarkably careless father,” he said. “The only thing I was good at was providing them with money, but Mirai was always reluctant to accept it. Her only exception was Maya’s education and health.”

Slowly, however, his palms began to sweat again, and his heart started to pound harder inside his chest.

The magic spell that had kept him numb so far was beginning to wear off.

“It goes without saying that by then Mirai and I were not together anymore,” he said, rubbing his cold hands on his thighs. “Not officially, at least, even though the amount of times I looked for her in those years…“ he swallowed when his mind followed his heart’s lead and also began to riot as well, showing him images of a smiling young woman, and the child in her arms. “They were my solace, she and the kid…”

He almost gasped at the words leaving his mouth, surprised by his own honesty.

“All the things I had to do…All the lies…whenever I needed to breathe again, it was always them I looked for.”

He forced himself to stop. Maybe _that_ was a good time to start choosing his words carefully, or he was bound to make a fool of himself.

“So that day, Mirai was out, working, and I had come back home to visit,” he continued, proud that his voice was back to normal, just like his heartbeat. “It was meant to be just a quick visit, but before I knew, I was about to spend the night, again. I was on the phone with a Russian weapon supplier when Maya tripped while she was running down the stairs,” he said. “Broke her two front teeth.”

He let a nervous smile curl the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t even remember how I ended that call, but it was fast,” he explained. “I heard her whisper, ‘dad’, and then a sob. My instinct was just…screw the international mafia. My daughter was hurt."

If he closed his eyes for long enough, he could even see what the two of them were wearing that day - it was a surprise for him to realize how vivid the details were on his mind.

“I remember it very well. One minute later she was crying, bawling. I don’t know if it was out of pain, or surprise, but I remember her little shoulders, shaking, and I just hugged her and ran with her in my arms to a dentist’s office. I was so out of my mind I forgot to take the car,” he chuckled, “I forgot to take the car, and I literally ran for seven blocks or so.”

He bit his lower lip, feeling his heart race as he revisited the events of that day, moment by moment.

“I thought I was having a heart attack,” he added, chuckling again out of sheer nervousness. “The kid had only broken two teeth but I felt like I was having a heart attack…And I guess I could only breathe again when she stopped crying... At that moment, I knew. That toothless creature, at some point, had become the centre of my existence. I had dismissed a call I had been waiting for the past three years, one that could finally take my career to the next level, because she had fallen down the stairs... There was no doubt in my mind that every time she called me dad, I would stop everything else at the drop of a dime to come to her."

He paused, and shook his head, still lost in thought.

“I often wondered what my life would have become if I had told Mirai exactly that,” he whispered. “That I was dangerously close to reviewing all my plans to the future, because of a nine year old child that saw me as...some kind of superhero, even though nothing could be further from reality.”

For years on end, he had avoided thinking about that day. He had avoided remembering how that day, _that exact day,_ had ended up defining his future.

Now he remembered why he was always so reluctant to look back.

It would hurt, and he did not want to feel that pain.

“But, instead, what I told her when she got to the dentist’s office was…” he said, feeling his voice shake slightly, “ _’I wish the two of you had died in childbirth’_ ”.

He did not dare to lift his gaze to his counsellor’s face. Even though the woman could not see him, he had the impression she could see past his soul, and at that moment, he found himself in a very bad place.

He did not want to be seen, or heard, or analysed. Not like that.

And yet, he felt the unexplainable need to let all those memories bleed out, and he was nowhere near done yet.

“I said those words, those _exact_ words, to the mother of my child,” he continued, “who by the way, had nearly died in childbirth,” he snorted at his own pettiness and cruelty, “as they fixed Maya’s teeth.”

He stopped again, allowing his words to sink in, as if acknowledging, perhaps for the first time, how destructive his actions had been.

“I said that I wished they were both dead,” he repeated. “The look Mirai gave me...” he snorted again. “I knew I had hit the mark. I knew it was over.

"And it was, really. That day was the last day I talked to either of them until some five years ago. Maya kept sending me letters, though. Even though I was gone…Even though I stopped calling, even though I never wrote back… She sent me handmade cards on Father’s Day, letters on my birthday, school reports, pictures of her birthday parties, the ones I never attended …” he said, feeling the familiar numbness settle in, as if he had bled too much and his system was slowly shutting down to prevent further damage. “As the years went by, they became rare, until the day she turned 14. Then the correspondence stopped altogether.

“All those things, including the last letter she sent me, are inside that safe in my room,” he said, lacing his fingers over his lap. “I asked Kirishima to gather them, because that is where everything related to Maya stays – within his personal files,” he explained. “I assigned him to go to Sapporo to attend school meetings, and to help Mirai whenever Maya got into trouble. I figured that at some point someone could track him, and I didn’t want to risk my enemies finding out I had a daughter, so in public databases, Kirishima Kei is Maya’s father.”

When he finished his account, Asami felt strangely empty. Or, perhaps, he simply felt lighter. Probably both things.

“And that’s it,” he announced, in case the woman was expecting some other plot twist. “The end.”

He watched as Makoto nodded, her expression very difficult to read.

“Asami-san,” she said at last. “Earlier today you told me that your goal was to become the most powerful man in Japan. Would you say that you succeeded?

“Yes,” he answered right away, without a moment of hesitation.

“Was it worth it?”

He let his gaze drop to the floor, his hands trembling slightly. He knew what he wanted to answer: that yes, that everything had been worth it, that he had been faithful to the promise he had made to his mother when he buried her ashes. He wanted to scream that he would do it all over again if he was given the chance, that he had the power he always craved and that he loved _all of it._

That would be the most absolute truth, and yet, the words refused to leave his mouth.

Because that truth presumed yet another reality, one that took a much heavier toll on him: that to get to the top, he had destroyed lives, feelings and relationships that at some point had kept him sane.

That he had succeeded, yes, but that the man at the top was nothing but a heartless bastard beyond redemption, unable - and unwilling - to see the error of his ways.

“I am going for a walk,” he said at last, his voice strained and low as he stood up and walked away from his counsellor as fast as he could so that he would not have to voice an answer he was not ready to give.

 


	19. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"He averted his gaze to the window, a part of him urging him to stand up and leave, the other just willing to take the plunge and see how it all would end._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _It couldn’t get much worse than that, after all."_
> 
> In which death makes an appearance in Tsumino and in Tokyo.

Somewhere in Osaka, a phone rang loud enough to wake up one of Omi’s officers.

“What?” he snarled, after accepting the call.

 _“Has your team confirmed they will shut down the power at Sion today?”_ a silky, male voice answered.

“Of course they have,” the beefy, bald man responded, lazily scratching his bare stomach. “What, you think we are fucking amateurs?”

There was a scoff on the other side of the line.

_“Don’t force me to answer that question.”_

“You are getting too ballsy for your own good.”

_“How much time do I have?”_

“Less than a minute before the generators start up,” the bald man replied. “But my operatives can take down the surveillance system for some five minutes. Good thing that Saejima is a stubborn fool, the old fart refuses to go around with a bodyguard so it will make things easier for you…”

There was a long pause, in which the man on the other side of the line seemed to be taking a long, deep breath.

“By the way, how were you able to get hold of Sion’s blueprints?”

There was another moment of silence, and then a chuckle.

 _“I have my methods,”_ the other man replied, before three beeps indicated the end of the call.

++++

Following his boss' instructions, Suoh Kazumi watched from a distance as the other man made his way into the house of one of the villagers of Tsumino.

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the sun slowly rising in the horizon. As it was, there was very little he would be able to do in case Asami needed assistance. He doubted he would, though. If anyone could hold his own, it had to be his boss.

The blond man allowed his mind to travel back to the day he had been recruited to be the man's bodyguard, more than ten years ago. The World Games in Akita had barely begun, but he had already guaranteed three golden medals in freefighting jujutsu. A much younger version of Kirishima Kei had approached him then to invite him for a job interview, which he was quick to dismiss. He had a thriving career in sport ahead of him, and a job as a bodyguard, of all things, was not in his plans.

That is, until the next day, when Asami Ryuichi himself challenged him to a fight, and beat the living daylights out of him without breaking a sweat. Not exactly because his technique was flawless - after all, his was too. No...what had given his opponent the advantage was the fact he had not hesitated to use scissor takedowns, necklocks, digital chokings, and every other potentially lethal move prohibited in Sport Jujutsu.

After that, while still tending to his injured ribs, Suoh had agreed to hear him out. The golden-eyed man had then listed the benefits awaiting him: a career that would last longer than that of an athlete. Better pay. Travelling. Access to high quality _adult entertainment_ , free of charge.

None of that had appealed to him.

There was one benefit, however, that had given him pause: the promise of being able to unleash his fighting skills with no limitations, without having to hold back. Sports had given him the discipline, but not the hidden pleasure of raw violence; that was something he had always craved, but that in sports, he was bound to never achieve.

How the man had read his desires so well, was still a mystery to him.

How he had known Suoh had the perfect personality for the job, he didn't know either.

What he knew, was that over the years protecting Asami Ryuichi at all costs had become second nature to him. He was not able to pinpoint the moment in time in which the man’s plans and ambitions had become his compass, but probably neither did Kirishima. Probably no one working in Sion would be able to explain why they were so compelled to follow their boss to the depths of hell, if necessary.

Asami Ryuichi was a force to be reckoned with, a man that they could not turn away from.

One that no sane man would dare to contradict, or to betray.

One that should be followed, even when his decisions were beyond their understanding.

That was why, when his boss reappeared in front of him a good fifteen minutes later, looking thoroughly out of himself and tucking a gun under his belt, Suoh asked no questions.

He merely waited for the man’s orders.

“I need you to keep guard outside her door,” Suoh heard him explain, as they made their way back to the main house. “No matter what, don’t let anyone in, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Suoh.”

He stopped on his tracks when his boss grabbed his arm.

“Don’t let _anyone_ in,” Asami repeated, his eyes glinting dangerously.

He knew exactly _who_ the man was referring to.  

“Yes, sir,” he responded, after they had exchanged a brief look of agreement.

As soon as they reached the door to Majima Makoto’s office, the blond man did as he was told, standing guard outside the door as his boss walked in, with the same barely contained fury in his eyes.

 _“You wanna learn something else about me?”_ he heard the man ask, his voice drowned by the walls separating them, but still clear enough to be captured by Suoh’s trained ears. _“I paid Mirai to have an abortion when she told me she was pregnant. I told her I would leave her if she didn't.”_

The bodyguard shifted on his feet, frowning. He felt he was eavesdropping on a very private, very delicate matter, but he really had no choice. His job was to keep his eyes, and his ears, open to every possible threat coming from inside and outside that room.

 _“She didn't, so I left,”_ the man continued. _“I came back just to make her suffer. Just to make her_ pay _.”_

The cold, low voice carried a distinct note of anger, and Suoh once again shifted on his feet. He had always known his boss had a daughter, but his past with Hayashi Mirai was a subject not even Kirishima felt comfortable talking about. 

 _“I cheated on her. I spent…months away without even calling her. She was beaten up by a rival gang looking for me once,”_ the voice went on, pausing only to let out what Suoh assumed was a mirthless chuckle. _“I could have left for good, but instead, I didn’t, because I wanted her to suffer.”_

 _“Why?”_ he heard a female voice ask.

 _“Because I knew she loved me,”_ Asami’s voice grew louder, and angrier. _“Even after everything, that...stupid woman never found it in her to hate me.”_

There was a moment of silence, in which Suoh squared his shoulders, his eyes darting back and forth as he waited for a signal that his presence was needed inside the room.

 _“Stupid woman…”_ his boss, however, didn’t seem to be done with the topic. _“I derailed her life... I failed her in every possible way…and she still took me back in.”_

 _“You feel guilty about it,”_ the woman spoke again, her voice calm and collected. _“Have you ever told her that?”_

Another chuckle.

 _“How would that help either of us?”_ Suoh heard his boss ask.

_“Maybe she needs to hear it just as much as you need to say it.”_

The blond man’s body automatically stiffened when he heard the metal click of a gun’s hammer being cocked back.

 _“You… you should know that, right? After all…”_ his boss’ voice carried an even more evident note of threat. _“Mirai herself was in this island two years ago.”_

 _“Where did you get the gun?”_ the woman’s voice had lost its amiable tone, although it was still surprisingly calm given the circumstances.

 _“From the same place where I got the information,”_ Asami replied, nowhere near as calm as his counterpart. _“There are...some very interesting people living in this island. Former yakuza members that have been with you since your husband passed, that is what I call loyalty. Some of them refused to leave even after a new family leader came here to recruit.”_

The man’s voice, Suoh realized, was reaching a worrying crescendo as he spoke. At any given time, Majima Makoto’s assistant was bound to be drawn to the scene by the baritone, thundering sound.

 _“And it looks like Dojima Daigo wanted that new leader to be evaluated by you before a new family was officially announced,”_ he heard his boss continue. _“Did Mirai pass your silly tests, Makoto? Was she sane? **Saner than me?** ”_

Just as he had expected, Li Jiao appeared at the far end of the hall, her eyes locking with his when she noticed him standing guard outside her boss’ door.

 _“What did she tell you?”_ they heard Asami ask, his voice still loaded with anger.

 _“That is confidential,”_ Majima replied.

_“Oh really? Is that what you told Dojima when he asked for a report on her?”_

_“My report only indicated that she was fit for the job,”_ the woman continued, her voice much sterner than before. _“I did not reveal any details of her private life.”_

_“How can I trust a word you say?”_

Three steps and a frown later, Li Jiao was already reaching for the gun on her waist, ready to go in to extract the other woman from what was obviously a hostile situation.

Suoh took a step forward, taking a second to study the Chinese woman’s beautiful features.

They had had some great moments together, the two of them. The woman was a real beast in bed.

But his boss came first.

With a swift move, he looped one arm around Li’s neck so that the crook of his elbow was under her chin, and compressed both sides of her neck, avoiding her trachea. In a matter of seconds, when the blood supply to the woman’s brain had been cut off, he let her unconscious body slide slowly to the ground, retrieving her gun in the process.

“I’m sorry,” Suoh whispered, as he gently lowered her head onto floor, his fingers tangled in her long, dark hair.

Hopefully, he would have a chance to make up for it later, when she regained conscience – that is, if the man inside the room did not decide to put an end to their trip once and for all.

 _“I never lied to you,”_ he heard the voice of Majima Makoto once again. _“You have no reason not to trust me, and you know that. I was the wife of the second most important man in the Tojo, of course Dojima and I are still close. You knew that all along. That does not mean I would sell you out, or put your family in danger. I take my job very seriously.”_

Suoh clutched the pistol in his hand, feeling the tension in the air grow at each passing moment.

 _“But this is not about the Tojo, is it?”_ he heard the woman ask.

 _“You already knew I had a daughter, you already knew everything because she had already told you, hadn't she?”_ his boss replied, his voice slowly regaining its usual coldness.

_“What matters now is your version of the facts. Who gave you the gun?”_

_“No one_ gave _me the gun, I took it.”_

 _“Whomever you took it from, then...Are they still alive?”_ the woman asked.

 _“Unconscious, but yes. Alive,”_ Suoh heard his boss reply. _“Not so sure you will have that same luck, though…”_

The blond man blinked, staring at the ground as he waited for the outcome of that threat.

If there was one thing he knew about the man behind that door, was that he always kept his promises, especially when it came to killing. And If he was indeed considering pulling the trigger… then it was time for him, Suoh, to start thinking of how to dispose of the body.

 _“You are not going to shoot me,”_ he heard the woman respond, her voice still calm and collected.

 _“You don’t know me,”_ was Asami’s cold response.

_“Neither do you. You are confused, and scared.”_

Suoh gasped at her words. That woman had balls, and most likely, a serious death wish.

 _“Let me help you,”_ she added.

_“No.”_

_“Asam-”_

Suoh’s shoulders jerked slightly when the sound of gunshot filled the air, ringing in his ears for a very long minute.

++++

Kirishima Kei had been one of the first people to arrive at Sion that morning. The sun had barely risen, and his one and only appointment for the day – a meeting with Saejima Taiga, Tojo’s second in command - was scheduled to take place much later, a few hours before lunch time.

The day before, he had had reviewed, approved and signed everything that needed his attention. His desk had been wiped clean of papers, his inbox was empty, and he had headed home with no pending matters for the following day.

The pile of reports waiting for him on his desk on that morning, however, was a testament to the uselessness of his efforts.

There would _always_ be pending matters, now that he was in charge of his usual workload and his boss’s.

He let out a sigh, and placed his suitcase under his desk.

“Only a few more days,” he said to himself, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat down and opened the first manila folder. “Halfway there…almost.”

Many manila folders, coffees and phone calls later, he looked at his watch.

It was almost time for his meeting with Saejima Taiga. Mentally, he went over his boss’ instructions one more time, and ignored the phone at his desk when it beeped, trying to get his attention.

When whoever was calling tried a second time, and then a third, he cursed silently.

“Matsui-san,” he snarled at his assistant. “I told you I am not taking any calls until after lunch time.”

 _“Sir, I know, sir,”_ the young man on the other side of the line replied. _“I apologize, sir! But Hayashi Kazuki is here, he says he needs to talk to Asami-sama.”_

Kirishima frowned. _What the hell did that man want?_

“Did you tell him Asami-sama is out of the office?” he asked.

_“Yes, sir. He required to talk to you instead.”_

The first secretary pursed his lips.

“Tell him that I am busy,” he replied. “He can send me an email, if it is important.”

 _“H-He says it is urgent, s-sir,”_ Kirishima heard his assistant stutter. _“I-It is about Hayashi Maya.”_

Kirishima leaned back on his chair, after pushing his glasses further up his nose, shoulders drooping in defeat.

Urgent matters regarding the girl… _Just what he needed._

“Send him up…” he whispered, after letting out an unhappy sigh.

Less than two minutes later, the door opened to reveal a slim, good-looking blond man, wearing a perfectly-tailored black suit.

“Hayashi-san…” Kirishima muttered, standing up slowly to greet the new arrival, as he tried to ignore the bitter taste on his mouth as the name rolled off his tongue. It was Kazuki’s right, after all, to adopt his wife’s family name after marriage. “What brings you to Sion today?”

“Kirishima-san,” the man replied, his voice smooth and serious as he bowed. “I apologize for the suddenness of my visit, but Ryuichi has not been answering my calls.”

The secretary’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his boss’ first name. He was aware that at some point of their lives, Kazuki had earned the privilege of addressing the man so informally, but it had been a very long time since the two of them even talked to each other, as far as he knew.

“I expect that you will be able to help me then,” the blond man continued, his perfect teeth showing after his lips curled into a smile. “As I said, this matter is of extreme importance, and it affects Maya directly.”

Kirishima touched the bridge of his nose, averting his gaze from the man’s face to the few manila folders he would still have to go through. There was something about that man that did not sit well with him. He reminded him of Sudou, both physically and in terms of personality.

In other words, he did not strike Kirishima as someone to be trusted.

However, his boss had always been a fierce defendant of the younger man’s merits and qualities, making sure to remind Kirishima that when it came to Kazuki, the secretary’s judgment was bound to be impaired given their past…disagreements.

“I am pressed for time, Hayashi-san,” he said, barely able to hide his annoyance. “Could you please get to the point?”

“Sure,” the man replied, quickly taking a seat in front of him. “I need Maya’s current _koseki_ to be taken out of circulation.”

Kirishima’s eyebrows went up.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Now that she turned 21, I don’t see the point of her having a _fake parent_ ,” Kazuki replied, his gentle voice losing its friendliness. “Sadly, I was not around when this farce was enacted, but given the fact I have been _Mirai’s lawful husband for the past five years_ ,” the man made sure to emphasize every single word as he stared into the secretary’s eyes, “and that I am now Maya’s stepfather, it is only fair that she gets to have a decent birth registration, considering that her biological father never seemed to have much interest in her upbringing.”

Kirishima had to force himself to breathe his anger away, and let an almost invisible smirk curl the corners of his lips before speaking again.

“I am afraid I do not have the required authority to take Maya’s _koseki_ out of circulation,” he said, his eyes showing the same amount of contempt he was receiving from his counterpart. “But I will make sure Asami-sama becomes aware of your _concerns._ ”

He saw one of Kazuki’s eyes twitch, and pondered that the two of them probably looked like two animals ready to jump at each other’s jugulars.

And then, the man smiled. The same _fake,_ friendly smile he was sporting when he arrived, and Kirishima had to make an even bigger effort not to punch him in the face.

“Excellent,” the blond man replied, standing up. “Let’s hope this issue finds resolution as quickly as possible, then.”

Kirishima remained silent, and merely watched as the man headed to the door.

“Have a _wonderful_ day, Kirishima-san.”

++++

_He was losing it._

His grip on reality, his control over his own emotions, his clarity of mind.

He was losing it all, fast.

Asami’s eyes darted from the shattered Ming Dynasty vase on the bookshelf behind his counsellor’s head, to the blond man that had just entered the room.

And now, _that_. In any other day, he would not have hesitated.

He would be better off without that woman in his life, and yet he could not bring himself to kill her.

“Just so you know, in case you didn’t already, the Ming Dynasty vase behind me was a relic stolen from the British Museum,” he heard his counsellor say, as if nothing but a minor squabble had taken place minutes prior. “If that was your target of choice, I regret to say you will have a hard time finding me a replacement.”

He snorted quietly in response, and finally dropped the gun he had been pointing at the woman sitting in front of him.

Suoh’s sigh of relief only made him feel worse. One of his most trusted subordinates had just witnessed his mental breakdown. Of course, now that he had spared the woman’s life, her words about him were validated. He needed help.

Nothing could be more humiliating than that.

“Suoh, do you mind waiting outside?” he heard the woman ask, addressing the man behind him with her usual amiable tone. “I would like to talk to your boss in private.”

“How did you know it was me?” the blond man asked, forehead wrinkled in surprise.

“I could smell Li Jiao’s perfume the moment you walked in, but your footsteps were way too heavy to be hers,” Makoto replied, lacing her fingers over her lap as she spoke, with a kind smile curving her lips. “I assume you two spent the night together, _again?_ ”

Asami turned his head just in time to see Suoh’s face turn slightly pink.

“I will wait outside,” the bodyguard said, bowing politely before turning on his heels and closing the door behind him.

Left alone to their own thoughts, neither of them spoke for a long minute.

“So…Asami-san…” Makoto said at last. “Would you like some tea?”

He raised an eyebrow.

Either that woman was trying to get him to forget what had just happened, or she was just as mentally ill as him.

“Tea?” Asami asked, studying her features through narrowed eyes.

“Yes. Tea,” she answered. “Did you even have breakfast before you…” she paused, and waved a hand, “…you know, decided to stun one of the villagers and steal his gun?”

“I did not,” he replied, refusing to feel embarrassed for his fiasco. “But sure, I will have tea,” he continued, crossing his legs and trying to regain some of his composure. “Green, no sugar.”

Asami watched in silence as the woman rang a bell, and seconds later a young woman entered the room to kneel by her side. He perked up his ears to try and make out what the older woman was whispering to her subordinate, to no avail.

Soon enough, Makoto’s vacant gaze was back on him, and she drew in a long breath.

“I would like to say a couple of things, to clear the air between us,” she announced, after squaring her shoulders. “You are not the first client to attempt to kill me, so there are no hard feelings on my part. Secondly,” she paused, and her friendly expression was replaced by a much colder one. “Do not underestimate me, Asami-san. I would never betray the trust you deposited on my work. I am here to help you to the best of my ability, and the fact I did the same for Hayashi Mirai in the past by no means impairs my judgement,” she said. “This is not a trial, Asami, you are not here to be judged for the actions of your past.”

It was his turn to take a deep breath.

“So, I will ask you, and I need you to be honest,” she said. “Do you still trust me to continue with your treatment?”

He averted his gaze to the window, a part of him urging him to stand up and leave, the other just willing to take the plunge and see how it all would end.

It couldn’t get much worse than that, after all.

He was vaguely aware that the young servant had re-entered the room, and placed a cup of steaming hot liquid next to him.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Good,” Makoto said, the corners of her lips curling in a smirk. “Drink your tea.”

His eyes fell upon the cup on the table next to him, and its greenish, steaming content.

“This is not green tea, is it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he led the cup to his nose, wincing when the unpleasant, bitter scent filled his nostrils.

“No,” the woman answered simply, the expression on her face impossible to read. “Drink it.”

“What is it?” he asked, the same internal dilemma half pushing him towards the abyss, half trying to rescue him from it.

“Drink it, and I will tell you,” she replied. “Do you trust me or not?”

Asami looked at the woman’s face for one last time, before leading the cup to his lips and emptying it with two large gulps.

He hissed when the bitter taste of the warm liquid finally registered on his tongue.

“You are an outstanding man, Asami-san,” she said at last, shaking her head, with lips pursed. “You really are…”

“What is it?” he muttered, when his stomach threatened to return the vile liquid to his mouth.

“Leopard Lily,” she answered, matter-of-factly. “Dieffenbachia, to use its scientific name. It is not a medicinal plant, actually, have you ever heard of it?”

He raised an eyebrow, still feeling nauseated.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. I don’t blame you, really,” she continued, her voice low and emotionless. “The plant is common, but not the tea, basically because it is _lethal_ to humans.”

His eyes widened when his mouth began to feel as if it was on fire.

“Basically, it has a toxin that makes the base of your tongue swell,” he heard her say, feeling slightly lightheaded as it got harder and harder to breathe. “It eventually swells enough to block the passage of air through your throat.”

He clutched his own neck, wincing in pain as the lack of oxygen made him feel like a million needles were piercing his lungs.

_That could not be happening._

_That… could not…_

His eyes scanned the room for the gun he had dropped minutes before, but it was nowhere to be found. The servant had probably taken it away when she brought the tea.

He felt his pulse go weak, his brain using all of its last reserves of oxygen to keep him awake.

“This is the next step of your treatment,” he heard the woman’s voice when his legs failed him, after he had groggily tried to stand up. “ _Death_.”

He lifted his eyes to the chair where she was sitting, but it was too late.

His eyes had finally closed.

_In the darkness, there was just one spot of light._

_She looked exactly how he remembered her. Long, dark hair falling down her shoulders, her golden eyes sparkling with life._

_She was wearing the same flowery dress, but it was not torn, or stained with blood._

_She looked like a much more peaceful version of herself._

_If there was one thing he could be proud of, was that he had inherited all of her most beautiful traits, at least physically._

_On the inside, though, he was far, **so far,** from being as beautiful as her._

_“Mother,” he whispered, feeling his chest burn with shame and regret when the woman smiled sadly at him. “I am sorry…”_

_She reached out to touch his arm, and he gasped when, for the first time in more than twenty years, he could actually feel the soft caress of her fingertips._

_“I failed you...”_

_He saw her shake her head, with the same sad smile, her fingers clutching his arm harder as her image faded slowly into darkness._

_And then she was gone._

++++

Back in Tokyo, Kirishima Kei was tapping his desk, nervously.

Saejima Taiga’s arrival had been announced ten minutes earlier, but the man had not yet reached his office. He had even gone outside to check if the elevators were in order after the brief power outage they had experienced, pondering if the man had accidentally got stuck in one of them.

“Matsui-san,” he said, after pressing a button on the phone in front of him. “Call the surveillance room, have them find out where Saejima-san is.”

_“Yes, sir.”_

The secretary tried to ignore the bad feeling creeping up his spine when the phone rang less than five minutes later.

He pressed the button to accept the incoming call, but there was nothing but the sound of his assistant’s heavy breathing on the other side of the line.

“Matsui-san,” Kirishima said, “What is it?”

_“S-sir…”_

The man paused, for longer than the secretary could stand.

 _“Matsui-san!”_ he yelled.

_“H-He… Saejima-san, sir...h-he’s **dead** …”_

_Dead._

“What did you just say?” the secretary asked, his own voice sounding alien to his ears.

_“We located him…near the elevators on the 34 th floor…our security team just confirmed it…”_

The phone slipped from Kirishima’s hand, and his jaw dropped.

_That could not be happening._


	20. Kirishima Kei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Kirishima and Asami take a trip down memory lane, but one of them has a much harder time facing his past than the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter was supposed to be "Coda", but it turns out I could not finish setting up the scene in only one chapter, so... sorry! The elusive and sad Chapter 21 is now Chapter 22, hehe. Good news is that Chapter 21 is practically finished, so I expect to post it really, really soon.
> 
> That being said, here is chapter 20. WARNING for childhood trauma involving rape and...Asami's tears.

_**Sapporo, 13 years ago** _

He parked the car in front of the familiar three-storey building, two blocks away from Odori Park, and wrapped a scarf around his neck, before letting out a sigh.

Winters in Sapporo were as bad as they come.

After making his way through the five inches of snow separating him from the first flight of stairs, he tried not to slip as he walked towards the door and knocked, clutching his briefcase in one hand and a square package wrapped with a bow in the other.

“A minute!” he heard a female voice scream from inside the apartment.

He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. It occurred to him to fix his hair, but there wasn’t much to improve. He mindlessly smoothed his suit, and froze on the spot when he saw the doorknob turn.

When the door opened, the felt a wave of heat fill his chest, and only a part of it was due to the warmer air coming from inside the little apartment.

The rest of that warmth, as well as the slight change in the intensity of his heartbeat, was probably due to the image of the woman who had opened the door, looking as stunning as ever, without even trying…

“Oh, you’re early!” Kirishima heard Hayashi Mirai say, with a wide smile on her lips. “Join me for a smoke?” she asked, putting on a jacket and a beanie before stepping outside and closing the door behind her. “I could really do with a break, I’ve never had that many kids in here before…”

He merely nodded in response, following her to the rooftop, taking his time as he studied the figure walking in front of him. Tall and slim, wearing the usual the torn jeans, winter boots and a black “No mercy” T-shirt that clung tightly to her upper body, emphasizing the curve of her breasts. He watched as she rubbed her hands together, and then led them to her mouth to blow hot air into them, her dark brown eyes looking as alert as ever, framed by her thin, expressive eyebrows.

“Fucking winter, man,” she muttered. “I guess the only thing that warms me up is booze,” she added, tucking her hands inside the pockets of her leather jacket before offering him a cigarette.

“Thanks…” he said, when she moved her zippo closer to his mouth, her fingers trembling slightly from the cold.

The two of them drew in a long puff, and revelled the warmth feeling their lungs before speaking again.

“So now you are officially attending Maya’s birthday parties in his behalf?” she asked, some of the spark in her eyes fading as the words left her mouth.

“Looks like it,” he replied, before taking another drag off his cigarette.

“Heh,” she said in response. “You’d better watch out, before you know he will assign you to do his laundry and iron his underwear as well.”

He chuckled, before casting a sideways glance towards her.

“Who says he doesn’t, already?” he asked, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

“Oho, that fast?” she chuckled. “How long have you worked for him, anyway?”

“Almost two years.”

“Two years, already?!” she asked, frowning. “Boy, where is time going…”

He nodded slowly, letting his mind go back to the first time the two of them had met. It felt like such a long time ago…Back in the day, he had no idea that the job of PA would involve taking Asami Ryuichi’s daughter to the doctor, helping the girl’s mother move into their new apartment, and now… attending birthday parties.

“How is the algorithm going?” she asked.

“Almost done,” he replied, feeling particularly proud of his work developing what would be Sion’s differential in the stock market.

“Is it here?” she asked, and he nodded in response when she looked at his briefcase. “Can I look at it?”

He led the cigarette to his lips as he opened the briefcase, quickly producing a folder with pages and pages of equations.

“It’s not complete yet, but I’m close.”

“Mhmm…” she muttered in response, her eyes quickly scanning the contents of the document. “Looks good…”

“The calculations have been double-check-“

“There is an error.”

He frowned, when she reached for the pen in his jacket pocket.

“Here, see?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she pointed to one of the last pages in the folder. “Your MT formula is right but the first offered price should be higher than reservation price,” she explained, crossing out a few lines and correcting the following equations. “I don’t think it affects the MAR or the VMA equations but maybe you should check just to be sure…”

With his jaw dropping slightly, he merely watched as she closed the folder and returned it to him, taking another drag off her cigarette.

“Tell me again why you did not go back to school?” he asked, quietly. “You know, you would land any job you wanted, I am sure he would help.”

He saw when her gaze dropped to the floor, a sad smile curling her lips.

“Nah,” she said, after tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Office jobs are not for me.”

“What happened to your…” he asked, pointing to his own temple.

“This?” she asked, chuckling as she touched the band-aid on the side of her head. “They tried to recruit me again.”

Kirishima pursed his lips as a wave of anger flooded his system. His boss had told him to keep an eye on her – he knew that women like her, with the right looks and the wrong place of birth, were a constant target of the yakuza trying to staff their brothels and other red light precincts.

“They’re getting more aggressive,” she continued. “I’m glad I enrolled Maya in karate, she should learn how to defend herself too.”

“She’s 8,” he muttered in response, feeling his heart sink even lower as he noticed, for the first time, a fading bruise on her left cheek.

“It’s never too early, is it?” he hard the woman chuckle in response. “Especially when you’re the daughter of a hafu, unwed burakumin.”

He swallowed, averting his gaze to the city below them as he tried to remain objective. His job required him to fulfil certain tasks, and nothing else. Come to Sapporo, check how the kid and her mother were doing, leave money if needed, deliver gift, leave, report.

_Nothing else._

By his side, Mirai’s gaze was also distant, and void of emotion.

“I already know the answer but I just want to make sure, I know that is the first thing Maya is going to ask when she sees you,” she said, her voice low and cold. “He is not coming, is he?”

“No,” he replied, after a few seconds of silence. “He is…”

“Oh, I know where he is,” she quickly interrupted, with a sneer, and he felt deeply relieved for not having to say his boss was attending a gala party with a high class escort he himself had recruited. “I saw the announcement on the newspaper…”

Her voice was nowhere as casual as she probably intended it to be, and she chuckled again to cover up the obvious sadness in her eyes.

“Why do you keep letting him back in?” the question escaped his lips before he could stop himself.

“Because I’m weak,” she replied, still looking away after she lit up another cigarette. “I don’t even know what my relationship with him is. Probably none, at this point,” she said, her voice showing little emotion despite her glistening eyes. “I am not his wife. Not his girlfriend. I am probably just the mother of his unwanted child.”

She faked another smile, and Kirishima’s hands curled into fists when a tear rolled down her cheek, just to be immediately wiped away.

“And I know, I have always known…” she continued, eyes still fixated on the city’s skyline. “He has a country to conquer. Nothing will stop him. Nothing will slow him down,” she added. “Maya and I are…roadblocks to whatever place it is he is headed.”

“That is not true,” he said, even though he knew it was.

“It is. You know that, Kei…” she replied, smiling sadly as her eyes slowly went dry. “I know that, he knows that too. We are the things he needs to leave behind to get to the top,” she said, after taking another long drag off her cigarette. “The past that he needs to hide and forget.”

He saw her cross her arms, eyes dry and strong as she looked ahead, her dark hair blowing in the wind.

How a man, _any man_ , could choose to leave such a woman behind, was a mystery to him.

But then again, his job was to follow, not to ask questions, not to _understand._

His reverie was broken when she nudged him, and then proceeded to rub her arms before speaking again.

“Let’s go inside, I made a cake,” she said, after smashing what was left of her cigarette on a broken flowerpot. “It is pure sugar and it looks like crap, but it’s not as if the kids care, right?”

He smiled when she laughed, pushing her beanie further down her forehead, and followed her inside.

++++

**_Tokyo, present day_ **

Kirishima Kei took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to remove himself from memories of 13 years ago as he stared at the screen of his cell phone.

“Please…” he whispered, leading the phone to his ear once again. “Answer the goddamn phone…”

Once again, his call went to voicemail.

He cursed, putting the phone back into the pocket of his pants before standing up, flexing his bloodied knuckles and ignoring the whimpers of the man tied to a chair behind him.

Two hours prior, he had headed to the 34th floor, just to find Saejima Taiga’s lifeless body lying in a giant pool of his own blood, in the only hallway in the entire building lacking appropriate surveillance cameras.

Tojo’s second in command, killed with a single stab to his jugular vein, inside Sion, Asami Ryuichi’s domain.

That had _not_ been the work of an amateur.

That had been the work of a professional killer _trying to start a war_.

He closed his eyes, taking a long, deep breath before putting his glasses on again.

Of course, that assassination had been orchestrated just like the cyber attack of less than a week before.

As usual, all it took was an idiot along the chain for chaos to ensue.

“Kirishima-san…Please…I am sorry…P-Please…”

Said idiot was currently sobbing, begging for his life, trying not to choke on his own blood after his nose and jaw had been shattered to pieces.

Araki Jirou, 28 years old, facilities coordinator, married, father of 2. One of the very few people that had access to the blueprints of Sion. After Kirishima had sorted out that small group of employees, and demanded that all their calls and emails were scanned and checked for any suspicious activity, Araki’s shady dealings with a male prostitute from Osaka had been revealed.

After Kirishima himself had rolled up his sleeves and taken in the mission of interrogating the man, all it took was a couple of his best punches for the idiot to spill the beans: he had agreed to hand in Sion’s blueprints in exchange for a certain recording of his sexual prowess with said male prostitute and half a dozen of his colleagues.

_Unfaithful idiot._

“Kirishima-san…Please…” the man whimpered, more blood pouring from his broken nose as he cried.

“Shut up, Araki.”

“But my wife…My kids…”

“They will be well-looked after, you have my word,” he said, before ordering two of his operatives to take the man for a final trip to Tokyo Bay.

He looked at the red stains in his shirt, ignoring the man’s wails as he was dragged away, and reached for his phone one more time. A male prostitute from Osaka…Omi’s territory… He needed to contact Hayashi Mirai before it was too late, before the Tojo decided to strike back even though that assassination looked like another trap, set to put the two organizations at odds with each other.

_Voicemail._

The secretary put the phone away, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

He knew, right then, that it was too late to stop a war.

_It was time to bring his boss back._

++++

“Did you give him the antidote?” Majima Makoto asked her servant, who had been waiting patiently by the door with a syringe on her hand, until the man in front of her had finally collapsed. “Is he breathing?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she heard the girl reply. “But his pulse is still irregular.”

“That is to be expected,” the counsellor replied, lacing her fingers over her lap. “Thanks, Aishah. You can go now.”

She waited until the footsteps grew distant to address the unconscious man lying at her feet.

“Asami?” she said, her voice loud and clear. “Asami, can you hear me?”

A grunt was the only response she got, but for now, that was enough.

She would only have to wait a few more minutes, maybe an hour, before the man was able to get a grip on his surroundings after his brief encounter with kingdom come.

“Let’s see what we gather from it…” she whispered, reaching inside her pocket to fish out a brailled piece of paper containing the names of the people the man had written down on his first session.

Takaba Akihito…Maya…Mirai…Kirishima Kei

One name, however, had not been mentioned so far, but at this point she had very little doubt as to whom it referred.

Asami Shion.

The hurried footsteps coming from the hallway, however, derailed her train of thought.

“Majima-sama,” she heard her assistant say, slightly out of breath. “It’s Kirishima Kei, he says he needs to talk to his boss right away.”

“Thanks, Li,” the woman replied, taking a deep breath before reaching out to grab the phone being offered to her.

“Kirishima-san, to what do I-“

_“Majima-san, I apologize for the interruption, but I need to speak to Asami-sama.”_

“I’m afraid he is…unavailable at the moment.”

She could hear the man’s breath hitch on the other side of the line.

_“Unavailable?”_

“Yes. He has just gone through a very tough part of his treatment, I am afraid he is still unconscious.”

 _“Unconscious?!”_ Kirishima, at that point, did not appear to be slightly concerned about hiding his panic. _“What happened to him?”_

“As I said, it is all part of his treat-“

_“Saejima Taiga was murdered today.”_

Makoto felt her heart skip a beat. Saejima was her late husband’s sworn brother, one of the very few people in the Tojo to visit her regularly in Tsumino, a family friend.

“How?” she asked, trying to ignore the sudden coldness that seemed to have surrounded her.

_“Stabbed, at Sion. We are still trying to gather more information. There were no orders of any kind to eliminate him, I was in fact about to have a meeting with him to discuss a possible truce.”_

“I understand…” she replied, her voice quiet and weak, her fingertips moving of their own accord to her forehead. “Asami…He is not well…”

_“What is his status?”_

The woman merely chuckled in response.

“Let me put it this way,” she said, after a moment of silence. “He is in the operating table, and I just cut him open. I haven’t even begun surgery yet.”

There was a long pause before the man spoke again.

_“I’m afraid we won’t have time for the surgery, then.”_

“Kirishima…”

_“How much time do you need?”_

“I…I don’t know. One day, at least.”

 _“We don’t have that kind of time,”_ she heard him answer. _“I have been trying to reach the high commanders in the Tojo, to no avail, do you know what that means? That at this very moment, they are planning the next move.”_

“I am sure you can come up with a contingency plan.”

_“Of course I can, and I already have, but I can not act on it without his approval. Not to mention that whatever happens…he would want to be here.”_

Makoto closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Give me twelve hours, then,” she whispered.

 _“I can give you two,”_ Kirishima replied. _“That is how long it takes for the jet to get to the island.”_

“Four.”

_“Three.”_

“Fine, I will take what I can get,” the woman finally conceded. “But Kirishima, I need to warn you. I am not returning your boss in proper conditions, he will need to continue his treatment.”

_“Fine, then board the jet with him. Just…I need him back in Tokyo as soon as possible.”_

“What is happening?” she heard the hoarse voice of Asami Ryuichi, and quickly ended the call.

“Nothing.,.” she replied, placing the phone on the table next to her. “Just making arrangements for a short trip while you were…asleep.”

“You were talking to Kirishima.”

Makoto let a smirk curl the corners of her mouth, despite the worry, grief and anguish that the man’s phone call had brought her.

“Yes,” she whispered, trying to void her face of any troubling emotions. Right now, she needed to focus on her client, and nothing else. “He wanted to check on you, I promised you would be able to talk to him in a few hours, after you recovered.”

There was no answer this time, so she took that as sign her explanation had been accepted, at least for the time being.

“So…Asami-san…” she continued. “Do you want to rest a little longer, or can we continue?”

++++

Almost thee hours had gone by, and Asami was still staring at his own legs, his head still spinning as he avoided the face of the woman sitting on the chair.

He wanted to yell at her for such a ridiculous trick. He wanted, at least, to make a formal complaint. He was entitled to, after all - he had just been _poisoned,_ and that was definitely not part of their agreement.

"I could sue you, do you know that?" he muttered.

"I guess..." he heard her reply. "But in my defence, I believe you always knew my specialty was death therapy."

"I thought it meant something else."

"Well...that is not my fault, is it?" Makoto replied,  as serene and emotionless as ever.

He considered standing up and moving back to his chair, but strangely enough, the hard floor beneath him was giving him a different kind of comfort, almost as if its coldness against the back of his legs was helping him sober up faster.

"What did you give me?" he asked, rubbing his calves.

"An antidote."

"What if it hadn't worked?"

"That would be the first time."

He frowned, still feeling suspicious of the irregular thumping inside his chest and the uncomfortable numbness of his lower limbs.

"Why do you do that to people?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

He was not really interested in her answer, though. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to care anymore, not about her antics, not about her explanations, not about his treatment. 

_He just wanted to go home._

And so, as she spoke, his mind drifted back to the penthouse. 

It would probably be empty, as usual. It was not as if he had given Akihito a reason to be waiting for him, not after the way their last encounter had ended.

He snorted. They were falling into a routine.

Fight. Fuck. Fight again.

But then, it was not as if he was entitled to complain. He knew he had his fair share of responsibility in making their lives such a ticking bomb. He had surely pushed his young lover to a limit. Maybe it was because of his occupation, maybe it was because he was just not used to dealing with other people's feelings... But he could see the strain, the tiredness in those fiery hazel eyes. 

He felt his blood freeze when memories of all the times Akihito had tried to break up with him filled his mind.

_Maybe that is what you got when you kept people by your side against their will._

"...last seconds of our existence can reveal a lot about us."

His counsellor's words finally registered in his brain, and he blinked. 

He was aware of why he had unconsciously averted his attention to the problems waiting for him in Tokyo, ignoring the woman in front of him.

She would make him talk, _again._

"Asami?" he heard her whisper. "Are you still with me?"

"Barely..." he muttered in response.

"Do you want to tell me what you saw?"

"No," he answered, still looking at his own legs. "But I have no choice, do I?"

"Oh, you do. It is fine either way."

He swallowed, and slowly lowered his upper body onto the floor, letting the back of his head rest against the cold tiles. If he tried hard enough, perhaps the shivers going up his spine and the aching on his lower back would distract him long enough for him not to feel anything as the words left his mouth.

"I saw my mother," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"Tell me about her."

He smiled, with his eyes still closed. 

He had only once talked about his mother, and at the occasion he had been very, _very_ drunk.

He was not sure how it would feel to talk about her again, completely sober. 

"She used to be an artist. Our house was full of her paintings," he said, letting images of their old house in Sapporo fill his thoughts. "She was very talented, and kind. She raised me on her own."

"What was her name?" he heard Makoto ask.

When he opened his mouth to respond, his voice failed for the first time.

Perhaps he _should_ have gotten drunk first, after all.

"Asami?"

"Shion,” he whispered, swallowing a knot on his throat as jumbled images of his young mother rushed to his mind, a mix of terror, joy and sorrow threatening to swallow him whole. “Her name was Shion."

There was no response, so he continued.

"I know. A terrible cliché, to name a company after your own mother,” he chuckled.

Luckily for him, the _koseki_ that was now associated with his name had no traces of his true origin.

Last thing he wanted was his enemies having access to that part of his past.

"I never met my father,” he said, forcing himself to address the issue even though it was one that made him particularly sick. “She...didn't talk about him. I only found out who he was many years after she died."

His hands had already curled into fists, and he paused.

"Turns out he used to be her teacher. From what I could gather, he knocked her up when she was 14,” he whispered, his blunt nails digging into his palm as shame and anger began to ravish his system. “He had a track record for...sexual abuse. His victims were all underage, many of them his students. I don't...know the details of their relationship, I doubt there was one,” he continued, taking a deep breath to steady his voice when the corners of his eyes threatened to start prickling. “I was probably the result of a rape."

He paused again, and waited. His heart was thumping so loudly inside his ribcage that the woman was probably able to hear it.

"I wouldn't have gone through with that pregnancy, if I were her," he said, after letting out another unhappy chuckle. "But she did. And she never made me feel like I was a burden."

Soon enough, he found himself stepping away from that dangerous territory of grief, and memories of his days as a child brought some relief to his restless heart.

"I had a good childhood,” he whispered, a little smile curling the corners of his lips as he remembered the lazy afternoons spent in the park, in the company of his classmates, the hot drinks his mother would make him during the city’s severe winters, the sports competitions she would attend at his school, the trips to art galleries and museums… “She was a very good mother."

He allowed himself to savour those innocent, joyful memories, for very long minutes. He didn’t like what came next and he would take as much time as he could avoiding it.

His eyes shot open, and he found himself staring at the ceiling fan.

He could as well stop. There was nothing worth revisiting from then on. He could just…go on with his life without reopening those wounds.

_Without remembering._

But then, how long until his nightmares came knocking at his door? How many times would he have to wake up in the middle of the night, feeling that same terror?

He cleared his throat, and closed his eyes again.

"I was too young back then to know she was sinking in debt in order to pay for my education and to guarantee we had a place to live, two hot meals a day, medicine when I got sick...” he continued, his voice low and hoarse. “I guess that when you are a child you just assume casual jobs pay a fortune, and the bills just mysteriously pay themselves at the end of the month."

His heart, once again, was about to burst from his chest, as if bracing itself for the pain ahead.

"Until the day the source of the money came knocking at our door," he whispered.

When he opened his mouth to speak again, the words did not come out. The jumbled images flashing behind his eyes were making it hard for him to find the right way to describe the events of that day.

"Many things that I remember from that day changed overtime,” he said. “In the beginning, I could not process what had happened very well, I think I was too young. But then, time went by and I finally understood what had really happened to her."

He knew his voice had begun to shake, and frowned. After taking another deep breath, he forced himself to continue.

"That day, I heard a man screaming, demanding that she opened the door," he said, his voice steadier and calmer despite the fact even his hands were shaking. "Other than that, I don't really remember what he said. But I remember, very clearly, as if it had happened yesterday, what she told me back then. She told me to hide in the broom closet, and stay there no matter what. No matter what I heard, she made me promise to stay put.”

He felt the corners of his eyes prickle again.

“So I did. I stayed put,” he whispered, as his mind transported him, again, to that dark broom closet, and he, _again,_ experienced all the terror of that afternoon. “I heard the voices outside, I heard she beg for more time, and then I heard...noises.”

He swallowed, feeling his nostrils burn. He did not want to see it all again, he did not want to feel it….

“I heard her body hitting the ground,” he continued, fighting the urge to stop revisiting those memories. “So I looked through the keyhole, and... and…”

He felt the first tears roll down his temples, and his throat felt so constricted that even breathing hurt.

“I-I saw a m-man...” he stuttered, feeling each word rip through his chest, squeezing his heart, “…holding her arms a-and...another one...on top of her...”

“Asami, if you want to stop...”

“No,” he replied, perhaps louder than he wished, as his chest heaved up and down.

_Now he might as well see it to the end._

He opened his eyes again, his sight blurred with unshed tears as he once again stared at the ceiling.

“See, at that time I was not sure of what was happening,” he continued, his voice still shaky and strangely nasal, “but she was crying, so I figured...that they were hurting her.”

He felt his lips quiver, and the muscles of his face strained when a pained sob escaped his throat, despite his best efforts to keep it in.

“But I didn't open the door,” he said, feeling more tears escape his eyes, a hand automatically moving to his face to cover the evidence of his grief. “I just sat there, closed my eyes, covered my ears, and waited.”

He felt like a million knives were tearing past his skin, each word, each memory, hurting him just as much as they usually did in his nightmares. 

“Because she had told me to stay put and I did,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and almost inaudible. “I stayed put. I waited until it was silent again. And when I got out...She was dead,” he sniffled, wiping his eyes on the back of his arm as he struggled to keep talking. “She was only 25 years old…”

Again, he closed his still watery eyes. Those tear ducts were certainly working hard after so many years of inactivity.

Other than the faint sound of the ceiling fan above him, the room was absolutely silent.

For all he knew, he might as well be talking to himself, which only encouraged him to keep going, despite the pain.

“I never visited her grave after her funeral,” he muttered. “I think...I am still ashamed.”

“Of what?”

The woman’s voice, serene as it was, was both soothing and unwelcome. It made him aware that he was telling something incredibly intimate to a person that had poisoned him only a few hours prior.

But then, would he be saying those things _at all,_ if she hadn’t poisoned him in the first place?

“Of not helping her,” he answered, after swallowing the lump in his throat. “I am still ashamed that I didn’t help her.”

“Do you really think you could have?”

“I could have tried,” he whispered. “And I didn't.”

“It would have been an 11-year old against two grown-up men,” his counsellor pointed out.

“I know…” he replied, feeling his eyes going slowly dry, his sadness giving way to his usual dismissiveness. “Anyway...It's not as if she would be proud of the man I have become, anyway.”

He sneered.

_She would not be proud at all._

“You once asked me how I met Takaba Akihito,” Asami said, his voice still nasal, but suddenly cold and detached. “We were in a bar,” he continued, after bringing himself to a sitting position. “I decided to buy him a drink. We left and went to my place to have a wild night of sex.”

With an unhappy chuckle, he raised his eyes to the face of the woman sitting on the chair in front of him.

“Or, in a more enticing version of the facts,” his voice, by then, was completely void of emotion. “I cornered him in an alley, let my assistants rough him up, and proceeded to drug, and rape him, a few days later.”

All of a sudden, he had no more tears to shed.

His mother had been worth them, but he, Asami Ryuichi, deserved no one’s pity, not even his own.

“I tied him up and raped him. That is how our relationship began,” he added, letting the words and all their bitterness carve themselves under his skin. “That is who I am.”

He averted his gaze to the ceiling again.

“I don't know...I don't know why he stayed…” he whispered, still lost in thought as he remembered all the things he had said and done to the young man. “He should have left by now…”

“Did you ever let him?” he heard Makoto ask, and it was like a punch to his stomach.

_Well, obviously._

“No,” he replied, a strange smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “I never let him leave.”

When he looked at his counsellor again, it finally hit him.

He had travelled to an island to treat himself, but the truth was, he was beyond salvation.

Takaba Akihito was a problem because sooner or later he would notice that. That is, if he hadn’t already.

Maybe that was why he wanted to leave. At some point, he would, eventually.

Why keep up the farce?

_He would leave him first._

“I understand…” he muttered, his gaze just as vacant as his voice when he spoke. “Now, I understand…”

“Asami...” he saw the woman frown, her voice showing a very distinct note of concern. “What exact-“

She was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.

“Come in,” Makoto said, resting her face on one hand, looking positively defeated.

“Majima-sama...” Asami heard the woman’s assistant say, holding out the phone. “It's Kirishima Kei.”

Asami let out a sigh of relief. His faithful first assistant never failed to rescue him when he needed it the most.

 _Enough of looking at the dark abysses inside his own mind._ He didn't think he could stand another minute of that torture.

“Asami,” he said, after picking up the phone and squaring his shoulders as he swam back to the surface of his own conscience.


	21. Passing the baton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito finds himself stranded in Kou's apartment, Hayashi Mirai takes the afternoon off, and Asami Ryuichi finally heads back to Tokyo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very long chapter, probably the longest one in this story, and I would say 90% of it is about Hayashi Mirai, for...reasons. XD But I made it so that it ends up being about Akihito and Asami too, so please bear with me. =D
> 
> For reference:
> 
>  _Taiyaki:_ a Japanese fish-shaped cake usually filled with red bean paste.  
> 
>  _Yakitori:_ similar to Kebabs, made from bits of grilled chicken.

"What do you mean, I am not allowed to go outside?" asked Akihito, staring at his bodyguard in disbelief.

"I apologize, Takaba-san, I am just following orders," the tall man replied.

"And those orders are...?"

"To prevent you from going outside," was the response.

"That is bullshit," the photographer snapped back, his face getting redder at each passing moment. "What if I want to go back to the penthouse, will you refuse to take me?"

"I am afraid I would have to, my directives are very specific."

"Call Kirishima," Akihito said, after placing both hands on his hips. "I want to talk to him."

"He is unavailable at the moment," Shinada replied.

The man's obstinate obedience to his bosses was pushing Akihito to his limits.

"Oh yeah, right," the younger man snorted. "Unavailable..."

He fished his phone out of his pocket, and dialed the secretary's number, just to be sent to voicemail.

He then tried to call Asami, to no avail either.

"What _the hell_ is going on?" the photographer yelled.

"I am afraid I know as much as you do."

"I find that unlikely," Akihito snorted again, his voice beginning to shake. "Shinada, listen to me," he grabbed the man by the shoulders. "I am being expected at a wedding. In..." he paused to glance at his watch, "...two hours people are gonna get married and I am supposed to take their pictures, this is not a stakeout or anything!" he said. "You have to let me go."

"I am sorry, Takaba-san."

"You should be!" the younger man exclaimed, his despair obvious in his voice. "This is what I do for a living! I can't just...accept a job and then not show up!"

"I am sure your clients will be generously compensated for all the trouble," he heard his bodyguard say, still unfazed.

"Oh please, this is not about money!" Akihito replied, tugging at his hair. "This is about..." he paused, thinking about all the other reasons why he was so pissed off. Yeah, he could do with some money himself but returning the part of his pay that had already been transferred to his bank account was the smallest of his problems. Not to be able to honor his word as a professional, to let his clients down, to lose his own freedom to come and go... Those things mattered so much more, but he doubted Shinada, Kirishima, or even Asami, would bother to give them much thought. "Oh, never mind..." he whispered, his shoulders drooping in defeat. "Why waste my time anyway..."

And then, it occurred to him.

The front door was _not_ the only way out of Kou's apartment.

With a smirk, he slammed the door on his bodyguard's face, and rushed to the kitchen. The window was small and it would be a pain to squeeze through it, but at that point, he was willing to do anything.

He was still smirking when his eyes landed on the alleyway below, and his excitement was replaced by another wave of anger.

At least other four men in suits were conveniently waiting for him, blocking all possible escape routes.

Akihito let out a defeated sigh, before proceeding to unleash his frustration on one of Kou's chairs, kicking it at least four times before leaning against the kitchen table, his chest heaving up and down as angry tears filled his eyes.

His forced vacation, combined with Asami's absence and the avalanche of new information about the man's past, was making him irritable, depressive and restless.

To be forbidden to go outside and coerced to let down one of his clients had been the last straw.

"Fuck this, man," he said to himself, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his fancy white shirt. "Shinada, I-"

His words died in his mouth when instead of his bodyguard, his eyes fell upon the face of Hayashi Mirai, looking _an awful lot_ like an ordinary citizen in her purple yoga pants and baggy sweatshirt.

"Oh..." she said, raising an eyebrow as she studied his formal attire. "You attending a gala event or something?"

"No..." Akihito muttered, looking over the woman's shoulders and finding Shinada guarding the stairs. "I was supposed to work at a wedding..." he explained, his brain still trying to wrap itself around the unexpected turn of events. "Hayashi-san… Are you looking for Maya?" he asked. "She’s not back from work yet…"

"Yeah, I figured," he heard the woman say. "Do you mind if I wait inside?"

He let his eyes travel from the slightly tilted bun on top of her head, to the colorful sneakers on her feet. Her face, he was quick to notice, did not sport the usual frown, and her eyes looked strangely void of threat.

"Please come in," Akihito whispered, slowly opening the door to let her in.

He let out a sigh when the woman took off her sneakers and made her way into the small apartment. That was not what he had envisioned for the rest of his day. But then again, now that he had been forbidden to leave the place, he could do with some company.

The only problem was, Asami's ex was _not_ on his list of favorite people to kill time with.

"Thank you," she replied, passing him a brown paper bag. "I brought you some… _taiyaki_ , as a peace offering."

"Peace offering for what?" he asked, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

"Ah...you know..." he watched as the woman scratched her neck, with a little smirk on her lips. "I guess the only times we talked there was a lot of tension in the air, I might have come across as..." she raised and eyebrow, and shrugged, " _...testy_?"

"Ah..." he faked a smile in return. He had thought of arrogant, dangerous and cold, but "testy" would have to do. Again, maybe it was just his jealousy speaking. How could he not be jealous of a person that had made Asami do _cartwheels_? Not to mention all the other things they probably used to do together as well, probably a bunch of firsts... _Including in bed._ He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to show any signs of discomfort with the woman's presence. "Never mind that, I guess I have been in a sour mood too…" he explained, with a slightly more sincere smile this time. " We’re good."

She nodded, and for a very long minute, the two of them just kept looking at each other. Akihito clutched the paper bag as he hunted for a good conversation starter, noticing the woman's eyes dart from his neck to his eyes, and then back to his neck.

His eyebrows shot up when he realized his skin there was still full of faint, but visible marks of Asami's love bites.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked, quickly heading to the kitchen to hide his blushing face from her view.

"Yeah, tea would be great."

He nodded in response, and busied himself looking for a kettle after placing the two fish-shaped cakes on a plate. When he cast a glance towards the small living room, he saw Hayashi trying to make herself comfortable on Kou's weird designer couch, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like _"seat as hard as fuck"._

He had to snicker at the woman's irritation. He was not a huge fan of Kou's artsy-fartsy furniture either.

"So…" she asked, rubbing her knees and then pointing to the back of her head. "How is your…?"

It took him a moment to understand she was referring to the cut he got from his run in with one of her subordinates.

"Oh, it’s fine," Akihito replied, scratching his elbow as he waited for the water to boil. "It is healing well."

"Good," he heard her say. "Was Asami pissed off, when he saw it?"

 _Ah, of course_. Cue to the most obvious conversation starter ever, Asami Ryuichi.

"He hasn’t seen it yet," he answered, pursing his lips. "But he will be. He doesn’t like it when people damage his _property_."

The bitterness in his voice did not surprise him. Akihito was still angry with the man, for more than one reason.

He was about to pour hot water into a teapot filled with green tea leaves when the woman replied.

"If he has been with you for almost three years," Hayashi said, her voice casual as she looked at him, "...I bet he sees you as more than just ' _his property_ '."

"How do you… Was it Kirishima?" Akihito slammed the kettle back on the burner as he spoke. "Is he the one filling you in on my life with Asami?"

"Not filling me in, but yeah, he might have-"

"Look," he interrupted, after letting out a nervous chuckle. Probably that was how she and the secretary spent their free time? Making fun of him and his relationship with Asami? It was not a secret that Kirishima still saw him as an inconvenience, and the woman in the living room had no reason to be supportive either. "It is not as if we have been in a committed relationship for all that time or anything. I…" he paused, and swallowed. "I don’t even know if I can say we have a relationship."

He turned his attention to the kettle again, feeling the corners of his eyes prickle. He was already upset enough with things as they were; that conversation was not making him feel any better.

"You know, I probably would have never found out about you, or Maya, if you both hadn’t approached me," he found himself saying, after filling the teapot and placing it on a tray next to two cups, the plate with the cakes, and a small bottle of honey. "He knows everything about me but I know literally nothing about him."

"I believe you know him just fine," the woman replied, sitting on the floor and resting her elbows on the table.

"Oh, is that so?" he retorted, sitting across from her, after placing the tray on the small table. "Let’s see…I don’t know anything about his family."

"I don’t think he has one."

"Fine," Akihito replied, with a frown. "I don’t know any of his friends."

"I don’t think he has friends either," Hayashi whispered, as she cut the two cakes in halves.

"That’s not possible."

"Oh, it is," he heard her say, after stuffing her mouth with a piece of cake. "Trust me."

"Whatever," he replied, pouring tea into their cups with an even bigger frown. So the man was a loner, fine. He got the picture. But when had it been the last time he called? Did he even know where Asami was? Had the man even bothered to share? "Even after 3 years, I still feel like an outsider," he whispered. "And even if I weren't, you and Maya were much more important than me, anyway, and if he has ditched you…then I probably don’t stand a chance."

He saw the woman's eyebrows shoot up at his words, and gulped. His mother used to tell him that there were times when it was best to stay silent. _'Never trust your tongue when your heart is bitter,'_ she would tell him.

Just one of her teachings he constantly failed to follow.

"Sorry to put it so bluntly but that’s all I’ve been thinking about lately," he added quietly, feeling his cheeks go pink.

The woman let out a sigh before speaking again.

"I am not sure what has led to all your bitterness, but maybe I should give you some perspective?" she said, after taking a sip of her tea. "First, sorry to break the bad news, but Asami Ryuichi is not the talkative type. Has never been. If you were expecting a chatterbox for a boyfriend, you picked the wrong guy."

"I don-"

"About he ditching me and Maya..." she interrupted, after raising an eyebrow - and her tone of voice. "I believe some clarification is in order," she added. "Back in the day, when he started drafting his plans for Sion, and for all the things he wanted to achieve, I knew there would be a price to pay. He knew too. That is why he never made promises of any kind, because he was a man on a mission," she explained, and Akihito felt like a puppy that had peed in the carpet and was now being taught how to behave. "And to succeed in that mission, he had to be known as the man that had nothing to lose. I could hold my own, I believe that if I hadn’t gotten pregnant I would have become his first assistant, instead of Kirishima," she chuckled, and Akihito couldn't help but let out a small smile when he imagined the bespectacled man without his current job, and working as a bank clerk instead.

_Heh._

"But then Maya happened, and I think it was the first legit sacrifice he made to get to the top, among many others," she continued. "He gave up his desire to have a family. And he went to great lengths to…reinvent himself."

He watched as the woman paused, and stuffed her mouth with more cake.

"It worked," she said, still chewing. "He did become the man he had set himself out to be. Feared. Desired. Hated. Relevant."

There was another long pause, in which Hayashi seemed to be pondering her next words.

"I am not sure of how much you know about Asami’s activities, but let’s just say that apart from being the owner of Japan’s most successful, legitimate enterprise, he is also the glue that keeps all the pieces of the underworld together," Akihito heard her say, paying attention to every single word. Obviously, at that point, he already knew of the man's involvement with illegal activities, but what those consisted of, was a part of the story that remained blurry. "He is the one holding the leashes of monsters that would claim the lives of thousands of civilians every day, if they had the chance. He is the one stopping international criminals from getting their claws on some of Japan’s most important trade routes. Politicians, the police, even the media…They need Asami Ryuichi as much as they need any other means of law enforcement because he has the power, and the capacity, to keep that sea of chaos and death under control."

Listening just as intently as before, the photographer barely noticed his jaw had dropped a little. He had never actually stopped to think about all the weight that Asami carried on his shoulders, being who he was.

"But having all that power also means that he can’t allow himself to be vulnerable," Hayashi added, her lips curling into a little sad smile as she averted her gaze from the cake to his face. "And with you… He is back to being someone with something to lose," she said. "It must be hard for him."

"Well, it’s hard for me too," he whispered in response, as he remembered all the times their lives had been in danger, all the nightmares, all the fear that one day he would wake up and find Asami dead by his side. "Of all the people I could have met and…" _'fallen in love with',_ he completed mentally, "...it had to be him."

"Yeah, I know, right?" the woman across from him snorted. "You will need to have a lot of patience."

Akihito put down his tea, feeling uneasy. What was he supposed to do with that information? Why was Asami’s ex, of all people, telling him those things? Since when were they friends, sipping tea together and eating cake as she gave him advice about his love life?

"Why...Why are you telling me these things?" he asked, quietly. "We barely know each other..."

Hayashi shrugged in response, and helped herself to another piece of cake.

"I guess...I am passing the baton," she said, after holding out her hands in front of her. "My daughter is living with you, her father chose you to be the one by his side..." she continued. "Least I can do is give you some pointers, based on my own experience."

Akihito mindlessly let his gaze drop to the almost empty plate in front of him.

"Oh shit, I am eating all the cake, ain't I?" she asked, morosely munching on one of the last pieces. "Sorry. I forgot to bring my cigarettes so I eat like a fucking pig to make up for it," she chuckled. "Anxiety. Damn, I should have bought more than two..."

"It's okay, I'm not hungry," the photographer said, shaking his head. "You were saying..."

"Thanks," the woman replied. "Ah, yeah. Asami. See, he wants to believe he is a high functioning sociopath," she said, after lacing her fingers together on top of the table. "But he is not a sociopath. And hell, he is definitely not high functioning. But he works very hard to make people believe that he is," she added. "In the end, though…he is just a man. A man that doesn’t know how to deal with things that he can’t control."

She paused, and let out another chuckle, her gaze lost somewhere between the teapot and the tray.

"Which only makes you more of an irony..." she whispered. "You don’t look like the kind of person that bends to his will. You must make him uncomfortable," she said, before picking up the teapot. "More tea?"

Akihito nodded, and watched in silence as the woman poured more tea into his cup.

"Maya makes him uncomfortable too," Hayashi continued. "It must be fucking with his mind, to have the two of you so close to him, at the same time...No wonder he is having a hard time letting you in."

"Do they still talk to each other?" Akihito asked. "Maya and Asami?"

"No. I mean, yeah, they talked to each other after the hacking episode but I don't think that counts. I don't think he wants to reconnect with her. And I know she suffers a lot because of it, but..." he raised his eyes to Hayashi's face when her voice faltered, just in time to see her eyes glisten for the fraction of a second. "Some battles are not meant to be won, I guess," she said, after clearing her throat.

Another moment of uncomfortable silence fell between them. Akihito himself felt his stomach sink when he remembered the video of the three of them at the park, and thought of how hard it must be for Maya to deal with her father's rejection.

"So...this wedding you were going to work at..." he heard Hayashi say, in a clear attempt to change the subject. "Some fancy stuff, huh?"

"Kind of..." he replied, after letting his gaze travel from his dress pants to the impeccable black loafers near the door. "But not a gala event. Heh," he chuckled, and turned to look at Hayashi again. He wondered if that woman had ever worn a dress in her entire life. She certainly did not look the type to bend to social - or fashion - conventions. "Now that you mentioned it, what did you use to wear when you attended the gala dinners with Asami?"

"I never attended gala events with him," she replied, matter-of-factly.

"Ah... I see... So you would turn him down too?"

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Turn him down?" she asked.

"Yeah," Akihito replied. "When he invited you to go with him."

"To a gala event?"

"Yeah."

"Did he invite _you_ to attend a gala event with him?" Hayashi asked, with a very obvious note of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah..." the photographer replied, frowning slightly at the woman's question. "But I said no, of course."

"Heh."

He frowned even harder when the woman shook her head, snickering.

"What?" he asked.

"Funny story," she said, still snickering. "A bazillion years ago, he told me he had a gala dinner to attend. I think Maya was 7 or something. It would be his first, and I was terrified. I didn't even know what people wore in that kind of party. But... I rented a dress, this...draped, V-neck gown, it was this beautiful dark red... I had a friend of mine lend me her stilettos, man, those things hurt like a bitch, but they looked good... I had my hair and makeup done, and in the end, the girls at the salon I worked at said I was _hooot._ "

Her lips curled into a smile, and her eyes were sparkling when she spoke again.

"And I was, I looked like a fucking celebrity..." she whispered. "Everyone was looking forward to seeing a limousine pick me up... We were all perched at the window, waiting. And waiting. At a certain point, I called him, ya know, just to make sure we would make it in time. It was Kirishima that answered," she said, her smile fading a little. "I will never forget it. He said that Asami was attending a gala dinner, alright, but not _with me_. He would be taking _an actress_. The name of the bitch escapes me, but... I wanted the ground to open and swallow me," she chuckled. "It was true, he had _told me_ he was going to attend a fancy dinner, but he hadn't _invited_ _me_ to go with him."

Akihito, looking sadly at the woman in front of him, pushed forward the plate with the last piece of cake, to show his sympathy.

"I sat with my phone in my hand for many minutes," Hayashi continued, after stuffing her mouth with the delicacy, "...thinking of what I could possibly say to look less of an idiot to everyone that had invested their energy and time prepping me for a dinner I had not been invited to..."

She paused, and the photographer saw her eyes regain some of their spark.

"I got up, and I was about to speak when everyone ran to the window, because..." she snorted, her shoulders shaking slightly as she started to laugh, "...a limousine had just pulled over. Man... I was so confused. And then, Kirishima, he..," Hayashi was openly laughing as she spoke, "...he got out of the car, and opened the door for me to get in, with the most serious face in the planet, and everyone behind me just began cheering..."

Her laughter was so contagious that Akihito could not help himself, and in a matter of seconds, they were both giggling.

"And I just had this...smile on my face, as if I was the most powerful bitch in the world," she said, wiping away happy tears. "But of course, I was dying inside and Kirishima knew it. That was why he had gone to pick me up."

Slowly, the laughter subsided, and her voice regained its usual seriousness.

"Kirishima... He apologized so many times that night, I guess he was feeling guilty because he had been the one who had set Ryuichi up with a celebrity. We ended up having dinner at a noodles joint near my place, before he dropped me off at home..." she explained, drawing in a long breath before concluding her story.

"Bottom line is, Asami never invited me to a gala event. He used to say that his... _private affairs_ should not mix with his business life, at least when it came to me," she said, crossing her arms with a smirk on her lips. "He must be really head over heels for you, to break his own rules."

Akihito's cup was still touching his lips, but the tea was long forgotten, and cold. His gaze was distant, as if he was revisiting memories of a not so distant past, replaying words and actions in his head…

"And did I hear it right?" he vaguely heard a very amused Hayashi Mirai say. "You turned him down?"

"Yes..."

She snorted.

"You got guts, I'll give you that," she said, before leaning against the couch. "See, when I met Asami like, a week ago, I showed him a picture of you, and Maya, and Kou, is that his name?"

Akihito frowned in response.

"That day they had to drag you out of a nightclub," she explained.

His eyes went wide when his brain finally processed the information.

"Wait _, what?!_ " he exclaimed. "There were people following me that day?!"

"Not you. Maya," the woman replied, her voice calm and collected as she looked at her own nails. "I have her on 24x7 surveillance, call me paranoid, but… she’s all I have. So she has two bodyguards, one assigned by her father and one that works for me, and I also have a private eye and a secondary security team keeping track of her steps," she shrugged after Akihito whistled. He thought he had it bad with Asami when it came to have his every step tracked, but apparently Maya had to put up with worse.

"So, yeah. That day, all my operatives sent me the same info," she continued. "Anyhow, I showed Asami the picture of you three and I saw it. I saw the look in his eyes when he was looking at your face, before his eyes moved to Maya... I'll tell you something, in case you still have doubts," Akihito lifted his eyes to hers, his heart thumping loudly in his ribcage. "That’s not how you look at _‘property’_."

He was still not sure why that woman, who had every reason to dislike him, was telling him those things. He couldn't quite read the expression on her face, but it was almost as if her eyes were... _pleading?_

"I trust you to take good care of them," she whispered, after giving him a gentle pat on the knee and standing up.

Akihito frowned.

_Them?_

"Whoa!" he heard Maya exclaim, when her mother opened the door while she was still outside, fumbling with her keys. "Mom?"

"What, did you hear her going up the stairs?!" the photographer asked, unable to hide his surprise.

"I have a very sharp sense of hearing."

"What is going on?" Maya asked, raising an eyebrow.

He watched as the woman took a step forward to tuck a strand of black hair behind the girl's ear.

"I was waiting for you, kiddo," Hayashi said, and Akihito noticed that was his cue to give them some privacy.

With Shinada still guarding the stairs, however, he was not sure as to where he was supposed to go...

++++

Asami Ryuichi was already on his way back to Tokyo, after having spent at least half an hour on the phone with his first assistant.

With his legs elegantly crossed, and one of his elbows resting on one of his wrists, he smoothed an inexistent wrinkle on his Dormeuil Vanquish II suit – one that he liked to save for delicate business meetings.

There was no doubt in his mind that what waited for him at Sion qualified as one of such occasions.

His golden eyes kept staring at the clouds outside the window of his private jet, as his mind revisited the alarming sequence of events that had taken place during his absence.

One of his employees handing the blueprints of Sion to a male prostitute in Osaka. Saejima Taiga getting stabbed in the only floor that lacked airtight surveillance. And to top it all, the _pièce de résistance_ , a four-minute gap in all surveillance tapes, caused by a system malfunction that had _obviously_ been caused by another cyber attack.

Someone was plotting to take him down, _again_.

He let out a tired sigh. Those people never learnt.

Whoever it was, he would find them, and defeat them. If they went anywhere near the people he loved, he would make sure their deaths were _twice_ as painful.

If they thought they were smart, he would show them that he hadn’t made it that far by being stupid, or weak.

Tonight, _if he had to kill Daigo Dojima,_ he would.

That is, if the meeting the man had scheduled two hours prior was really legitimate, which Asami doubted. The Chairman of the Tojo Clan was probably just looking for an excuse to retaliate against him.

After all, Saejima Taiga’s death must have taken its toll on Dojima’s sanity. The man was one of the last pillars of the syndicate. One of the very few “old-school” yakuza, one that still believed in honor, charity and fair play.

Asami shook his head, and took that opportunity to study the features of the woman sitting across from him.

For the first time that day, Majima Makoto was showing signs of distress, her brow furrowed as she fidgeted with the pearls of her necklace.

“What time is the funeral?” he asked, quietly.

“They don’t know yet,” she answered, her voice just as low and serious.

“I can book you a room in one of my best hotels, if you-“

“Asami-san, I have my own house in Shinjuku, but thanks for the offer,” she replied, and he finally noticed her puffy eyes. From the looks of it, she had cried for at least the half hour he had been on the phone with Kirishima. “My assistants will be waiting at the airport to drive me home, the only reason why I am travelling in your jet and not mine is because I thought we could reduce our carbon footprint, know what I mean?”

He let out a smirk when her lips curved in a smile.

“Of course. So that’s what you do in your free time?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Protect the environment?”

“I try…” she answered, still smiling.

As soon as the jet touched the ground, Asami’s phone started buzzing with half a week’s worth of notifications.

He ignored all of them, except for three text messages sent only a few minutes prior to landing.

 

_17:48 Takaba Akihito_

_Hi. Texting u because I’m bored. Shinada won’t lemme get out of Kou’s place._ _>. < _

_17:49 Takaba Akihito_

_Heh, I bet you think I miss you. XD_

_17:50 Takaba Akihito_

_Uhh...When r u coming home? ^.^_

 

Asami mindlessly got out of the jet, said his goodbyes to his counselor, and got into the limousine that awaited him and his bodyguard.

He looked at the messages again, allowing a little smile to curl the corners of his mouth, until he reminded himself of his resolution of a few hours prior.

If he was really going to end it, then there was no point postponing it.

He took a deep breath, and pressed a button on his phone.

“Shinada,” he said, looking out of the window. “Take Akihito to the penthouse. Tell him to wait for me, I will be there in half an hour or so.”

He hung up, before he had time to change his mind or worse – _before the young man demanded to talk to him._

His resolve would probably falter as soon as he heard his little lover’s voice.

++++

In Kou’s apartment, Hayashi Maya kept looking at her mother with a raised eyebrow.

“What is that, casual Friday in the Tojo?” she asked, eyeing the woman’s strange choice of attire. “Oh, wait, today is not Friday, is it?”

“I took the afternoon off.”

The girl chuckled, and shook her head.

“Like...seriously, _yoga pants_?” Maya asked, as she dropped her handbag on a chair. “I don't even remember when was the last time I saw you wearing those...”

“Eh…I kinda forgot how to dress like a civilian…” she heard her mother reply, shrugging.

“Oh, I see… So you just went out in the ‘cleaning day’ outfit.”

They both laughed, despite the obvious tension between them.

Maya had been running from her mother since the day she lost a finger because of her interference in the Tojo’s cyber attack. She still found it hard to look at the older woman in the eye without feeling guilty and ashamed.

And so, she didn’t. Instead, she kept her gaze on the damn _purple yoga pants_.

“Classy,” the girl whispered, rolling her eyes. “ _Not_.”

“Come on, is it that bad?”

“It makes you look like a middle aged housewife, draw your own conclusions,” the girl chuckled nervously, as she fidgeted around looking for something to distract her.

“Ouch. Middle aged...” the older woman winced as she spoke. “That one hurt! Well yeah, I am no spring chicken no more…”

And then, their eyes met, and Maya felt her lips tremble.

Before she could stop herself, a sob escaped her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling the first tears roll down her cheeks as she stared at the ground.

“Sshh…” the girl heard her mother whisper, kissing the top of her head as she pulled her into a hug.

“I'm so sorry...”

“Don't be,” the older woman replied, still holding her tightly against her chest. “It was not your fault.”

Maya wiped away her tears, feeling her sorrow being replaced by a wave of anger as she took a step back.

“See, that is why I hate him so much!” she hissed, knowing her mother would understand who she was referring to. “If it weren't for him, you would have never joined the Tojo!”

“That is not true.”

“Yes, it is,” the girl insisted.

“Maya, it's not,” her mother replied, leading them both to the couch. “You give your father way too much credit for what has happened to me. He made his fair share of mistakes, true, but so did I. Joining the Tojo was my decision,” she explained. “It was... my choice.”

The girl scoffed, rolling her eyes. Of course, her mother would never admit that the heartbreak Asami Ryuichi had inflicted on her had contributed to said ‘choice’.

“I always had this anger inside of me, for so many reasons. And that was even before you were born, I was already angry,” the woman explained. “And I used that anger, that violence as my foundation, I thought that it made me strong. And so did you father, he probably still does,” she added. “Don’t be so hard on him. He did not ‘ruin’ my life, as you like to say.”

“Then it was me that ruined it for you,” Maya replied, biting her lip to stop more tears from falling from her eyes.

Her mother probably didn’t know, but one day, many years ago, she had heard a conversation between her and Kazuki, her stepfather. She remembered how she was crying…and how at a certain point, she had told the man that Asami had left her because she had refused to have an abortion.

So it might as well have been her that derailed her mother’s life, after all.

“Did you ever regret...h-having me?” she stuttered, her vision blurred as she fought to hold back tears.

“What? No! Maya, listen,” her mother’s hands were cold when she grabbed hers. “Pay attention, OK? I never knew how much I wanted you until the day I found out I was pregnant. I had never seen myself as a mother, and on that day, I still didn't. I had no idea of what to do. I was too young, I was...scared,” Mirai explained. “And of all the things I thought of doing, giving you up was never one of them. I thought of a thousand different scenarios for my future, but you were in all of them,” she said, wiping away the tears rolling down her daughter’s face. “I could have finished my studies, true. I could have gone to college, also true. The fact I didn't had more to with me, and my problems managing my own life than with you. You were a blessing,” her mother then smiled, and her smile was so genuine and full of love that she felt her chest fill with warmth, as if she had just drunk a mug of hot cocoa on a very cold day. “You are the bravest, brightest, kindest girl I have ever known. There are many decisions I made in my life that I now regret, but you? You were _never_ one of them.”

Maya was once again pulled into a hug, and this time she noticed she was not the only one crying.

“Promise me you will never forget that,” she heard the strangled voice of her mother, as the woman pulled her even harder into the bone-crushing embrace.

Maya frowned as she hugged her back. Her mother did not usually get that emotional.

“Now...” the older woman said, finally releasing her and wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Wanna grab some _yakitori_? Hang out for a while?” she asked, before raising an eyebrow. “Or are you too embarrassed of my yoga pants?”

Maya merely chuckled in response.

"I will be the laughing stock of fashionable Tokyo!" she replied, tilting her chin upwards.

"Oh, yes, you will," Mirai said, after the two of them got up and headed to the door. "That is what parents are for."

++++

**_Four hours earlier, in the Tojo's headquarters_ **

Hayashi Mirai's eyes remained glued to her boss’s face.

Dojima Daigo looked thoroughly out of himself. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a bit disheveled, and he was deliberately ignoring all the phone calls from families that wanted to confirm that the legendary Saejima Taiga had indeed been killed.

That had been a blow that the weakened clan could not afford to take without striking back.

Her own phone wouldn’t stop buzzing – the “unknown caller id” was calling for the third time in a row. She knew very well who the “unknown caller” was, but the last thing she could do now was excuse herself to talk to Kirishima Kei.

Regardless of what Asami’s first assistant had to say, truth was Dojima would not listen. He was aware it had been a trap, because the CEO of Sion was way too smart and practical to randomly kill one of the top officers of a syndicate.

Still, he was in charge of an organization known for its fair share of bloodthirsty members. If he didn’t act fast, someone else would, and it wouldn’t take long for chaos to ensue.

Hayashi kept shaking her leg nervously under the table, fighting the urge to crack her knuckles.

She feared that even that sound could make her boss go berserk.

“Chairman, my apologies for being late.”

Hayashi turned around, in time to see her personal trainer enter the room with a folder under his arm.

“Take a seat, Kanda,” Dojima replied, barely acknowledging the man by his side. “Hayashi, tonight at eleven you will break into Sion.”

She kept staring at the table, her fingers laced together as she waited for further instructions.

“Take a tactical team with you,” her boss continued, pinching his temples as he spoke. “Find Asami Ryuichi, and _neutralize_ him.”

“Sir, I don’t actually think he is in Tokyo ri-“

“He will be,” Dojima interrupted her. “I have scheduled a meeting with him.”

She nodded in silence.

And so, the day had come. She had always known her career choices would eventually put her in a colliding route with the father of her child.

Problem was, _she had never actually prepared for it._

“Kanda, what is the risk assessment?” she heard the Chairman ask.

“A...nine?” the personal trainer answered, after scratching his head.

“ _A nine?_ Out of ten?” Hayashi’s eyebrows shot up, and she leaned forward on her chair, her eyes gleaming dangerously. “You telling me I have 10% chances of successfully offing him?”

When the other man merely pursed his lips in response, she punched the table with so much strength both men jumped.

“What the fuck, Kanda?” she hissed. “Why don't you send someone more qualified, then?”

“Because _you are_ the most qualified,” she heard the man reply.

“Fuck yeah I am!” Hayashi snapped back. “Stop talking as if I am a fucking amateur!”

“It's just...Asami Ryuichi is not an easy target,” her personal trainer explained, finally opening the folder he had brought into the room. “He is in prime physical condition, an expert in at least eight kinds of martial arts, not to mention a black belt in Krav Maga, weaponry expertise, exceptional sword fighting skills, you name it,” he said, scanning page after page of their target’s report. “If you choose to take him down in combat, he is going to snap your neck before you can blink.”

Hayashi let her body sink back onto the chair, crossing her arms.

“What is your _suggested course of action_ , then?” she scoffed.

The two men across from her exchanged a brief look.

“A clean shot to the head,” Kanda said at last. “ We get you in, all you have to do is find a way to get him on your aim. One clean shot, before he sees you.”

“Oh, you want me to shoot him from behind?” Hayashi snorted, shaking her head. “How honorable…”

“You know what,” the man replied, closing the folder with an angry snap. “Just do as you wish.”

“You bet I'm gonna do as I-“

“Hayashi.”

The Chairman’s voice echoed in the small room.

“I want it to be over fast,” he added.

The woman lowered her eyes to the floor.

“The tactical team will clear the area for you. Get to Asami Ryuichi, and do as Kanda says,” the man continued, sounding extremely tired and unpleased with himself. “One clean shot, and we can end this nightmare.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

“Take the rest of the day off, do what you gotta do… Don’t leave any pending businesses,” Dojima Daigo muttered, his voice lifeless as he stood up and walked towards the door, pausing to give her a final instruction. “Be back at the headquarters at 10:30.”

She took a deep breath, and ignored her racing pulse before replying, so quietly that probably no one else but her could hear it.

“Yes…sir.”


	22. I am the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless tidbit: the song Mirai is listening to as she heads to Sion is called “Loneliness loop”. I really like to entertain the idea of her being a closeted fan of pop music, lol. Also, her “battle speech” is taken ipsis literis from Gladiator, I just could not resist it. XD
> 
> In time: I am sorry for taking so long to post this chapter. There were some bits that were very difficult (and upsetting) to write and edit.
> 
> That being said, this story has three main “this sucks so hard” moments.
> 
> This chapter contains the first. *sniffles, hides puffy eyes*

He let out a sigh the moment he stepped into the penthouse and the scent of baked apple filled his nostrils. It reminded him of the hot drinks he used to have when he was a child, and when he could still tolerate sweets.

The warmth that filled his chest made him frown - that feeling of comfort and safety was the very opposite of what he needed for the task at hand.

Takaba Akihito was not going to make his life easy, he could tell.

It didn't take long for him to spot the photographer leaning against the window, with his arms crossed, wearing _a suit_ , of all things. The suit he had given him as a gift, and that enhanced every inch of his lean figure and made him look even more enticing, as if that was remotely possible.

He clutched the handle of his briefcase when the young man turned his head to look at him, his bright hazel eyes shining with defiance.

"Welcome home," he heard the photographer whisper, with his arms still crossed.

Asami averted his gaze to the window when he felt his eyes were lingering on the young man's lips. Akihito's presence was quickly derailing his train of thought - being back at home, with him, felt uncomfortably right and necessary.

"Before you say anything, I would like to apologise," he heard the photographer say, as he headed to the couch. "When you invited me to the gala event, I...overreacted."

Asami lifted his eyes to look at Akihito's face, just to find him scratching his neck while staring at the floor.

"I'm sorry," he added. "I said things I...didn't mean."

"There is nothing to apologise for," Asami muttered in response, while taking off his jacket.

"Still. Just wanted you to know that I should have been more appreciative of your invitation," Akihito replied, his voice quiet and apologetic.

"It was a stupid idea, anyway," the older man whispered, trying to ignore the pang of guilt as he remembered how the events of that evening had unfolded.

If anything, _he_ was the one that should be apologising.

"Well...that being said..." he heard the photographer say, and noticed his tone of voice was now much more confident and defiant. "I should let you know that I do not regret calling you a son of a bitch. You deserved it, at the occasion."

Asami felt the corners of his mouth curl into a smirk, involuntarily.

_At the occasion?_

His little lover was such a generous man.

"Fair enough," he replied. After loosening his tie, Asami decided to change the subject. He had never actually explained who Miyuki was, and if Akihito decided to delve deeper into the matter, they were bound to get into another argument, and he did not have the energy, or the time, for that.

After all, there was _no way in hell_ he would ever let Akihito know that he had been seeing a _counsellor._

He scoffed at the mere thought.

"What?" Akihito asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing..." Asami whispered in response, allowing his body to relax against the couch. "What are you cooking?"

"I made a hot drink," the young man replied, as he quickly rushed to the kitchen. "It's been cold today, I thought you might like it."

Asami could hear the clatter of mugs, and then the soft thumping of the man's footsteps behind him.

"Here," Akihito said, passing him a fuming mug.

When he saw the photographer sit on the floor by his feet, cupping his hands around his own mug, his face so relaxed and comfortable with the domesticity of the whole thing, he knew, without a doubt, that his initial plan had flown out of the window.

How naive had he been, to think that he could ever go through with it, that he could ever let go of the one person that added some sense of normality to his life.

"It's sweet," Asami whispered, as soon as the drink touched his lips. He had had it before, but so many years ago that he could barely recognise the flavours. "What is it made of?"

"Apple. Cinnamon. Brown sugar. Honey," the young man replied, after licking his lips. "But I didn't add honey to yours, or it would be even sweeter. Is it too bad?"

The older man spent a long moment studying the worried expression on his lover's face.

"No," he said, taking another sip of the drink that, on any other day, made by any other person, would taste too sweet for it to feature on his list of personal favourites. "It's good, thank you."

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Asami felt the heat irradiating from the other man's body, drawing him in, silently asking him to make that first move that would lead to the two of them tangled in bed sheets, panting, covered in each other's bodily fluids.

He wondered for how much longer they would dance around each other before one of them finally caved in.

"Did you get a haircut?" he asked quietly, after crossing his legs.

The younger man let out a little smile.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Looks good."

"Yeah," he saw Akihito's gaze drop to his own mug before he spoke again. "Maya is a very good hairdresser."

Asami felt his stomach sink. During his stay in the island, he was vaguely aware that his lover and his daughter were communicating with each other, but if they had spent enough time together for her to give him a haircut, they were probably much closer than he had imagined.

He did not even want to think about the content of their conversations.

"Speaking of Maya..." the photographer continued, and an even deeper frown wrinkled Asami's forehead. "Her mother went to Kou's place today."

"What did she want?"

Akihito merely shrugged in response.

"To talk."

"To talk?" Asami repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," the photographer replied.

"What about?"

"You."

Asami bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep him emotionless facade.

That was all he needed. His daughter, and the mother of said daughter, becoming _friends_ with Akihito.

He did not want to think of the content of his conversation with Mirai either. It was not as if the woman had anything flattering to say about him.

"She brought cake and...she seemed out of sorts," the photographer continued, his gaze distant as he frowned. "She told me to take care of you and Maya."

Asami nodded, in silence.

And so, he was right. The meeting at 11 would not be a meeting, after all.

It would be a scheduled execution.

"Asami..." the photographer's voice brought him back to reality. "Is there something going on in the Tojo?"

The older man sighed. He did not want to get Akihito involved in his current predicaments with the two biggest syndicates of Japan, but he had the feeling that if he chose not to tell him the truth, the young man would use his own reckless methods to find out what was going on.

Given his current circumstances, the last thing he needed was Akihito exposing himself to even greater danger.

"Tojo's second in command was killed at Sion this morning," he said at last.

The photographer's eyes went wide.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't have the details yet, other than an employee leaking our blueprints to someone in Osaka," Asami explained. "This has the Omi's fingerprints all over it."

"You think the Omi set you up so that the Tojo would seek revenge against you?" the photographer asked, after putting his mug on the table and turning around to face him.

"Possibly," when the older man replied, he sounded tired and indifferent. "Most likely. I have a meeting with Dojima Daigo at 11, but that is probably just a cover up," he said, staring at the contents of his mug as he spoke. "He must have assigned Mirai to kill me."

He heard the young man gasp.

"How you can you be so calm about it?" Akihito whispered.

"Because I am not surprised," Asami replied, after leaning forward and putting his mug next to the one on the table. "That was the first thing I asked her when we met some days ago, if she had been given orders to kill me," he continued. "She said no. Either she lied or the order came in today. Probably the latter."

The photographer still looked shocked.

"She won't kill you," he said, shaking his head after a long minute of silence. "You are the father of her child. Maya still loves you."

"Well," Asami snorted, "she shouldn't."

"You know, it's not too late-"

"I am far too busy with a war on my hands to think about these things, Akihito," the older man retorted, his tone of voice making it clear that topic was not open to debate.

Takaba Akihito, however, did not seem to be intimidated by the glare directed at him.

"These _‘things’_ are your family," he said, his voice still low and calm.

"I don't want a family!" Asami exclaimed.

"Well, that's a shame," the younger man continued, without losing his cool. "Do you know how many people would die to have what you have?"

"Yes, I know plenty of people that want what I have..." the older man snorted, again.

The sympathetic, patient look he got in return only made him feel angrier.

"I don't want a relationship, Akihito," Asami said, taking a deep breath to regain his composure and look calm and collected. "That is why I don't talk much. Because I don't want you to get any ideas."

By now, he had expected the fiery photographer to blush, to pipe in and say that he didn't want a relationship either. Much to his surprise, however, Akihito looked very little inclined to play the denial game.

"I don't do relationships, other than those that translate into either power or money. Or both. My relationships are purely professional," Asami explained, trying to build a case that would finally trigger some sort of reaction on the man in front of him. "Outside work? I don't do relationships. Can you understand that?"

He took the lack of response as permission for him to continue with his monologue.

"I don't want the hassle of caring for another human being. So, obviously, a person like me could never be a good parent," he said. "Maya hates me, and I don't blame her. That's all. No violins playing in the background, no histrionics. That's all there is to be said. I was 16. It was a mistake."

"Do you see your own daughter as a mistake?" Akihito asked, his face finally showing mild signs of distress.

"Yes," Asami replied, without a moment of hesitation. What other answer could he give? He was the epitome of a bad parent. He lacked all the fundamental qualities required for that job, the girl deserved much better than having him as a father. "A beautiful mistake," he added. "But a mistake regardless."

"But you care for her," he heard the young man say. "You wish you didn't, but you do."

Asami narrowed his eyes, but before he could open his mouth to respond, Akihito spoke again.

"Just like you care for me," he added quietly, biting his lower lip.

The older man averted his gaze to the mugs on the table, frowning.

"You think too much of yourself," Asami snorted, feeling his pulse race.

That conversation was making him uncomfortable.

"Sucks to be your relationships, you know that?" Akihito said, after letting out a sigh. "But you go ahead, keep telling yourself that. That you don't do relationships, oh _, almighty Asami Ryuichi_ ," Asami frowned when the young man snorted. "Yeah, right..."

The older man quickly realised that all the answers he considered voicing sounded petty and childish, so he crossed his arms and remained silent.

"What?" the photographer had the nerve to ask, climbing on the couch with a triumphant smile on his lips. "Cat caught your ton-"

Before Akihito had the chance to finish that sentence, Asami had already crawled on top of him, one of his knees lodged between his lover's legs as he leaned forward, forcing the young man’s back onto the couch. Their eyes locked, and he could feel the young man shift under him, so that one of his thighs could rub against his crotch.

"Someone is anxious..." Asami whispered, smirking.

"Idiot..." the photographer replied, blushing all shades of red as he held the man's stare. "As if."

He could feel Akihito's fingertips dance around his thighs, his hips, his chest, eliciting reactions from his own body that he could not, and did not want to, control.

When their lips finally connected, Asami welcomed the bliss of forgetting everything else, even if just for a moment. In a few hours, he would be the target. A syndicate wanted him dead. But at that moment, all that mattered was the soft, tender flesh yielding to his tongue, the warm breath inside his mouth as Akihito ran his fingers through his hair, his other hand grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer.

"Asami?" he heard the photographer ask, when they parted for air.

"What?"

"Are you worried?" Akihito's voice was low and serious. "About tonight?"

His concern sounded so genuine that Asami chose not to dismiss it. He was not worried about getting killed - he and Kirishima had already drafted at least six different plans that would result in the Tojo suffering worse losses regardless of how many operatives Dojima sent to get rid of him.

However, the fact that Hayashi Mirai was probably in charge of today's hit made everything more complicated, and the odds of something going wrong for one of them were not something to ignore.

"Yes," Asami whispered in response.

"Me too. I-"

"Akihito," he interrupted, staring deeply into the other man's eyes. "Promise me you won't do anything reckless while I take care of things in Sion."

"Like what?"

"Like trying to help me," Asami said, ignoring the indignant frown on the photographer's face. "Promise me you won't."

"But what if you-"

"The Tojo will not come crashing into the penthouse," he continued, once again cutting in on the young man. "It is not Dojima's style."

"Oh, but it is his style to set up a fake meeting, Asami, you can't expect me to-"

"Akihito..." he said, cupping his lover's face, and tucking a strand of blond hair behind his ear. "I am not planning on dying tonight."

"Good. Because if you do..." Akihito whispered, his hands moving to Asami's belt as he pressed his forehead against the other man's shoulder. "I will never forgive you."

He let out a small smile when the photographer's hand found its way inside his boxers.

"Akihito?" he whispered, covering the slender fingers with his own when they finally wrapped around his throbbing flesh, preventing them from moving.

"Hmm?"

"Promise me."

Asami watched as the young man bit his lip, still looking deeply into his eyes. There was a cloud of concern in the hazel orbs, and he had no doubt whatsoever that Akihito was willing to go to great lengths to fight by his side if he ever needed to.

His loyalty and devotion were heartwarming, but tonight, he just needed to leave the penthouse knowing the young man was safe, and that he would remain safe, for as long as it took.

"I...I promise."

The older man let out a very discreet sigh of relief, and finally allowed Akihito's fingers to move again as his own hands got busy ridding the photographer of his clothes.

He still had a few hours ahead of him, and he knew exactly how, and _where_ , he wanted to spend every minute of his time.

++++

 

_kakikesenai itami to koukai no loop...photo frame no watashi ga setsunaku nijimu_

 

Hayashi Mirai tapped the steering wheel in synch with the beat of the song blaring from her earbuds.

In the backlit panel of her BMW, a fancy GPS screen showed the location and ETA of all her 38 operatives heading to Sion.

She stopped at the traffic light when it turned red and took another swig of her energy drink.

“Three weeks from now, I will be harvesting my crops. Imagine where you will be, and it will be so,” she said to herself, imagining a crowd around her, waiting for her commands. “Hold the line! Stay with me! If you find yourself alone, riding in the green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled. For you are in Elysium, and you're already dead!” she tilted her chin upwards, stuffing her chest as the crowd around her roared and held their guns up in the air. “Brothers…What we do in lif-“

She jumped when the cars behind her honked their horn, urging her to move. With a not very polite hand gesture, she told them all to sod off and smashed the gas pedal.

_So much for her inspirational speech._

She sighed when the building that hosted the Sion headquarters came into view, all kinds of memories flashing before her eyes as the soft beeps on the screen indicated the arrival of her tactical team.

Seven years ago, Saejima Taiga himself had recruited her. Unlike all the others, he had never offered her a shiny career in the sex industry. That, she had always refused, having seen how such a life had eaten away her mother's spirit until she had found no reason to keep fighting. _No._ She would work three jobs, skip her own meals to feed her daughter if she had to, but she would not let any syndicates use her as a fucktoy.

Saejima Taiga had taught her how to fight. He had been a father figure to her, a role model, a teacher. The men she worked with were like brothers, like sons, like her own flesh and blood.

Her clan had become the family she had never had.

And tonight, her clan demanded that she killed the father of her only child.

The one man she had never forgotten.

The one man she had never stopped loving.

She could not betray him.

She could not betray the Tojo either.

Bottom line, there was no right choice to be made. She would lose, no matter how.

Her fingers touched the rearview mirror, and she studied her reflection for a moment, tightening her ponytail and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The dark eyes staring at her were distant and expectant, and she realised that she had carried that same expression on her face since when she was a child.

Always looking for something... What she expected to find, and where, she never knew.

"I am the future..." she whispered, a small smile curving her lips as she remembered the day she learnt what her name meant.

Perhaps that was the reason why a part of her soul seemed so detached. Perhaps it was waiting for her in another timeline, in another dimension.

Hayashi shook her head when her thoughts were becoming too philosophical for her own sake. She took off her earbuds, and searched for her Dunhills on the back pocket of her pants. Instead, she found a picture, one that had been folded and looked at only a few times, but one that always made her think.

Perhaps _that picture_ was the future, after all.

She folded it again and put it back in her pocket, then checked the cartridges of her pistols, before putting on her earpiece and getting out of the car.

_It was time._

++++

 

Asami Ryuichi was checking the cartridge of his Beretta one last time when his BMW stopped in front of Sion, a few minutes ahead of the scheduled time.

He looked out of the window as he put on the earpiece and scanned the entrance of the building.

"Kirishima," he whispered onto the microphone embedded in his watch. "Confirm your position."

 _"Ground floor, mezzanine,"_ he heard his first assistant reply. _"They are waiting for you at the reception."_

"How many?"

 _"T_ _hirty-two_ _."_

"Any snipers?" Asami asked, before getting out of the car.

 _"One,"_ Kirishima replied. _"_ _We have him on target."_

"Mirai?"

 _"_ _Not yet in the building."_

"Kirishima...” Asami took a deep breath before continuing. He and his first assistant were fully aware that the team they were deploying that night consisted of very skilled, cold-blooded operatives that always aimed to _kill._ The best way to avoid a tragedy was to make sure all of them understood that the woman was not to be taken down. “I trust you have instructed our men that Hayashi is not a target?"

_"Yes, sir."_

"No one touches a single hair in her head, even if she kills half of our people,” he repeated his words from hours prior. “She is mine to deal with."

The man on the other side of the line was silent for a moment.

 _"Yes...sir,"_ Kirishima answered, at last.

"Take the sniper down," Asami whispered, before taking his other pistol out of its holster. "I am going in."

When the light of the first gunshots flashed inside his building, he nodded to Suoh, and the two of them ran from the car to one of the front glass doors that had just been shattered by what sounded like a machine gun.

When the CEO of Sion finally reached the reception desk, hell was breaking lose. Bullets were flying everywhere, shattered glass and pieces of wood cluttered the otherwise pristine marble floor, blood already stained some of the walls. The sound of a grenade beeping at his feet did not give him much time to make a more detailed assessment of the situation, so he merely jumped over a desk before the chairs behind him were blown to pieces. He took cover behind a pillar, and managed to take down at least four of the invaders as he headed further into the lounge and climbed the staircase that led to the mezzanine.

He had just reached the upper floor when he saw her show up at the distant end of one of the hallways, surrounded by six men in suits.

Hayashi Mirai had one of her pistols in hand, and she looked as dark and lethal as he thought she would, approaching him with confident steps, the sound of the heels of her boots clacking loudly despite all the noise around them.

When he looked down, he saw a M84 stun grenade rolling towards his feet, and in a matter of seconds a huge flash of light blinded him. The loud bang that followed made him lose his balance, and he had to lean against the wall not to fall as he pressed a hand to his ear.

When he was finally able to see and hear again, a good ten seconds later, the woman and her men were no longer in sight.

He was about to turn around when a fist came out of nowhere and hit him right between the eyes.

“Shit,” he cursed, when blood gushed from his nose, dripping onto his chin, and from there, to his impeccable white shirt. “Why do you always go for the nose?”

“It’s my signature greeting,” Hayashi replied, once again showing up in front of him.

He watched as she ejected the cartridge from her Springfield XD, a remarkable Croatian gun in itself, and one that could make even more damage when in the hands of a _skilled assassin_.

About that, however, he wouldn’t have to worry. When she threw the weapon to the side, he realized she was not planning on using weapons.

_She wanted to take him down in combat._

“It looks like we have a problem,” he said, raising an eyebrow when her six goons gathered in a circle around them.

“Which is…?” she asked, taking off her jacket.

He was quick to notice the Baby Eagle II still tucked under her belt, a little bit above the back pocket of her black pants.

_It was always wise to have some sort of insurance, after all._

“I have a policy against hitting women,” he explained.

“How very chivalrous of you,” she snorted, after cracking her knuckles. “Strip.”

Asami pursed his lips at her command. He was not some random brawler to submit to the yakuza idiotic rules of taking off their shirts to show off their tattoos as a display of power and strength.

He hated tattoos, for starters.

“I am not one of your thugs, Mirai, I don’t follow your tasteless rituals,” he retorted.

“As you wish,” she replied, with a smirk. “More blood that will go into that fancy shirt of yours.”

He rolled up his sleeves, frowning.

 _That woman…_ Did she really believe she stood a chance against him?

He’d better knock her out fast, before things got worse.

Asami was about to take a step towards her when a blast made all of them fall to the floor, and he had to roll over to escape a part of the wall that had just collapsed.

When he glanced at Mirai, he saw her slipping towards the gap that had just opened between the wall and the staircase, and jumped over to grab her arm before she fell over.

“An RPG…” he hissed between gritted teeth, pulling her up as his eyes landed on a bulky man reloading the heavy grenade launcher. “Really?!”

“We are not used to subtleties,” she panted in response, when the two of them hid behind a pillar to escape the bullets flying in every reaction, now that there wasn’t a wall to protect them from the shootout taking place on the floor below.

“This kind of life doesn’t suit you,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.

“It fits me just fine.”

“Liar,” he said, casting a sideways glance towards her. “You were always too stubborn for your own good.”

“I am good at what I do,” she replied, glaring daggers at him as she took a stance and charged at him.

“You were good at other things, too,” he said, after dodging her roundhouse kick and knocking her down with a leg sweep in the process.

“So were you,” she muttered, flipping from the ground to a standing position. “Too bad you don’t seem to remember…” she said, charging again, and this time successfully striking him with a punch right below the ribs, “…who you really are.”

The sharp pain made him stumble backwards.

“This is who I really am now,” he hissed, still taking a defensive stance even though by now he was beginning to feel like throwing a few punches himself.

“No,” she replied, her hands and feet moving deftly as she used her best moves against him. “You, in your fancy suits…strutting around like a fucking peacock…” she panted, pausing only when Asami managed to swing her around and slam her against a wall, a cut breaking the fine skin of her cheek when it met the cold concrete. “Selling your soul to the people you used to hate…” she continued, her voice full of threat as she touched the blood on her face, “…pretending to enjoy all the…glamour of the stupid parties you attend…” she spat out, her eyes just as angry as her voice as she stared at him. “You are a parody of yourself.”

She moved forward again, and he winced when one of her feet hit the back of his knee, making him lose his balance and taking their fight to the ground.

“A parody, me?” he spluttered, as he tried to escape the heel hook she was trying to lock him in. “Have you looked… at yourself… in the mirror lately?” he managed to say, even though all the effort to turn the woman around had almost left him breathless.

He had obviously underestimated her fighting skills. She was much stronger and more skilled than he had imagined.

“You look like a sticker album from hell…” he hissed, finally gaining leverage and claiming the dominant position as he rolled her onto her back, “…with all those hideous tattoos...” he added, shifting her body around so that he could at least attempt to force her into submission. “Hanging around… with a bunch of rabid goons… mingling with two-bit delinquents…” he panted, still trying to control the struggling body under him, and failing remarkably, as she once again escaped his armlock. “Tell me again who is the parody.”

“Fine,” she said, trying to catch her breath as she forced herself to stand up. “We both suck.”

He stood up as well, and let out a little smile as he took a step forward.

“I guess,” he said, staring into her eyes.

When he noticed that Hayashi was finally letting her guard down, it took him less than a second to sneak behind her and loop his arm around her neck.

“Goodnight, Mirai,” he whispered, squeezing both sides of her neck with his arm, until she stopped struggling and fell unconscious to the ground.

Asami let out a sigh as he leaned against a pillar, for the first time looking around and realizing that the battle around them had already ended, probably a while ago.

All he could see amidst the smoke and destruction was dozens of bodies scattered around – some he recognized as his operatives, but all the others were Tojo.

The only people still standing were his men, and except Suoh and Kirishima, they all had their guns pointed towards the area where his fight with Mirai had taken place.

“Guns down,” he heard his first assistant say, but much to his surprise, there was a new wave of clicks just a few seconds later.

“You know what the easiest way to get out of a blood choke is?” Asami heard Hayashi Mirai say, when the muzzle of her pistol touched the back of his head. “To pretend you are unconscious.”

He turned around, slowly, to look at her face.

“Never fails,” she whispered, her voice calm and collected even though her eyes were darting around frantically, probably taking in the fact she was the only one left in her team, and that there were at least other ten guns pointed at her.

“So, Mirai...What is it gonna be?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual even though his pulse was racing. “How do you want this to end?”

“Oh, you know how it ends,” she chuckled nervously. “With one of us in a coffin.”

“It doesn't have to,” he replied, his eyes never leaving her face although he was entirely aware of every single movement of her gun. “I can get you out of the country. Give you a new identity,” he explained. That had been the plan all along. He was supposed to knock her unconscious and get her out of there. Kirishima would take care of everything else. “Hayashi Mirai can die tonight but you can survive this.”

“And live in hiding?” she asked, still smiling sadly, her finger trembling slightly on the trigger. “Lying?”

“Better live in hiding, lying, than leave this place in a coffin,” he responded, quietly. “Don't you agree?”

He saw her shake her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I am not a traitor, Ryuichi,” she said, her voice finally straining. “I can't betray my clan.”

“Do you think your clan needs you more than your family?” he asked, his heartbeat still irregular as he saw her tighten the grip on her pistol. “Think of your daughter.”

“ _Our_ daughter,” she corrected, as tears finally escaped her eyes. “She is all I have ever thought of.”

“No one needs to die tonight, Mirai,” he whispered, when the woman’s gaze once again acknowledged that she would never succeed in killing him – all it took was one command for one of his men to disarm her, or kill her, and she knew it.

“Ok,” she said, raising her pistol slowly, and then tucking it back under her belt, above the back pocket of her pants. “Ok.”

“Ok,” he repeated, releasing the breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. “I will get you out of here.”

He had just led his wrist to his lips when the woman spoke again.

“Ryuichi.”

“What?” he asked, lifting his eyes to her face.

“What you said...that day...that you wished me and Maya...had died…” her voice was shaky, and tears were streaming down her face when she spoke. “You didn't mean it, did you?”

He felt his stomach twist with guilt as he looked at her.

So many years later… How was he even supposed to make up for it? He did not believe in apologies. For when a person stepped on someone’s toes, or spilled wine on their clothes, perhaps.

But when one ruined someone’s life? It sounded like an absurd proposition.

“Mirai...what do you expect to hear?” he asked, his own voice strained as he looked into her eyes, frowning. “Why can't you let go?”

She smiled sadly, after wiping her tears away.

“Because when I look at you,” she said, shrugging, ”I still see that 18-year old boy doing cartwheels in the park.”

“That boy doesn't exist anymore, Mirai!” he screamed, anger bubbling up in his chest when she looked at him with eyes that even after everything, still held no grudge against him.

“Yes, he does!” she replied. “He does. He is just...hiding,” she continued, and he merely shook his head in response. “That is why you are not letting him in,” he once again lifted his gaze to her face, his eyes probably showing all his fear that what she was saying was _true_.

“That kid, Takaba. He sees it too. He found that 18-year old inside you,” she added, smiling at him as she reached behind her. “Here, lemme show you some-“

Asami Ryuichi would never find out the end to that sentence.

Even though everything seemed to be unfolding painfully slowly before his eyes, the truth was that it all happened very fast.

_Too fast._

He saw the moment a bullet entered one side of Mirai’s head, and left it through the other.

He saw it when her body hit the ground, and still in slow motion, he turned his own head to see where that shot had come from.

_It had been one of his men._

He saw the shooter’s face, the look of shock and terror as he shook his head, saying that he had thought she was reaching for her gun.

Asami’s Beretta was already pointed at him, but his first assistant had been faster.

The shooter was still apologizing when he fell backwards, with a shot in the middle of his forehead.

If the pained, angry scream that followed was Kirishima’s or not, he did not know.

His gaze had already dropped back to the pool of blood surrounding the woman’s head on the floor.

She wasn’t reaching for her gun, Asami noticed, as he looked at a piece of folded paper on the floor, next to her fingers.

Feeling numb and detached, he picked it up, and saw it was a picture – the same picture she had shown him the week before, of Maya, Kou and Akihito.

It now had a stain of her blood on one of the corners.

He turned it around, his fingers shaking slightly as he recognized Mirai’s handwriting.

_“I am the future.”_

++++

_A thirteen-year old Asami Ryuichi sat on a swing, with two pieces of toilet paper stuffed on his fractured nose to stop it from bleeding._

_“Sorry about your nose,” said a 13-year old Hayashi Mirai._

_“It's okay,” the boy replied, with a shrug._

_They remained silent for many minutes, just swinging mindlessly next to each other._

_“Do you know what your name means?” he asked._

_The girl shrugged, one of her hands clutching the sweatshirt stained with his blood._

_“Nose-breaker?” she chuckled. “I don’t know. What?”_

_“’Future’,” the boy replied, quietly, lifting his golden eyes to her face. “_ _Mirai means ‘future’.”_

 _“Huh,” the girl replied. “_ _Cool.”_

_“It's a good name.”_

_“Yeah...Yeah it is,” the girl replied, and the boy saw her eyes shine as she looked ahead, a sad smile curling her lips as if she was searching for something hidden behind the horizon._

_“_ _I am the future,” she whispered._

++++

When the pool of blood finally reached the soles of his shoes, Asami shifted his gaze to Mirai's eyes, and with a lump on his throat, he realised that they were lifeless, staring into nothing.

_Gone._

She had died still looking ahead, as if searching for something she would never be able to explain.

Perhaps now, wherever she was, she would finally find it.

 

 


	23. Seeking comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito tries his best to comfort a troubled Asami, whose paternal instinct finally makes a brief appearance. In the meantime, Maya meets with the chairman of the Tojo, and begins to work on a plan of her own. The reason for Kirishima’s animosity towards Maya’s stepfather is finally explained, and Kou finds himself in a very delicate – and tempting – situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I am terribly sorry for such a late update. I spent the past ten days travelling, and writing was pretty much impossible.
> 
> From now on, I am back to posting at least two updates a week! =D
> 
> Warning: this is a VERY long chapter, as the summary indicates. I considered breaking it into two parts, but chose not to, because one event leads to the other and I wanted it to end in a point that I could use to address other events. There are lots of juicy bits that will be important later on, *including* the tidbit with Kuroda – the consequences of that phone call will be disastrous for Akihito, and we will find out why in the next chapter.
> 
> So grab your beverage of choice, lie back and get ready for a very lengthy read!! XD
> 
> Thanks for your patience ^.^

Akihito ignored his phone when it buzzed for the first time, waking him up.

When he finally opened his eyes, he didn't even know what time it was, or for how long he had been sleeping. All he knew was that he did not want to get off the couch. He doubted he would be able to, anyway. His jaw and his lower back ached, and the muscles of his thighs were still burning - if he tried to stand up, his knees would probably falter.

He let out a sigh, trying not to wince as he laid on his back, thinking.

Asami was worried - one look at him, and he could tell. He would have known even if he hadn't admitted it. He had noticed something was off the moment the man arrived home, avoiding his eyes, choosing his words.

He had felt the tension that irradiated from his body, and for one moment he feared they would end up fighting again. Despite the usual mockery permeating his words every now and then, it was the first time Akihito noticed how out of sorts the man looked as he uttered them.

With you, he is back to being someone with something to lose.

Akihito felt his heart beat faster as he remembered Hayashi's words, and a frown wrinkled his forehead.

He was Asami's liability. A target. The crack in his armour.

Was that why he was always trying to keep him at an arm's length? Was that why he kept their relationship a secret? To protect him? To protect himself?

Perhaps a man with a life such as his was doomed to stay alone, isolated, with no liabilities of any kind.

No family.

No friends.

No lovers.

Akihito took a deep breath, covering his eyes with his arm. Even after all those years with Asami coming in and out of his life, he had never stopped to think about a relationship with him would mean. How much it would cost them.

He would have to stop whining and man up. He would not allow that man to leave him behind like he had done with the other people he had cared for. He could be Asami's greatest liability, yes, but he would also be his greatest ally. His solace. His strength.

That night, he had known his body would pay the price for the intense hours they spent together, but he also knew Asami had needed every minute of it. He knew that was how the man cleared his mind, that was how he managed to stay functional despite his concerns. He could feel his relief in every thrust, in every grunt, in every bite, in every drop of sweat and cum as he claimed his body with no restraint, no pauses, no mercy.

He had no reason to complain, really. He had needed - and craved - all the relentless fucking just as much.

Asami had found comfort in dominating him, and he had found comfort in being dominated.

When his phone rang once again, he finally remembered why the man had been so worried in the first place. He fell from the couch as he tried to roll to the side, conveniently landing right next to where his pants were.

"H-Hello?" he stuttered, feeling his heart race as he reached for the device buzzing inside one of the pockets.

_"Takaba-san?"_

"Who is that?" he asked, frowning. The nasal, hoarse voice sounded faintly familiar.

_"Kirishima."_

"Kirishima?!" Akihito exclaimed. Either Asami's secretary was going down with a cold or he had been...

His heart skipped a beat, preventing him from completing that thought.

"Kirishima, what happened?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

 _"Hayashi Mirai was murdered,"_ the secretary said, after a long minute of silence.

"Oh no," Akihito whispered in response, his voice heavy with sorrow despite the obvious relief of realising Asami's name was not in that sentence. "Oh no... where is Maya? Does she know?"

 _"Yes, she already knows,"_ Kirishima answered, his voice just as hoarse and quiet as before. _"She is with her stepfather now."_

"What happened?"

_"She was shot by one of ours. It was an accident."_

The photographer covered his eyes, and raked his fingers through his hair. That was bad. That was beyond bad. In the end, that was exactly what Asami had been worried about, and he didn't even want to think about Maya's reaction when she found out her mother had been killed by her own father's personnel.

"What about... What about Asami?" he asked, biting his lip as he paced the room, all the earlier pains forgotten as his heart raced.

 _"That is why I am calling you,"_ Kirishima replied. _"I lost track of him a few hours ago, I was wondering if he had made it to the penthouse, but apparently I was wrong."_

"No, he hasn't-"

 _"Hold on,"_ the secretary interrupted.

"Ok."

_"Shinada just texted me saying he just got there."_

"Here?" Akihito asked, heading to the balcony and trying to locate the man on the street below.

 _"Yes,"_ Kirishima replied. _"Takaba-san...do not leave his side for the time being. I am afraid Asami-sama is not as functional as he thinks he is."_

"Yeah, sure... Kirishima..." the photographer whispered. "You were her friend, weren't you?

Akihito could hear a sniffle, and then the man taking a long, deep breath before answering.

 _"Many things happened..."_ the secretary said, after clearing his throat. _"But yes. At some point, we were really close."_

"I am sorry for your loss," the younger man said, quietly.

He waited, but Kirishima's response never came. Instead, he heard the soft beeps that indicated the call had been finished.

He didn't blame the man, though, for ending the call without a proper goodbye. In all the years he had known Asami's secretary, that had been the first time he had seen - or heard - the man so sad.

When the door opened behind him, he took a deep breath, and turned around.

He remained silent when his eyes fell upon the figure of a despondent Asami, who seemed to have barely acknowledged his presence as he walked towards the couch.

He was not sure there was anything he could say, or do, to make the man feel better about what had happened.

And so, still in silence, Akihito merely stepped out of the way, and watched as the man started shuffling through their DVDs.

"Where is it?" he heard Asami ask, his baritone voice low and tired, as he held up the empty DVD case of Battle Royale.

The photographer rushed to the TV rack, opening and closing other DVD cases as fast as he could until he located the missing disk.

"Here," he whispered, studying the other man's face as he spoke.

Asami had a cut on his lip, one of his cheeks was bruised, and his nose seemed to be slightly swollen. But it was not the bruises or cuts on his face, arms and knuckles that made his stomach sink.

To anyone that didn't know Asami Ryuichi well enough, he probably looked as impassive as always, but Akihito knew better. He knew, just by looking at the crease in his forehead, the tension in his shoulders, the shadow in the usually bright, dangerous eyes, that the man was in pain.

He could, and would, treat his wounds, but that kind of pain, he knew he would not be able to take away.

Akihito swallowed, and headed to the kitchen as the older man sat on the floor, his eyes vacant and distant as he stared at the TV screen. In a matter of minutes, he was back in the living room, with a bowl of warm water, an ice pack and a couple of clean cloths.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked quietly, as he kneeled by the man's side and unbuttoned his shirt, wincing at the sight of more bruises and bumps on his chest, stomach and collarbone.

_No response._

"Okay..." he said, wiping away the blood on the man's lips with a gentle motion. "I will make you some soup anyway, you don't have to eat if you don't want to."

_Silence._

Asami's eyes remained glued to the TV screen, looking at it but obviously not seeing anything.

His mind seemed to be many miles away from there.

Akihito pressed the ice pack against the man's ribs, and saw him stir, showing some discomfort for the first time.

But again, Asami remained silent.

"Asami..." Akihito whispered, when he realised the older man's chest was heaving up and down faster, as if he was having trouble breathing. "I'm so sorry..."

Without a word, Asami finally turned his head to look at him, and they spent a long minute in silence, just looking at each other. When the photographer pushed a dark strand of hair away from the other man's eyes, Asami averted his gaze back to the television.

After letting out a sigh, Akihito was about to stand up and head to the kitchen, when cold, slender fingers grabbed his wrist.

"Stay," he heard the faint baritone voice say.

"But I was going to make y-"

"Don't," Asami replied, still holding on to his wrist. "Just stay."

"O-okay..."

And so, he stayed, in silence, by the man's side, his hand covering the slender fingers next to him and giving them a squeeze every now and then, just to remind Asami that he was still there.

When sleep crawled in, and his eyelids got too heavy for him to keep his eyes open, he thought of suggesting that the two of them headed to bed.

The man by his side, however, remained wide awake.

Even if Akihito had plans to go to bed alone, which he didn't, he realised he wouldn't be able to go anywhere: Asami's hand was now resting on top of his, their fingers laced so tightly it looked like they had been glued together.

Giving in to his own tiredness, Akihito closed his eyes, and let his head loll to the side, resting against the other man's shoulder.

When he woke up a few hours later, the TV was off, he was lying on the couch with a blanket over him, and Asami was gone.

++++

When Hayashi Maya woke up, it took her a moment to understand she was lying on her own bed, in her apartment in Kabukicho.

Hopefully, she was still dreaming, and the next time she opened her eyes, she would be back at Kou's apartment, sleeping on the young man's bed, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling her nostrils.

After minutes turned into hours, and she was still staring at the same spot on the same light blue ceiling, she realised that was her reality.

She was not dreaming.

Last night had really happened.

With a lump in her throat, she remembered picking up the phone, just to hear her father's voice on the other side of the line.

It was the first time he had called her in more than ten years.

She didn't have time to feel happy.

He told her to go home, and hung up.

Something inside her immediately knew something was wrong, so she did as she was told, for once in her life.

She headed home.

Not ten minutes later, her phone rang again, and once again she heard the man's voice.

It was distant, weak.

He told her to pass the phone to her stepfather.

For the second time, she did as she was told without a moment of hesitation.

Something inside her already knew it.

She averted her gaze when the blond man slid to the floor, tears streaming down his face.

If she tried hard enough, she could distract herself with other thoughts, with other realities.

And so, she did. As her stepfather destroyed half of their apartment, she downloaded the latest episodes of her favorite TV shows and shopped online for a new hard drive and a few gadgets.

When he was drunk enough, she collected all the empty bottles, after putting on her earbuds and playing her favorite tunes loud enough to make her eardrums throb painfully.

Luckily, when she got off the bed, she would find out those memories were nothing but a dream.

However, when she finally walked out of her bedroom that morning and saw her stepfather passed out on the couch, amidst he remains of what was once a neat living room, the hard, cold truth hit her again.

Last night had really happened.

Numbly, her feet dragged her to her mother's bedroom, and she opened her wardrobe. All the black suits, all her vests, her yoga pants. Everything was there, just as the woman had left them - some of them still felt warm to the touch, as if they had just been put away, or maybe that was just her impression, because she knew none of those clothes had been touched for at least twelve hours.

Perhaps it was just her presence.

She looked around, and saw her mother's hairbrush resting on the dresser, a bunch of crumpled receipts next to a few coins by the alarm clock - probably the last things she had taken out of her pocket, before going out to meet her death.

On top of her bedside table, there was a picture of mother and daughter making faces and sticking out their tongues.

Maya picked it up and looked at the wooden frame, her fingertips brushing lightly against the words carved at the bottom.

_Happy 30th birthday_

When the first tears rolled off her eyes, she looked around, scanning the room one last time.

Everything looked the same, but now everything was different.

She wiped the wet trails on her cheeks with the sleeve of her T-shirt, and sobbed quietly.

It was time to go.

If she stayed, all the sadness and sorrow would eat her alive, and she could not afford to grieve, not yet.

She had promised her mother she would no longer try to find out who had set her up in the cyberattacks that seemed to have triggered all the other tragic events that followed, but now that she knew no harm would come her mother's way, nothing would be able to stop her.

She had work to do.

++++

 Asami was only one block away from his destination when the phone in his pocket started ringing. He thought of ignoring the call, but one glance at the caller’s ID made him change his mind.

“Asami.”

 _“Next time you intend to go into war against a syndicate, you’d better let me know first, Ryuichi,”_ said a stern male voice on the other side of the line.

“I thought I had let you know the Tojo was giving me grief at least two weeks ago,” Asami replied.

 _“Yes! But “giving you grief” is a far cry from literally exploding two floors of Sion, isn’t it?”_ the man retorted. _“Do you have any idea of what I had to go through to cover it up?”_

“I am sure you did just fine.”

_“Don’t you-“_

“Kuroda,” Asami interrupted. He was not in the mood for a long conversation with another human being. “How familiar are you with the activities of the Omi Alliance?”

_“Familiar enough. Why?”_

“I need to find out who their informants in Tokyo are.”

 _“That is a tall order,”_ Kuroda replied. _“It might take a while. Do you have any leads?”_

“I have the name of a male prostitute from Osaka that might be one of them,” Asami said.

_“Good. Then s-“_

A beep cut the other man short when Asami’s phone ran out of battery.

He let out a sigh, and went up the staircase that separated him from Maya’s apartment.

What he was going to say when he saw the girl, he still didn’t know.

He knocked, and waited. When no one answered, he knocked again.

Finally, a face came into view, peeking out of the gap between the door and its frame.

Asami was quick to notice, however, that the brown eyes staring at him were neither Maya’s, nor her stepfather’s.

“Who are you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he studied the features of the short dark-haired man in front of him.

“Yuuya,” the man replied, his eyes darting back and forth as his fingers tapped the doorframe. “I work with Kazuki. And you are...”

“Let him in.”

The voice of Maya’s stepfather was quickly followed by his footsteps, and in a matter of seconds, the three men were standing by the door.

“Yuuya…” Kazuki said, as he retrieved a crumpled thousand yen bill from the pocket of his sweatpants. “I am running out of cigarettes. Could you go to the store and get me a pack of Seven Stars?”

The man averted his gaze to Asami’s face, and then to Kazuki’s, before replying.

“Sure,” he said. “Be right back.”

Asami waited until the man had reached the street below to enter the apartment and scan the place, frowning.

“Where is Maya?” he asked, his voice cold and impatient.

Kazuki shrugged in response.

“I don't know,” the man whispered.

“You don't know?”

“She left before I woke up,” Maya’s stepfather explained, heading to the kitchen to grab a carton of milk from the fridge.

“Did you call her?” Asami asked, taking a moment to study the man’s appearance. His swollen, red eyes were a stark contrast to the dark bags below them and that, combined with his pale lips, made him look like a corpse.

“No,” Kazuki replied, without much emotion. “I didn't have time. I just woke up.”

“But you had time to call someone from work?”

“No!” this time, the man’s response was nothing short of anger. “The fuck, he was already here.”

“So _she_ called him,” Asami said, opening cupboards and drawers as he spoke.

“Maybe,” the other man replied, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“You got drunk,” Asami answered, his voice full of threat as he spotted three empty bottles of vodka in the garbage bin, as well as half a dozen cans of beer and a half-empty bottle of scotch. “Look at me.”

When he grabbed the younger man’s arm, he already knew it would be cold, sweaty and shaky.

“You're on drugs,” he hissed, after noticing the man’s pupils were awfully dilated.

“No.”

“Cocaine?”

“Let go of me,” Kazuki muttered as he struggled to break free.

It only made Asami squeeze the man’s arm even harder, eliciting a pained groan and a new wave of protests.

“Let go of me!”

“You are doing cocaine again, _with my daughter living in your house?_ ” Asami said, feeling his blood boil as the other man stared at him with a sneer.

The contempt and resentment in his bloodshot eyes were obvious.

“You know, if I didn't know you any better, I would think you worry about her,” Kazuki replied, his words just as bitter as the look in his eyes. “But we both know you don't give a shit, so just cut the crap. What do you want? Why are you here?”

“You might want to mind your tone, Kazuki, I am not in a good mood.”

“Well, fuck you!” the other man screamed at the top of his lungs, finally finding the strength to push Asami away. “I am not in a good mood either, my wife is dead!” he yelled, throwing the carton of milk he had been holding against the wall, and splashing half of the kitchen with the white liquid.

“And you come here to lecture me for grieving?” he continued. “So what if I got drunk? Fuck! I am not a fucking robot like you!” Kazuki spat out, with an accusing finger pointed at Asami’s face. “I did cocaine, yeah, you think I'm weak? Fucked if I care,” he hissed. “I am not an addict. It was just an 8-ball.”

For as far as he could remember, Kazuki had always been given to temper tantrums, so he patiently waited until all the yelling and kicking stopped before he spoke again.

Asami felt defeated. On one hand, a part of him had always known that Kazuki had not made a full recovery from his drug addiction by the time he and Mirai got married; on the other, he had always secretly hoped that the successful career the younger man had managed to build was an indication that he had been able to put his troubled past behind.

One heavy blow later, however, the man was back to his worst shape, and the stakes were too high for him to give Kazuki another chance to redeem himself.

“I won't let Maya live here with you if-“

“You won't _let_ her?” Maya’s stepfather scoffed. “She is 21, you don't get to make that call.”

Asami Ryuichi was a patient man, but not _that_ patient.

He wrapped his fingers around Kazuki’s neck, and pushed him against a wall.

“I get to make whatever call I want,” Asami whispered into his ear, tightening his grip until the other man began to choke. “The only reason why I ever allowed Maya to live with you was because Mirai guaranteed you were clean. Which, now, you obviously aren't.”

When he finally let go, Kazuki was already in tears.

“No, Ryuichi, please…” the man whimpered, as he let his body slide to the ground. “Please, I'm sorry,” he said, bringing himself to a kneeling position and resting his forehead on the floor right in front of Asami’s feet. “I beg you! She is the only thing I have left.”

“Stand up, Kazuki,” Asami replied, his annoyance obvious in every syllable.

After everything he had been through in the past twelve hours, the last thing he needed was to put up with the man’s mood swings.

“Please!” the man continued to sob. “I will get help, I will get clean again. But please, don't take Maya away.”

“I can't let you use her like a lifeline, she is not responsible for you,” Asami replied, walking away with a very visible frown on his face. “Judging by how clean this place is, and by the fact she even took the time to call someone to be with you, she probably already thinks she needs to watch over you,” he added. “I don't want her to carry the same burden her mother did.”

He turned around, just in time to see the expression on Kazuki’s face change from anguished to downright murderous.

“So I was a burden to Mirai, is that what you think?” Kazuki asked, eyes narrowed as he brought himself to a standing position. “That she married me out of pity?”

Asami watched as the man walked slowly towards him, wiping away his tears.

“How can you be so cold?” Kazuki snorted, shaking his head when they were only a few inches away from each other.

It was Asami’s turn to narrow his eyes.

“I guess not even you know, huh?” the other man whispered, as he searched one of the kitchen drawers, still sniffling.

Asami politely declined when Kazuki finally found what he was looking for, and offered him one of his last Seven Stars.

“Oh yeah, I forgot...” the man said, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he opened another drawer. “You only smoke Dunhills. Yeah...It is the only kind she smokes too,” he added, only noticing the wrong time tense half a minute later. “I mean… _smoked,_ ” he corrected, his voice threatening to crack as more tears filled his eyes. “Here.”

This time, when Kazuki tossed him the pack of cigarettes, he did not refuse. Instead, he found himself staring at the red box, wondering when Mirai had had her last smoke…

“Please, Ryuichi...Give me a chance.”

When Maya’s stepfather spoke again, he slid the pack of Dunhills into his pocket, and let out a sigh.

“I was a good husband to Mirai. Maya...I have always given her everything I had,” the man continued, his voice pleading, but much more composed than before. “I know it's not much, but you can go and ask her…”

Kazuki paused, and leaned against the counter to stare at his own feet.

“She is so much like you,” he said, shaking his head. “You know, yesterday, when you called to say Mirai had been shot... I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I couldn't breathe. I just... I broke down. I wanted to go and fucking kill you. I wanted...” he saw the man bite his lip, one of his hands curled into a fist as he spoke.

After a long minute, in which the blond man seemed to be reorganizing his thoughts, he continued.

“But Maya? She just stood still, the same look on her face as I told her, sobbing so hard I thought I was going to throw up,” he said. “She? Not a single tear. Not a wrinkle of worry. You know what she said?” he asked, lifting his gaze to the man standing in front of him. “She said, ‘ok’. I had just told her her mother had died, and she said, ‘ok’.”

Kazuki paused, and let out an unhappy chuckle.

“I thought she would lock herself in her room and cry her eyes out, but no,” he continued. “She went to the kitchen. Made dinner. I didn't eat, obviously. She did. Cleaned up, made tea, brought her computer to the living room... When I was drunk enough, she took my bottles away, and then I don't know, I guess I passed out.”

The man took a puff off his cigarette, his eyes vacant and sad as he stared into nothing.

“But before I did, I was sober enough to think...Holy shit. She is just like her father,” he whispered, with a frown. “How is that even possible? Where did she learn to hide her feelings like that? Not from me. Not from Mirai. Not from you, since you were never around,” the man shrugged, smashing his cigarette in an ashtray before lifting his gaze to Asami’s face one more time. “But she just mastered the same fucking poker face.”

“Where is she now?” Asami asked, choosing to ignore the underlying criticism in the man’s words.

Kazuki reached for his cell phone in the pocket of his sweatpants, and pressed a button.

“Voicemail,” he said, tossing the phone on the counter after a few seconds of waiting. “Well, she will be at the funeral in a few hours, in case you want to talk to her.”

“I am not attending,” Asami replied, just to see his words being met with another sneer.

“Of course you're not,” the man snorted, heading to the door and holding it open. “Have a nice day, Ryuichi.”

Asami took his time exiting the small apartment.

Kazuki might have been a good husband and a good stepfather, but from now on he was bound to be nothing but a problem.

His daughter would have to move, whether she liked it or not.

++++

Long lines of black BMWs crowded the entrance to the headquarters of the Tojo Clan. For that reason, the one that had just parked to let out Hayashi Maya would have gone unnoticed if it weren't for a team assigned by the Chairman himself to ensure the girl received all the VIP treatment she was entitled to.

Soon enough, men in their black suits and ties with bright white shirts were bowing as she walked past them, whispers following the girl's every step as she headed towards a private room at the back of the building.

Inside, Dojima Daigo waited, dark bags under his eyes as he looked out of the window, staring at the hundreds of associates that had come from all over Japan to pay their respects to his two most powerful and estimated allies: Saejima Taiga and Hayashi Mirai.

"Chairman," he heard the strong female voice behind him say, and for a moment his tired mind made him believe he would turn around to find Hayashi Mirai behind him. "I was told you wanted to see me?"

He let out a sad smile.

Judging by the strength that transpired in each word, the girl had inherited her mother's fearlessness and audacity.

"Yes," he replied, still looking out of the window. "Take a seat, Hayashi-kun."

He heard a chair being pulled, and continued talking.

"I will never forget the day the Hayashi family was made official," he continued. "There were hundreds of associates, all my highest officers and leaders were present," he said, finally turning around to look at the girl, whose face appeared to remain impassive behind her sunglasses despite the circumstances. "They all looked up to your mother. It was something memorable, to see all those heads bow as she walked past them," he added, just to realise the girl still showed no reaction of any kind. "My point is...Your mother was a remarkable woman. She will not be forgotten."

Except for a subtle movement of her chin, the girl showed no other signs of being interested in that conversation, and he sighed. Having lost his own mother a few years prior, he knew those words were of very little value in the face of the terrible pain of losing a parent.

"Hayashi-kun, I am sure you want to pay your respects to your mother so I will not take much of your time," he said. "I just would like to tell you that Hayashi Mirai, as a high officer of the Tojo, had a very reasonable pension plan and life insurance, and you are her sole benef-"

"I don't want the Tojo money," the girl interrupted, her voice so stern and serious it made her sound like she was at least ten years older. "This entire place reeks of blood, and I don't want blood money."

"She would have wanted you to have enough resources to have a comfortable life," the man pointed out.

"I believe I have enough money to go by," Maya replied. "Before my mother joined the Tojo, she opened a savings account for me. I also have a job and savings of my own. That is all I need," her tone of voice made it clear her decision was not open to debate. "Feel free to donate her insurance premium to a charity of your choice."

"As you wish..." Dojima replied, after nodding politely. "Is there...anything else I can do for you, Hayashi-kun?"

"Actually, there is."

He saw the girl square her shoulders before speaking again.

"I know that Minami-san is my mother's appointed successor, but before he takes over, I would like to recruit him for a mission," she said.

"What mission?"

"I believe the Omi Alliance is behind events that led to her death,” she explained, her voice void of emotion as she spoke. “Minami-san is one of the most qualified operatives in your cyber team, and a man of trust. I want him to help me break into their system."

Dojima Daigo leaned forward to take a better look at her.

He was right.

That girl _had_ inherited her mother’s strength.

"You have my entire team at your disposal," he said.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Maybe," the girl replied, and for the first time she sounded hesitant. "Are you planning to retaliate against Asami Ryuichi?"

He clenched his jaw at the mention of that name.

"Why do you ask?" he whispered, lacing his fingers together as he studied her face.

He noticed her chin tremble slightly, and it occurred to him he might not get an answer to his question.

"Hayashi-kun...could you please take off your sunglasses?" he asked.

When the young woman fulfilled his request, he spent a long time looking at her golden eyes.

"I believe that regardless of my next step, a war against Asami Ryuichi is inevitable," he said at last.

"If that happens, you will he handing Tokyo to the Omi in a silver platter," the girl replied.

"You just said this place reeks of blood, so maybe the Omi taking over is a good thing?"

"In an ideal world, neither the Tojo nor the Omi would exist,” she retorted, her eyes gleaming dangerously as she looked at him, “but we don't live in an ideal world, do we? I am just choosing the lesser of two evils."

"Very well,” the Chairman of the Tojo said at last. “Whether I choose to retaliate against him or not will depend entirely on your answer to my question."

He paused, once again studying the girl’s features.

"Are you his daughter?" he asked.

When the girl spoke again, her voice was nothing but a whisper.

"Yes."

_Just as he suspected._

There had been hints that should have clued him in – hints that showed Hayashi Mirai was somehow connected to Asami Ryuichi in a much deeper level than he had initially imagined.

"Do you _want_ me to retaliate against him?” he asked. “I should remind you that your mother was killed by one of his men."

"My mother would have killed him herself if she wanted him dead,” Maya replied. “She obviously didn't. I know she wouldn't want me to seek revenge, not against him, at least."

"Should I take that as a ‘no’?"

The girl averted her gaze to the window behind his head, and he noticed her eyes were not as confident and indifferent as before.

"Hayashi-kun...I believe I owe you an apology,” he said, his voice low and serious as he spoke. “Asami Ryuichi's secretary sent me the surveillance tape showing your mother's final moments. It was clear she and Asami-san knew each other, but I was unaware of the depth of their connection. I wish she had told me,” he added, hoping that the girl would realize the honesty in his words. “I would have never assigned her to kill the father of her only child.”

The girl was still looking at the window when she spoke again.

"Dojima-san...Could I...see that tape as well?" she asked, and he had to frown at her request.

"Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes."

After a moment of hesitation, the Chairman of the Tojo turned on the television on the opposite wall, and passed her the remote control.

Still frowning, he studied Maya’s expression with a mix of awe and sorrow as she rewound the tape once, twice, three times.

At times, pausing to look at her mother’s face. At others, to look at her father’s.

When the first tears started streaming down her face, he took the remote from her hands, and passed her a glass of water, in silence.

If only there was something he could say.

++++

“Asami!” Akihito exclaimed, as soon as the older man set foot in the penthouse, way past lunchtime. Kirishima had told him to keep an eye on his boss, and what had he done? Lost track of the man only a few hours later. “I thought you were going to attend the funeral...”

“No,” Asami whispered in response. “It is a private ceremony in the Tojo’s headquarters, and I am not in their list of VIPs.”

Akihito nodded quietly, relieved to see that the man was not as despondent anymore, despite the obvious sadness in his voice.

“Maya left her apartment this morning,” he added.

“I know,” the photographer replied. “She texted Kou. I tried to call you but it went straight to voicemail.”

“My battery is dead. Where is she?”

“At a hotel in Yokohama,” Akihito answered. “Do you want me to get you the address?”

He saw the golden eyes flash with indecision a second before Asami replied.

“No need,” he said at last, averting his gaze to the floor after reaching for the pack of Dunhills in his pocket. “I doubt she wants to see me.”

“Maybe she _needs_ to see you…”

Akihito knew he was treading on dangerous territory. The other time he had suggested Asami should reach out for his family had ended with the man losing his cool, but he figured this time was different. Maya had just lost her mother. Regardless of how bad her relationship with her father was, she could certainly do with some paternal support?

“She needs to be alone,” Asami replied, his voice calm and collected despite a very obvious frown of concern. “And for now, it is the best for her to do. I don't want her to spend time with her stepfather.”

The photographer was about to insist on the importance of Asami’s presence when the mention of Maya’s stepfather got him side-tracked.

“Wait...Her stepfather...What is his name again?” he asked, passing Asami a bowl of mushroom risotto.

“Kazuki,” Asami replied, taking a seat by the table, across from Akihito. “Mirai met him when she was only a child, and then he disappeared when she got pregnant. When she found him again, almost ten years ago, he was a mess,” he continued, with a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Addicted to drugs, living on the streets. She helped him out of it, gave him all the support he needed...” he put his Dunhill on an ashtray, and blew the smoke in the opposite direction of Akihito’s face. “At the time she was engaged to be married.”

The younger man gasped, eyes wide as he chewed on his rice.

“Engaged?” he asked, after swallowing. “To whom?”

He watched as Asami mindlessly played with the rice in his bowl, taking his time to respond.

“Kirishima,” he finally said, before leading the chopsticks to his mouth.

Akihito felt his bowl slip from his fingers, hitting the table with a loud thump.

“What?!” he exclaimed.

“They had become very close, and I encouraged it,” Asami calmly explained, as if what he was saying was the most obvious and predictable thing in the world.

“Encouraged it?”

The photographer was still having a hard time digesting that new piece of information.

“Yes,” the older man explained. “I knew of his feelings for her, and I also knew that if they got married, Maya would have a solid household.”

“Whoa…” Akihito let his gaze drop to his long forgotten food. Now he understood why the secretary had sounded so devastated on the phone.

_Hayashi Mirai had been much more than a friend._

“But they never got married, did they?” he asked. “What happened?”

Asami let out a sigh, and his exhaustion was evident.

“Kazuki,” he whispered. “He wrote Mirai a letter saying that he could not survive without her...and then tried to kill himself.”

Again, Akihito had no choice but to gasp loudly.

“Kirishima was out of his mind. He, and I, of course, did not want Kazuki anywhere near Maya,” Asami continued. “But Mirai felt guilty. I guess she believed Kazuki was her cross to carry. In a way, he was my cross, too...”

Akihito could see that the man’s gaze had become distant and cold, as if he was lost in his own memories. After a very long moment, Asami shook his head and spoke again.

“Anyway, she broke off her engagement with Kirishima, and then two years later she married Kazuki instead.”

“What happened to this guy,” Akihito asked, “to make the two of you feel so guilt-“

“What did Maya text Kou for?”

The photographer then understood that Kazuki was no longer a topic open for discussion, so he decided not to push it, despite his curiosity.

“She said she needed to talk,” he answered quietly, as he picked up his bowl.

“Can he be trusted?” he heard Asami ask.

“Kou? Of course!” Akihito replied, frowning. “Why are you asking?”

“Maya is not well,” the man explained, and the photographer almost smiled. It was probably the first time Asami sounded like a concerned father. “I want to make sure she doesn't make any mistakes.”

“What kind of mistakes?”

Asami raised an eyebrow in response.

“I am not sure she contacted Kou because she wants to _talk,”_ he said.

Akihito, however, remained oblivious to what the man was getting at.

“What else would she want?” he asked, after leading the last bits of risotto to his mouth.

When the man in front of him remained silent, he lifted his gaze to his face, and finally understood.

“Oh. _Oh!_ ” Akihito exclaimed, both eyebrows going up at the thought of Kou and Asami’s daughter, of all people, getting… _together_. “No…” he chuckled, frowning. “No. Maya and Kou...?” he scoffed. True, he knew his friend had the hots for Maya, but for some reason he could not imagine the two of them being anything other than friends. “No. I don't think he would have the courage to make a pass at her, he is not good at flirting at all…”

“I am not worried about him taking the initiative,” Asami explained, picking up his cigarette with a menacing glint in his eyes. “I just hope he keeps it in his pants when _she_ does.”

Akihito, by then, was openly giggling. Of all things Asami had to worry about, he was concerned about a harmless creature such as his childhood friend?

“Wow, you really are convinced she's gonna jump his bones, aren't you?” he asked, still laughing.

“Yes.”

“Nah...” Akihito waved his hand dismissively, before getting up and taking their bowls back to the kitchen. “I don't...I don't really see it happening,” he said, reaching for his phone as he spoke. “I think you are worrying for nothing.”

Just in case, though, he decided to shoot Kou a message.

++++

Kou did not know what he could possibly say to the girl waiting for him at the Yokohama Bay Hotel.

What he knew was that she would be devastated.

When Akihito had called him earlier that day to tell him the events of the previous night, he was at a loss for words. How messed up was that, to have your own mother murdered in the middle of a fight with your father?

He stole a quick glance at his phone as he got out of the fancy elevator of the 5-star hotel.

_Meet me at the Yokohama Bay Hotel? It's a minute away from the Minatomirai Subway Station. Need to talk to you._

Kou swallowed. Of course, Akihito had his hands full with the father, so apparently he had been tasked with comforting the daughter. Problem was, he was not good at comforting people. Sure, he would be more than happy to lend a shoulder for her to cry on, but other than that?

He had no idea about what he was supposed to say, or do.

He reread one of the messages Akihito had sent him earlier that day.

_Hey man. Lemme know if Maya is ok when you see her. =\_

And then, his eyes dropped to another, sent a few hours later.

_And remember she's Asami's daughter, so... don't do anything stupid. XD_

He clutched the bouquet in his hands when he reached the door to the presidential suite, unaware that the lilies of the valley under his sweaty fingers, at that point, already looked half dead after being crushed for most of the 50 minute train trip he had just taken.

He hoped, at least, that she would like the flowers - or what had been left of them.

After knocking at the door, he took a moment to study his reflection on the mirror behind him. He had conveniently picked the T-shirt Maya herself had borrowed from him the first time she went to his place, his favorite dark jeans, his only pair of designer shoes and his most expensive leather jacket. He had even made sure his hair looked as nice and glossy as it had been when she gave him a haircut.

"You horny, heartless idiot!" he muttered quietly, his eyes wide upon the realization he had prepped himself for a date with the girl he was supposed to comfort. A girl who was mourning her mother, for crying out loud! "What were you thinking?"

He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

"I'm sorry!" he muttered as soon as he heard the door open, still horrified with his _faux pas_. "I don't know why I brought flowers. I-"

And then, his eyes landed on Maya, and he felt his jaw drop a little.

She had a smirk on her lips, and her beautiful golden eyes were not puffy or bloodshot as he had expected them to be.

He knew his would be, at least, if his mother had just died the night before.

As a matter of fact, she seemed to be strangely relaxed and content in her flared grey dress and over the knee boots...He raised an eyebrow, now even more horrified upon realizing that the girl also looked like she was heading to a date.

That was _not_ what he had envisioned for the evening - at least, not consciously.

He felt his face was on fire.

"Not just any flowers, I see..." she said, her gaze dropping to the bouquet in his hands, "My _favorite_ flowers. That is very thoughtful of you."

"I'm an idiot," he said, once again apologising - this time, for the impure thoughts that had just crossed his mind when Maya's fingers touched his as she took the flowers from his hands.

"Why?" she asked.

"I...I...Uhhh..."

"Kou?"

"Yes?"

"Relax," when he lifted his eyes to her face, she was almost laughing at him. "It's okay, it really is," she said, welcoming him to the room, which was at least twice as big as his apartment. "Sorry to make you take such a long trip after a day of work."

"Are you kidding me?" he asked, following her into the dining area and getting ready to take a seat by the table, just to see the girl walk past it. "I am the one that's sorry," he said, his voice low and honestly saddened as he quickened his step to catch up with her. "Maya, I... I don't even know what to say..."

"Then don't," she replied, and Kou noticed her eyes were cold and distant as she spoke. "I did not call you here because I needed a shoulder to cry on."

"Oh," he whispered, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead as he studied her face.

It would be bold of him to say he knew Maya better - he suspected he didn't, actually. Akihito had spent more time with the girl - if anything, probably his friend would be able to get a better read on her. Kou didn't really know what her relationship with her parents was like - all he knew, from their interactions, was that she seemed to be really attached to her mother.

Hence the reason why he had not expected the girl to be so _blasé_ about the woman's death.

"Okay..." he muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Then...why am I here?"

"I have a proposition to make," she said. "Two, actually, but first things first."

"I'm listening."

"Beer?"

"Sure," he replied.

Kou watched as the girl bent down to retrieve a couple of cans from the minibar, and noticed something shining on top of her left eyebrow.

"Did you get your eyebrow pierced?" he asked, taking a sip of his Premium Yebisu.

"Yup," she said, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth as she sat on the edge of the bed, next to him. "And I got another tattoo, I will show you later."

He cleared his throat when his imagination came up with _very specific places_ for that new tattoo to be.

"Looks good," he whispered, with an appreciative nod. "Not everyone can rock piercings but you...You look great."

"Thanks," she replied, and he averted his gaze when she licked her lips after taking another sip of her beer.

She always looked great.

_Too great._

He tried to find another conversational topic that did not involve any part of her body. Upon finding none, he led the can to his lips and drank in silence.

"I want you to help me hack the Omi," she said casually.

Kou choked on his beer, and winced when some of it found its way to his nostrils.

"S-Sorry, what?" he stuttered, still in shock, after wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

"I know you are a hacker," Maya replied, matter-of-factly.

"What? No...No, I'm not..."

The girl merely tilted her head sideways, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Look...I don't play in the big leagues, OK?" he explained, after letting out a sigh. "Crashing systems, stealing info? I've never done that. If anything, I only cracked Netflix once and that was just because I was short on money and I could not pay for my subscription."

Maya kept staring at him, with a smirk that left no doubts that she did not believe a single word that had just left his mouth.

"I'm serious!" Kou exclaimed.

"Only Netflix?"

"Maybe the PlayStation Network," he added, shoulders drooping in defeat. "And I... might have developed a few...shady apps..."

The girl clapped her hands, with a victorious grin on her face.

"My point exactly," she said.

"Wait..." he whispered, frowning. "Did you... hack my computer? Back at home?"

"Maybe..." she shrugged.

"Oh man..."

Kou scratched the back of his neck, fully aware that he was probably blushing.

"Don't worry," she whispered, and he nearly jumped when one of her hands touched his knee. "I was already expecting to find a lot of porn."

His gaze darted from her slender fingers to the golden orbs staring at him with an obvious predatory gleam in them.

"What I did not expect..." she whispered again, and he shuddered when her lips brushed against his earlobe, "...was to find out you were into _bondage._ "

Kou's eyes went wide.

"I am not into bondage!" he exclaimed, his voice full of outrage even though his eyes were showing the typical panic of someone who had just been caught red-handed.

"Oh?"

"I was...I was..." he tried to explain, while his gaze dropped to the hand that was now going up his thigh. "Akihito, he must have used my computer while I was away," he lied, feeling _certain parts of his body_ react to the girl's touch. "I am not... No, no. Not me, no. I don't like that kind of stuff."

"Really?" she asked, her lips once again too close to his ear. "Have you ever given it a try?"

"No!"

His response was, at the same time, an answer to her question and an attempt to control his own impulses, now that his brain was beginning to malfunction.

"Would you like to?" she asked, her voice full of malice.

"No-" he was about to rant again, when he finally understood the question."Wait, what?"

"I have never tried it either," she whispered in response, her eyes never leaving his as she straddled him. "But I'm game if you are."

His jaw dropped when she reached behind her back, and one of her hands reappeared between them with a pair of handcuffs dangling from her index finger.

"That is my second proposition, by the way," Maya said, cradling his head while her lips got dangerously close to his.

"W-What is?"

Kou nearly choked on his tongue when he felt her nibble at his lower lip.

"Have sex with me," she hissed, and he knew right way it was not an invitation, or a request.

It was _an order,_ and she would not take 'no' for an answer.

He bit back a moan, shifting his legs so that his raging erection would not be as obvious under her. A useless effort, but he could at least try.

"I d-don't..." he muttered, sweating buckets as he tried to organise his thoughts and regain his senses before it was too late. Akihito had told him not to do anything stupid, and that, right there, was probably the most stupid thing he could do. "I don't think I-we..."

"I know you want it," the girl replied, as she ran one of her hands through his hair. "I saw you masturbating once...saying my name..."

"Maya..." he whimpered, feeling his last bits of self control dissolve into thin air.

"Yeah, just like that," she chuckled, rocking her hips against him. "See, you're hard already..."

"But..." he didn't even know what to say anymore. Of course he was hard, he had been hard for a very long time now.

"It will feel good, I promise," she whispered.

When her fingers slid down his arms and helped him out of his jacket, and then his T-shirt, and then his jeans, he did not object.

He was too busy shoving his tongue down the girl's throat.

Oh, he knew it would feel good. He had no doubts whatsoever. He was already worried he was feeling _too good, too soon_.

His breath hitched when she leaned towards the bedside table and opened a drawer to retrieve a box of condoms.

He was in so much trouble. Akihito would be so pissed. Her father would probably skin him alive, then kill him, then bring him back to life to torture him again.

When Maya cuffed his wrists to the headboard after pulling down his underwear, however, he couldn't possibly care less about the consequences of his acts.

At least he would die a happy man.

 


	24. Surprise, surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fine, fun day in Hackerville ends with a bomb exploding in Kirishima’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief explanation: the whole “Hackerville” bit is crawling with OCs, and it is rather lengthy. There are a few reasons why, though. First, because I wanted to give Tanimura a proper introduction, since he will eventually become a *very* important character in this story… *twirls imaginary moustache* Second, because everyone can do with a little bit of Minami’s bad manners, lol. And, of course, I wanted to give Maya and Kou a chance to interact more.
> 
> I promise that the next chapters will have plenty of Akihito, and plenty of Asami, as they start a… new phase of their relationship, so to speak. *clears throat*

 

Maya dismissed the soft buzz of the alarm clock for the third time that morning.

Five more minutes. She only needed five more minutes.

She stirred and stretched, feeling the soft warmth of Egyptian cotton brush against her skin. Much as she hated to admit it, she did like being pampered every now and then, indulging in certain luxuries that only a considerable amount of money could buy.

Egyptian linen in a king size five zone memory foam mattress was one of those forbidden pleasures.

She sighed when her eyes finally fluttered open, landing first on the bedside table, and then on the semi-open drawer, from where she had retrieved an unopened box of condoms the night before.

Six rounds of sex later, it was now empty.

Her eyes shot open.

_ Kou. _

Bringing herself to a sitting position as fast as her sleepy mind allowed her to, she scanned the room for signs of the young, dark-haired man.

And then, she let her body fall into the bed again, feeling relieved.

It was a good thing that he had already left - that way, they could keep things simple, casual and uncomplicated. They had felt like doing it, so they did it. More than once, even.

Her lips curled into a little smile when she remembered how eager Kou had been each time... Always promising her that the next time he would last longer than the time before...just to let out frustrated grunts every time he failed to do so.

She had spent most of those hours laughing at his valiant efforts... Lack of endurance aside, he had been pliant, and funny, and gentle, even when she asked him to be rough.

It felt good.

Really good.

_Too good even_ , maybe because of how he looked at her.

No one had ever looked at her like that before. 

It was not lust, though no one would muster the energy for so many rounds if there weren't a lot of lust involved... She had seen lust in the eyes of the other guys she had slept with.

Nope. It was not lust, at least _not only_ lust.

There was something else, some kind of...strange fascination in his eyes.

Respect.

Happiness.

L-

"Oi, idiot," she told herself, frowning as she pushed away the blanket and got up. "What are you thinking those things for, it was just sex."

That was what she kept telling herself as she entered the shower, and got out of it a few minutes later. 

By the time she started combing her hair, her mind had already found its way back to the task at hand, the one that awaited her that morning. Her eyes drifted to the small tattoo on her left breast, the closest place to her heart, the only place she could think of to pay her mother a tribute.

She imagined her smiling... Maya knew she would be happy to see the kanji for her name imprinted on her skin.

Too bad she would never get to see that smile again.

_ Never again. _

When her nostrils started burning, she shook her head, and fought the urge to cry.

"Stop, stop, stop, fuck!" she muttered to herself, when the first tears started falling. "Not now."

The girl forced herself to take a deep breath, and the next time she raised her eyes to the mirror, her bloodshot eyes were dry.

"Not yet," she whispered, tilting her chin upwards as she spun around and marched back into the bedroom, only to stop on her tracks when her eyes fell on Kou waiting for her right next to the bed.

"What is that?" she asked, her panic obvious in her voice as she looked at the tray on his hands, loaded with all kinds of food and…a rose.

"Uh... Breakfast?" Kou replied, with a nervous smile as his eyes darted from her face to the glass of orange juice sliding dangerously to the edge of the tray. "It took a while, because I wanted it charged to my credit card, but they wanted to charge it to your room, and I thought-"

"Kou,” she interrupted, feeling her own hands grown cold and sweaty. That was exactly the kind of conversation she was hoping they would not need to have. "Look, I am sorry I didn't make it clear last night, but...last night? That was it. We had a good time, at least I did, didn't you?"

The girl saw him nod enthusiastically in response.

"But that was it. Hanging around, having breakfast together... “ she explained, avoiding his eyes. “That's definitely not part of the package."

"Oh,” when Maya heard Kou speak again, she finally gathered the courage to look at his face, and saw him blush violently. "Well, hehe…” he continued, and the girl couldn’t help but notice that his casual chuckle sounded incredibly forced. “I was about to leave anyway, so you can still eat-"

"I'm not hungry,” she answered, frowning as she opened the mini bar and grabbed a can of energy drink. "Like... I don't really want a relationship right now,” she said, raising her arms, with an apologetic look in her golden eyes. “To commit, to get this...comfortable with someone, this intimate, that’s not what I’m looking for,” she explained, tightening the towel around her body. “I'm sorry. I hope we can still be friends?"

She looked at him again, noticing he was still holding the tray as if his life depended on it.

"S-Sure," he stuttered, once again trying to fake a smile.

"Really?"

When he nodded, Maya realized he was beginning to relax a little.

"No hard feelings?" she asked again, approaching him as she bit her lower lip. “Honest?”

"Honest,” he replied, a small, but genuine smile finally curling the corners of his mouth. “We're good."

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek and noticing he was blushing even harder. “Here, have some fruit,” she said, leading a piece of melon to his mouth after eating one herself. 

"I'm fine," he chuckled, shaking his head as he tried to turn his face away.

"Have some..." she insisted, laughing, as he juggled with the tray and finally succumbed to her attempts, biting the melon off her fingers.

"Fine!” he managed to splutter, amidst giggles, mouth full of fruit.

Still laughing, Maya took a moment to study Kou’s face.

There it was…that look again.

"So...” after clearing her throat, her voice was serious, just like her eyes. “Are you gonna help me?" she asked, after taking the tray from his hands and placing it on the table near the door.

"Help you?"

"With the Omi?"

"Oh," his eyebrows went up when he finally remembered the proposition she had made the night before. "Am I gonna get killed for it?” he asked, his eyes darting around as he shifted on his feet. “If I help you?"

She shrugged in response, and answered before walking into the closet.

"Maybe…"

"Ah,” she heard him gasp. “That... is not the answer I was expecting but… ok."

A smirk curled the corners of her mouth as she put on her clothes, and walked back into the bedroom.

"Sure," he said, sitting at the edge of the bed as he watched her zip up her jeans.

"Good,” Maya replied, still smirking. “They will be here any minute."

Kou’s eyes went wide.

"Wait, what?” he asked. “’ _They_ ’?"

"Yeah. I had to call reinforcements, it will not be easy to hack the Omi, their security is tight."

"Wait, we are doing it today?” the boy sounded positively exasperated. “But I don't even have my comp-"

"It's okay, you can use one of mine," Maya answered, shoving a heavy backpack with part of her equipment onto his arms.

"But-"

"What's your handle?" she asked.

"I don't have one, I told you, I-"

"How about Codex?"

Kou still had his mouth open, as if he was about to say something, when his jaw slacked a little.

"Codex?" he muttered.

"Yeah. I think it is simple, easy to remember...” she replied, crossing her arms, “but mysterious and powerful too."

"Codex..." he whispered, his eyes vacant as he stared ahead. "I like it."

"Codex it is, then," Maya said, reaching for another backpack to retrieve one of her laptops.

Just then, there was a heavy knock on the door, and their heads turned to look at the hallway.

When Maya opened the door, her eyes fell upon a man wearing a white tank top and red jersey pants, tattoos covering both of his arms up to his knuckles.

“Minami…” she whispered, after inviting him in with a quick gesture.

Two steps later, the man broke down in tears.

"H-Hayashi- _kuuun_ " he bawled, leaning against the wall as he shook his head.

"Minami, please..." Maya whispered, patting his shoulder as she ignored the tears in her own eyes.

_ Poor Minami. _

When he was a little younger than her, he had already gone through the pain of losing a boss he used to see as a father.

Now, so many years later, he had also lost the boss he had grown to see as a mother.

"I am sorry,” he mumbled, reaching for a napkin and blowing his nose so loudly that her eardrums rang. “Sorry..."

"And you can call me Maya, you know that…" she whispered.

"Y-Yes, Hayashi-kun..."

"Kou, this is Minami-san,” she said, realizing Kou was looking at them with a mix of sorrow and confusion. “He used to be my bodyguard but now...he was promoted...he will be taking over t-the...” her voice shook a little, and she paused to clear her throat. “Hayashi family..."

"Nice to meet-"

Kou was still bowing when Minami interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, I know who you are," the young officer said, his voice nasal and low as he slammed a backpack with his equipment on top of the dining table. "Shit. This sucks balls. Like...sweaty, hairy balls," he whispered, after wiping his face on the back of his arm.  "I can't believe she's gone…"

"Minami-san..."

Maya’s lips were pursed. She understood the man’s pain but that was not the time or place for an emotional breakdown.

"Fine, fine," Minami replied, pulling a chair.

Another knock on he door later, and Maya was welcoming the fourth member of their team.

"Maya-chan!"

She barely had time to acknowledge the young detective before he threw his arms around her.

"Masa...” she said, struggling for air as he tightened his embrace, “thanks for coming."

"Of course...” the young, brown-haired man replied, and Maya noticed he was  wearing his usual policeman's outfit: grey pants, black tie, blue jacket, and his trademark white belt with a snake motif. “How are you doing?”

"I'm okay,” she said, not wanting to be dragged once again into a downward spiral of sorrow. “Did you come straight from work?”

“Yeah, I am in charge of the night shifts now…” he answered, after finally letting her go. "Maya, I am so sorry for y-"

"Masa, Masa,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “I'm ok."

The young detective seemed to have understood she was not really willing to talk about it, and shut up, silently walking towards the table to drop his backpack on the chair next to Kou.

"She's not ok…" she heard him whisper.

"Kou...Minami-san...” Maya started another round of introductions after letting out a sigh. “This is Tanimura Masayoshi, he is in the police force. He's a member of the Community Safety department," she said. "Masa...This is MInami-san, he's with the Tojo... And this is Kou...” she paused when their eyes met, and cleared her throat, “…a friend."

After all of them were done with bowing, the four of them took their seats, and Maya’s eyes shifted to the only chair that was not taken.

She wondered if he would come at all.

"Masa, would you like something to drink?” she asked quietly as the young man set up his workstation. In the meantime, Minami was already gorging on her uneaten breakfast, stuffing his mouth with toast, eggs and whatever he could get his hands on, much to Kou’s dismay. “Breakfast, maybe?"

Tanimura grinned proudly, reaching inside his backpack before speaking again.

"Nah, I brought my own supplies," he said, placing a lunchbox and a thermos bottle on the table.

Across from him, Minami choked on his food.

“The fuck?” the yakuza snorted, frowning deeply as he spoke. "Who brings a fucking _bento_ to a five star hotel?"

The detective was unfazed by the comment.

"Someone who doesn't want to be ripped off by greedy hotel managers," he replied, picking up his chopsticks with a glint in his light brown eyes.

"Heh,” Minami shook his head before speaking again. “Do your wages as a cop suck that bad?"

"I get by."

"Dude..."

"Egg rolls, anyone?" Tanimura asked, gleefully holding up his bento box.

Without a moment of hesitation, the Tojo officer reached out to get one of the neat rolls being offered to the group.

"You know, you were supposed to decline…” the detective said, glaring daggers at the other man.

Maya couldn’t help but snicker when Kou took an egg roll as well, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the detective.

"Really?" Tanimura sounded dismayed. “Come on, guys! Just because I have four rolls, that doesn’t mean I brought one for each of us!”

“Then you shouldn’t have offered…” Maya was still giggling when she took a roll as well.

"Oh, ok,” Tanimura replied, crossing his arms with a frown. “Ok…I see what you guys are doing..."

"Come on, Masa,” the girl patted him on the shoulder, smiling. She knew her friend was always short on money, and would be more than willing to buy him a decent meal. “Order whatever you like, charge it to the room. I'm not paying for it anyway..."

Eyebrows rose at her statement.

"You guys don't really think I checked in with my real identity, right?" she asked.

Kou looked at the ceiling, and seemed to have finally realized that he should have let the hotel charge the breakfast to the room, after all.

"Food in hotels is always too expensive," Tanimura said, refusing to pick up the phone Maya was passing him.

"Well,” Minami, as usual, cut to the chase and snatched the phone from the girl’s hands. “I will order for you then. Room service!” he screamed onto the speaker. “Send up one of everything in the menu. What, you deaf? One of everything, birdbrain!"

"Unbelievable..." the detective muttered, standing up to plug his phone charger to the wall.

As soon as he stepped away from the table, Maya felt Kou nudge her in the ribs.

“Is he... an ex boyfriend or something?” she heard him ask, his voice full of badly hidden concern.

“Who? Masa?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice just as low. “You two seem really close.”

“Well, we are,” she replied, eyeing the young detective with a small smile. “He was my neighbor for years. He’s really cute, isn’t he?”

When Kou scoffed at her comment, she bit her lower lip and leaned closer to whisper on his ear.

“And I suggest you stop staring at him or he will think you are hitting on him,” she explained. “He's gay. And even though he has a thing for blondes... He might as well give you a shot.”

When she lifted her eyes to Kou’s face, she couldn’t help but chuckle. His mouth was slightly agape, his cheeks going pink.

"Ok,” Tanimura said, after returning to his seat. “Other than the food, what are we waiting for?"

"There is one more person I called...” Maya replied, as she reached for her cell phone. “But I don't know if he is coming."

"Who?" the detective asked.

"I will call h-"

Her sentence was interrupted by another knock on the door.

"Is that the food?” Minami asked, rubbing his hands anxiously. “That was fast."

When the girl opened the door, a relieved sigh escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

“You came...” she said, looking at the man standing by the door with his usual business attire and suitcase. She knew Minami and Tanimura were good at hacking but they were all bound to crash and burn without the expertise of the person in front of her. “Thank you.”

In silence, she took a step back to let Kirishima Kei into the room.

++++

**_The day before..._ **

Kirishima Kei watched as the contractors he had hired evaluated the damage to Sion’s structure after the events of the previous night. Around him, a multitude of cleaning workers had already made sure to remove debris, broken glass, bodies and blood stains, and were now polishing the few pieces of furniture and floorboards that had remained unscathed.

He didn’t even know what time it was, or for how many hours he had been standing there, in that same position, as if guarding the precise spot where Hayashi Mirai’s lifeless body had hit the ground.

It didn’t matter.

His boss had called him, and told him to go home. Suoh had called him, and told him to go home. His tired legs, his empty stomach… all of his body was telling him to go home.

His mind, however, knew better.

He had to keep himself busy. He had to stay, and supervise every single worker, glancing over their shoulders like a hawk to make sure no hint of dust went unnoticed and that the magnificent reception of Sion would shine again despite the crude attack unleashed upon it.

That way, he wouldn’t have to think about what he had lost that night.

That way, he would not be haunted by memories, nor consumed by hatred and the irresistible desire to kill, and to be killed.

He could not go home, not yet.

When his phone rang, and he saw who was calling, he hesitated.

Answering that call would cost him, but so would ignoring it.

“Hayashi-kun…” he whispered.

_“Kirishima-san…”_ he heard Mirai’s daughter say. _“Where are you now?”_

“Sion.”

_ “Aren't you going to attend the funeral?” _

Kirishima pushed his glasses further up his nose.

“I don't think I should,” he replied.

_ “Why not?” _

“It's in the Tojo Headquarters,” he explained. “I myself killed at least half a dozen of their men last night.” 

There was a moment of silence before the girl spoke again.

_ “Don't you want to...say goodbye to her?” _

The first assistant swallowed, finding the answer to that question stuck in his throat. No, he actually did not want to say goodbye to her. He knew he would have to, at some point, but not now.

_ Not today. _

_“Well...”_ she continued, when there was no response on his side of the line. _“I will make sure no one bothers you here if you choose to come.”_

“Thanks.”

_ “Kirishima-san…” _

“What is it, kid?”

_ “I...I need your help.” _

Her voice was weak and shaky, and he knew that he would not be able to say no, regardless of what kind of favor she was about to ask.

He had seen that girl grow up.

He had attended her school meetings, signed her reports, been to her birthday parties.

She was not his daughter, but still… 

“With what?” he asked.

_ "You are Sion's quant, aren't you?" _

“I was,” he answered, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know that? Did you mother tell you?”

_“Yes…”_ he could hear a faint chuckle on the other side of the line. _“I should have known you were into computers and systems… You always bought me all kinds of tech stuff, when I was little,”_ the girl explained. _“I still have that video game console that you got me on my 9th birthday. Do you remember?”_

He let out a sad chuckle, taking off his glasses to wipe away a stubborn tear that had escaped from the corner of his eye.

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I do. You have your mother’s mathematical mind, you must be good at games.”

And then, they were both silent, left with their own thoughts.

_ “Kirishima…” _

He drew in a long breath. His exhaustion seemed to be reaching new heights.

_“I want to find out who is behind all this,”_ she said, her voice strong and clear. _“Will you help me?”_

“This is not the time to avenge your mother, Maya,” he answered, his voice low and tired. “It's time to grieve her death.”

_“We have our entire lives to grieve,”_ he heard her reply. " _She's gone, she’s… never coming back.”_

For the first time since the beginning of that call, he heard a sob, but the girl was quick to regain her composure.

_“But there are people... Still out there... They won't stop,”_ she continued. _“They will go for him next.”_

He knew exactly who she was referring to, and he knew she was right.

“If anything you are planning to do goes against your father's interest, then I can't-“

_“It doesn't,”_ she interrupted. _“You can tell him everything if you want to.”_

Kirishima hesitated. The girl was probably about to land herself in trouble, and maybe there would be no other way to protect her other than taking part in whatever plan she had in mind.

_“I will send you a message,”_ she said. _“Please give it some thought.”_

When the call ended, Kirishima realized that perhaps it was time to go home, after all.

From the looks of it, he was about to have another long, complicated day.

++++

In a certain moment of that awkward morning, Kou could have simply walked away, and he knew exactly when he had missed that chance.

It was right after getting turned down in the most spectacular way, after that dumb idea of bringing Maya breakfast in bed. 

He should have known better.

As he looked at the three other men sitting around the dining table, he had all the confirmation he needed. It was all a mistake. He should not be there. A yakuza. A cop. Asami's secretary. 

He was _so not a part_ of that crowd.

And yet... He had said yes. He had agreed to help.

What had he been thinking?

Perhaps he was trying to impress her, even after she pretty much made it clear he didn't stand a chance. Perhaps he was just trying to look cool, despite the embarrassment of being rejected. Perhaps...He didn't even know.

All he knew was that it was too late to bail.

He raised his eyes to the faces of the four people still arguing about how to take over Omi's servers. All of them had been given a rather comprehensive brochure with all the details of their target - a compilation organized by Maya herself.

Kou hadn't even touched his copy.

He held his clammy hands under the table, trying to warm them up, trying to find something to distract himself.

His thoughts unsurprisingly drifted back to the night before and...he felt his face was burning. It had felt _so damn good_. Even when his arms went numb after being handcuffed to the headboard for almost one hour... He could still feel the taste of her skin on his lips. Looking back, he should have kissed her more, especially now that he knew he was not getting another chance.

His gaze shifted from the wooden surface of the table to the girl's face, and their eyes met.

Of course they could still be just friends... _right?_

"Kou?" she asked.

"What?" he replied, finally realizing that all eyes were on him.

"The app you created for password cracking...“ the girl explained. “How good is it?"

"It's good if you know the hashes,” Kou replied. “But it's nothing that fancy, just...an improved version of Rainbow Tables."

"Their hashes are salted,” Kirishima interjected, putting down one of the reports he was holding. ”We would only be wasting time."

"You can hack their hashing algorithms,” the younger man explained, turning to look at Maya. “Use the graphics card as another processor to gain time."

"Even if you do, and get root privileges, it will take you ten minutes to get in, and you still gotta find their transaction files, I mean...” Tanimura said, shaking his head. “Their men will find you in...five minutes."

"Oh wow, we are fried!" Minami exclaimed, sounding strangely enthusiastic despite their bad prospects.

"Never send a kid to do a grown man's job,” Kirishima said, crossing his arms. “With me, we can do it in seven."

"You're both screwed,” it was Minami’s turn to speak. “I help, we can do it in six."

"Man, I gotta save all your asses,” Tanimura snorted. “I help, we can do it in five minutes."

"Then let's do it," Maya said, before cracking her knuckles and turning on her laptop.

"Wait...what about me?" Kou asked. Not that he was finding it bad to be left out, on the very contrary…But something inside him told him he was not that lucky.

"Kou...” Maya let out a long sigh before speaking. “You are going in first."

"Solo," Minami added.

"Alone?” Kou frowned at the proposition. “Why?"

"One of us needs to go in to tamper with the secondary server as the others try to find other ways in,” Maya explained, still avoiding his eyes. “You will be… the distraction."

"The _distraction?_ ” the designer tried not to sound desperate, and failed considerably. “You meant, the bait?"

"Pretty much," the girl replied.

"Seriously?"

Of course, as if his earlier humiliation hadn’t been enough, _that_ was what Maya needed him for? To take the fall in case their crazy plan backfired?

That was it. He would lose his job, he would go to jail, his parents would never forgive him, he would never see Akihito again, he was done for.

He swallowed, feeling his pulse race. 

"Sometimes we have to take one for the team, man..." Tanimura said, patting him on the shoulder.

"So if I use my codes and software...”Kou whispered. “I will be the first to be traced and exposed, is that it?"

"Yes," Maya replied, finally raising gaze to his face, with nothing but determination and audacity shining in her golden eyes. "But you will be using _my_ codes and _my_ software. Your info will be protected."

"W-What?" Kou stuttered, his brain still not processing that new piece of information.

"Excuse me?" Kirishima interjected.

"I would appreciate if you stopped questioning my decisions," Maya retorted, casting the older man a sideways glance.

"Your decisions would not be questioned if they were reasonable,” Asami’s secretary replied, and his voice was deadly serious. “I cannot let you put yourself at risk."

"We are all at risk, in equal amounts,” the girl replied. “If Kou goes first, I want him to be safe."

When her eyes met his again, Kou was speechless.

"End of story," she added, dropping her eyes back to her computer screen.

"What if he fails, what-"

"I won't,” Kou didn’t let Kirishima finish. He didn’t get the right to fail. The girl was putting her ass on the line to protect him – failure was _not_ an option. "I won't fail."

Before he logged in to his machine, he had time to steal a final glance towards Maya, just to notice a small smile on her lips.

_Oh hell no,_ he would _not_ fail.

"Then...the fuck we waiting for?" Minami asked, while munching on a shrimp.

The man alone had eaten more than half of all the food that had been sent up to their room.

"Ok...I'm… I’m going in...” Kou muttered, typing the first commands in his workstation. He was aware of all the pairs of eyes glancing at his screen from over his shoulder, but he was too busy executing a buffer overflow to pay them any mind.

“Yeah, there is someone trying to kick me out already…” he whispered. “I think you guys should go in, I will keep them busy.”

Soon enough, the only noise in the room was that of fingertips hitting their respective keyboards.

“We’re in,” Maya said, less than a minute later. “This is it.”

“Good, because I just got disconnected,” the designer said, cracking his knuckles as he looked around, anxiously. “I don’t think they had time to track me, but you guys will need to be fast… They’re good.”

He had just finished speaking when a phone started ringing.

“Who the fuck forgot to turn off their fucking phone?” Minami snarled.

“It’s my phone, but I did not ‘forget’ to turn it off,” Kirishima replied. “Unlike lowlifes like you, I cannot afford to stay out of reach of my corporation.”

“You piece of s-“

“Shut up, Minami,” Maya replied. “We need to focus. Kou, get his phone.”

“Where is it?” he asked, after jumping off his chair.

“Left pocket, jacket,” Asami’s secretary replied, his eyes still glued to his laptop screen. “Just put it close to my ear.”

Kou nodded, doing as he was told.

“Kirishima,” the man answered. “I can’t…I can’t talk right now, can I call you b-“

And then, Kou saw the man’s fingers stop typing for a second, his eyes wide.

“I have to go,” Kirishima whispered, taking the phone from Kou’s hands.

“Fine…” Maya said, after cursing quietly. "Kou, take his place."

"Take my computer back to Sion when you're done.”

And with that, Asami’s secretary was gone.

“They disconnected me,” Tanimura mumbled. “Damn.”

Minami was next, and in the end, there were only Kou and Maya, still typing away as if there was no tomorrow.

"I found it!” Maya exclaimed. “I found it!"

Kou barely had time to raise his eyes to the girl, before she spoke again.

"Shit! They got me!”

"Kou is getting stupid busy," Tanimura said, getting up to stand behind the other young man.

"Kou, I need you to drop your viruses, find the folder for Sengoku Hiroshi,” the girl whispered, slightly out of breath. “It is the only one that is active in the dates we need. It's root slash period workspace slash period sengoku period."

Kou nodded, typing every command with renewed energy.

"I'm in,” he said, feeling his entire body jolt with the adrenalin. “I’m in, copying files now.”

“What the bitch…” he heard Minami whisper behind him. “This kid is good!”

“Yeah… He is…”

He knew it was Maya’s voice that replied, but he couldn’t really afford to get distracted before the transfer was complete.

“Done!” he screamed, before ending the connection and slamming the laptop shut. “We got the files!”

Around him, all he could hear was indistinct “hoorays” and whistles – all he could _see_ was Maya’s eyes on him.

_ Oh, if only those two other fools weren’t around… _

“You’re elite, man!” Tanimura exclaimed, shaking his hand after a series of respectful bows. “That was insane!”

"Time to scatter, tho…" Minami said, packing his equipment and leading all the others to do the same.

"Yeah, time to check out,” Maya panted, and Kou nearly jumped when her hand touched his lower back. “So to speak."

"Wait, where are we going?" Kou asked.

"I'm gonna get myself drunk," the Tojo officer replied, exiting the room through one of the windows facing the street.

"And I am going back to work,” Tanimura said, heading to the balcony to climb outside. “Call me if you need help with those files."

"I assume we are not supposed to use the front door, huh?” the designer asked, when Maya flung her backpack over her shoulder and passed him the other, heading to the room's emergency exit. “Where are you going?"

"I don't know... Another hotel?" she replied, a huge grin on her face as she looked at him. "You coming?"

All he needed was one second staring into those golden eyes so full of promise and danger.

He knew _exactly_ what would happen if he followed the girl to another hotel, and he also knew that was the moment to back off.

Again, he chose to ignore the voice of reason.

"Sure..." he replied, a daring smile curling his lips as followed the girl out of the room.

++++

When Kirishima finally got to his office, Tokyo Public Prosecutor Kuroda Shinji was already waiting for him.

“Kirishima-san,” the man said, clutching a brown envelope that could not contain any kind of good news, given his tone on the phone.

“I came as fast as I could,” Kirishima replied. “What is the emergency? I’m afraid Asami-sama is not in the office yet, he only has meetings later in the day.”

“It is a good thing he is not here, then…” Kuroda replied, taking a seat after the first assistant gestured for him to do so. “This will give us some time to figure out what to do…”

_‘Excellent. One more crisis to handle,’_ Kirishima thought to himself. _‘Just what I needed…’_

“Your boss asked me to investigate who the Omi's informants in Tokyo are. I am still compiling a list, but last night he sent me the name of a male prostitute that was blackmailing one of Sion's employees, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“The man goes by the professional name of Drake,” Kuroda continued, after passing him a manila folder with a picture and a series of personal files. “It seems he is also a host, in one of the clubs owned by Hayashi Kazuki.”

Kirishima took off his glasses, and pinched his temples before putting them back on.

He _knew_ that man was not to be trusted.

“There is more,” the prosecutor added, opening the envelope to pull out another folder. “When I dug into this Drake's file...I found out he used to work for someone else,” he said, pausing to open the brown envelope and pull out another folder. “Sakazaki. Ring any bells?”

“Of course,” Kirishima replied. “Sakazaki... He was involved in the Sudou's incident, he has been missing since then.”

“Yes,” Kuroda replied, nodding slightly. “Well, I looked into his file, and... not surprisingly, Sakazaki has very strong connections to at least three nightclubs and one soapland in Osaka. His bank records indicate that he has received regular payments from an account associated with the Omi Alliance.”

“So he is working for them?”

“It looks like it.”

“A rat like him will sell out for whomever makes the highest bid,” said the first assistant, still looking unfazed. “But I believe he doesn't have any information to use against Asami-Sama, we made sure to erase all compromising info regarding the deals Sudou was involved with...”

“You should look at these,” the other man replied, passing him a stack of photographs.

“Ok...” Kirishima adjusted his glasses when the first picture of a young man on his knees performing a blowjob came into view. And then another. And another. “What exactly am I looking for?”

“You know that in the past, Sakazaki was accused of blackmailing?”

“So he keeps a register of his sexual encounters...” Kirishima muttered, paying little attention to the pictures showing pretty much the same act in all of them. “Probably after providing information in exchange for such things. Suits him just fine,” he scoffed. “I still don't know what I am looking for.”

“Keep looking,” he heard Kuroda say.

And then, his heart skipped a beat.

He dropped all the other photographs, his eyes focusing on one of the last ones, hoping that the wild blond hair and that face did not belong to the person he thought it belonged to.

“Oh. No,” he said simply, unable to put the photo down even though his gut was telling him to tear it, to burn it, to shove it down Kuroda’s throat. “No. Kuroda-San... We need to destroy this. This picture can't get anywhere near Asami-Sama.”

“Kirishima...It doesn't matter if we destroy this picture or not,” the man replied. “Sakazaki is an informant for the Omi. Do you understand?” Kuroda’s eyes were just as concerned as his. “The Omi has access to this.” 

“How would they?” Kirishima, however, refuse to believe the situation was that dire. “Sakazaki wouldn't be foolish enough to give them proof of his own stupidity, he knows that the moment Asami-sama finds out what he did, he is a dead m-“

“The Omi doesn't need his permission to get access to his files, Kirishima,” Kuroda interrupted. “I am telling you, this picture is already in the enemy's hands.”

“You can't tell for sure.”

“No. That is the problem, I can't. We don't know,” the prosecutor replied, standing up to pace the room. “They might have it. They might not,” he said, turning around to look at him. “But this is a bomb and we have the chance to defuse it.”

“Defuse it?” Kirishima sounded positively horrified at what the man was implying. “If we show him this picture, we are going to _detonate_ the bomb, not defuse it!”

“Kirishima, what is going on?” Kuroda asked, frowning. “Are you trying to protect the boy? We swore allegiance to Ryuichi, not to h-“

“Kuroda-san, please allow me to explain,” the secretary raised a hand, feeling the sharp pain of an impending migraine. “On any other day, I would agree with you. We would show him this, he would see this picture for what it truly is - it is fairly obvious that the kid is under coercion, after all, but right now?” he leaned forward on his chair, after throwing the picture on his desk. “That is not what he will see. Trust me. There is a lot going on, in case you haven't noticed, and this... This would send him overboard.”

“Is it that bad?” Kuroda asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kirishima merely sneered in response.

“No. It's not _bad_ ,” he said, trying to stay calm despite the anger bubbling in his chest as he stood up and started pacing the room himself. What else could go wrong? Why couldn’t that stupid picture wait another year to show up? How many fires would he have to put off?

“You see,” Kirishima continued, his voice getting louder by the moment. “When the Mongol Hordes invaded Japan back in 1274, _that_ was bad,” he explained. “This picture? It’s a _catastrophe_!”

“What picture?”

The secretary closed his eyes when the baritone voice behind him announced his boss’s presence.

Before turning around, he had time to exchange an anguished look with Kuroda. Perhaps he would like to do the honors? The man, however, merely raised his eyebrows, lips pursed in a silent response.

“Asami-sama...” the secretary said, when his boss’s hawkish eyes located the picture on his desk, and he slowly walked towards it to pick it up. “It looks like Takaba-san was coerced to...provide sexual services in exchange for information.”

It took him a full minute for him to gather the courage to look at the man’s face.

When he did, he felt his stomach sink. The golden orbs were cold, filled with so much hatred that he was sure the picture would catch fire just from the intensity of that glare.

“Is that so?” his boss finally asked, his voice calm and void of emotion despite the scary frown wrinkling his forehead. “Kuroda, does he look coerced to you?”

He saw the prosecutor’s eyes shift from the picture to his face, and they both knew, at that moment, that blood would be spilled.

Whose blood, exactly, neither of them was sure.

“Cancel all my meetings,” Asami Ryuichi said at last. “Start looking for something else for Shinada to do, from tomorrow on he is no longer in charge of Takaba's security.”

With that, the man spun on his wheels, and left.

Kirishima Kei took off his glasses, wiping away a thin layer of sweat from his brow.

Just when he thought nothing else could go wrong...

  
  



	25. No harm done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami confronts Akihito

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference: in this chapter, when Akihito mentions the warehouse episode, I am referring to the extra pages Yamane-sensei added to Pray in the Abyss, in which Sudou sexually abuses Akihito. Other than that...I don't even know what kind of warning to give. I could not even come up with a decent summary!

 

Asami Ryuichi lay on the centre of his bed, still fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling, recalling the events of the past few hours.

It had not been as bad as he thought it would be.

The hazel eyes of Takaba Akihito were still fitting him, saddened with the outcome of their civilised conversation. He had agreed to leave, despite an initial wave of mild protests.

_No harm done._

He had left with his dignity intact.

Asami himself had behaved abnormally well under the circumstances.

A clean break up, as it should be.

_No harm done._

Very soon, he would be going back to work after taking a warm shower, stop for lunch in some restaurant on his way, and then return home.

His days of normalcy, those of his life without the photographer, would be restored.

_No harm done._

He got off the bed, half awake, half asleep, and ignored the bloodied _qilinbian_ spread on the bed by his side.

He walked past the broken glass in the living room as he tried to silence the pleads that still echoed inside his mind.

His eyes barely acknowledged the entrance to the secret room and the evidence of the other man's suffering.

_No harm done._

Numbly, he reached for the phone in his pocket.

"Shinada..." he said, his distant voice sounding strange to his own ears. "Come up."

++++

_**Two hours earlier** _

Akihito tried calling Kou one last time before putting his phone back into the pocket of his jacket with an annoyed frown.

It had been almost an entire day since he found out his friend was meeting with Asami's daughter, and the fact neither of them had taken the time to send him a single text message was beginning to upset him. Maya, he could understand. She probably had a lot going on to bother calling him. But Kou?

"What the hell, man..." he muttered, memories of the days when his gullible friend had ended up in Fei Long's hands filling his mind. "I wonder if something's happened..."

He didn't have time to dwell on such thoughts, though. Behind him, he heard the sound of the front door opening, and when he rushed from the kitchen to the living room, he couldn't help but let out a gasp.

"Oh, Asami," he said, stealing a quick glance at his watch before looking at the man who had just entered the penthouse. "It's early, I thought you had meetings at Sion today?"

He noticed the older man was deliberately avoiding his eyes as he put down his suitcase and took off his jacket.

"Is everything okay?" Akihito asked.

"Yes," came the curt response. "Everything is... _okay._ "

There was something in Asami's tone, something in the way he had stressed that last word, that made an involuntary frown wrinkle the photographer's forehead.

After three years, he knew the man well, especially when everything was _not okay._ With a silent sigh, he picked up the jacket the other man had unceremoniously thrown on the couch, trying not to make much of his brooding expression. Given the latest events, he knew Asami was bound to be quieter than usual, and he was willing to stay by his side despite his sour mood, if that was what it took.

He was forced to file those thoughts for later when a knock on the door drew his attention.

"It must be lunch," he heard Asami say. "I ordered sushi on my way here."

"Sushi?!" Akihito asked, hazel eyes alit with excitement as he welcomed tray after tray of beautifully cut fish into the apartment. "What is the occasion?"

He was too busy setting up the table to realize his question never got an answer.

"Oh wow, they brought uni this time!" Akihito said enthusiastically, as he sat back on his heels and waited for Asami to join him by the table in front of the couch. "And abalone too. I guess today is my lucky day!"

He grinned as he looked up, still trying to make eye contact with the other man for the first time since he got home. But, once again, Asami's gaze didn't meet his - instead, all his hazel eyes could see was him rolling up his sleeves, after fishing an envelope out of his suitcase.

"Planning to work from home?" the photographer asked, tilting his chin upwards as he eyed the envelope.

"Not really, no," he heard Asami reply, as he finally took a seat across from him and reached for his pack of Dunhills.

Akihito raised an eyebrow when the other man lit the first cigarette, a cloud of smoke enveloping them both. Not so long ago, they had come to an agreement: Asami would still smoke as often as he wanted inside the penthouse, except during their meals. Akihito's argument, after all, could not be disputed: the foul smell did nothing but ruin the delicious taste of the food in their plates.

The photographer picked up his chopsticks and helped himself to the first slices of fresh fish, trying to ignore the smoke around them. If the stupid cigarettes were so vital to the man's wellbeing, then be it. Another concession he was willing to make, at least until things calmed down a little.

"Did something happen?" he asked, many minutes later, after he had already gone through at least eight of the ten sushi dishes on the table, while Asami's tuna _nigiri_ remained untouched in front of him. "You haven't even touched your food."

"I'm not hungry," Asami replied, smashing what was left of his fifth cigarette on an ashtray.

Akihito snorted in response.

"Words you will never hear me say..." he said, watching the man across from him place a bowl of _anmitsu_ on the table. "Dessert?!" Akihito asked, his wide eyes showing his surprise.

He barely realized Asami had reached for the envelope next to him.

"No, seriously, what is the occasion?" the photographer asked, after shoving the final pieces of abalone into his mouth with a pleased smile on his lips.

He was about to reach for the bowl of sweet when the older man threw a picture on top of it.

"Do you have anything to tell me?" Asami asked.

When he was finally able to recognize the people in the photograph, he felt his soul had left his body.

It was a strange feeling - it was almost as if he had fallen into a void, and everything around him had disappeared. He was vaguely aware of his erratic heartbeat, of the sudden sweat braking on his forehead, and the bitter taste of guilt and shame as memories of that disgraceful day with Sakazaki rushed to the front of his mind.

"Talk."

It was Asami's voice that brought him back to reality.

"This... This was... I... I..."

He didn't know what to say.

He knew what he had done, he knew _why_ he had done it, but he was fully aware that nothing he could say would placate Asami's fury - he could already feel it scorching him in waves.

Looking back, he had been blessed with the whole warehouse incident. The fact Sudou had held him captive, the fact things had taken that unexpected turn, had also meant that how he had gotten to the source of the information about his shady deals had never actually become a topic for conversation, and he had successfully filed that episode in some dark corner of his mind.

Now, it all came back to haunt him, and he knew there was no way out.

"So all that talk about me cheating on you..." Asami scoffed. "What an irony."

"I did not cheat on you," he heard himself reply, his voice far from steady as he spoke.

"Are you sure?" the other man's voice dripped with poison and contempt. "Take a good look. It looks like fucking cheating!"

"Was it cheating when Fei Long raped me?" he asked, his hands curling into fists as he tried to ignore the tears pooling in his eyes. He felt ashamed and cornered, but above all, he felt anger pumping through his veins at Asami's insinuation that he had done what he had done out of his _free will_. "When... Mikhail's men put their hands or me o-or...Sudou..."

"This is cheating, because you _wanted_ it," Asami hissed, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent. "It is different."

"I didn't want it!" Akihito found himself screaming, tears spilling from his eyes.

The man in front of him, however, was the perfect image of indifference and disdain.

"Oh?" he asked, his voice low and full of threat. "So he _forced_ you?"

Akihito swallowed a sob, feeling nauseated. Asami being who he was, it was blatantly clear that he knew Sakazaki's methods, and that he was hoping to extract a confession of guilt by reminding him of his part in that negotiation.

"He didn't, because _you_ gave him _consent_."

Akihito felt the word cut through his skin. He was trapped inside Asami's wordplay. Giving Sakazaki consent implied that there had been a _request_ , when in fact the man had physically and psychologically _coerced_ him. If anything, he had caved in and traded his dignity for a greater good, but the turmoil inside his head and the fast pounding of his heart stole him of any ability to put that thought into words.

"See the difference now?" he heard Asami ask.

Akihito forced himself to take a deep breath, after wiping his tears on the hem of his T-shirt. His body was shaking with apprehension, but if he managed to get himself together, there was a slim chance he would provide an explanation good enough to save him from the promise of punishment shining in the golden eyes staring at him.

"To get the lead... On Sudou, I... I... I needed the information..."

"So he asked for a blowjob, and you willingly gave it to him."

Again, Asami's crude explanation of what stood behind that cursed photograph made his stomach sink. From the looks of it, there would be no point in trying to defend himself - Asami was jury, judge and executioner, he already had a verdict and there would be no way to escape his sentence.

"Is that what happened?"

"A-Asami..."

Before he knew, all the remaining food on the table was sent flying with their glasses, dishes, chopsticks, and the table itself, and the second it took for him to recover from the shock was all the other man needed to grab hold of his arm and force him up. He winced when Asami slammed him against the wall, and his right cheek collided with the cold concrete.

"After everything I did for you, is that how you repay me?" he heard Asami hiss into his ear, his voice far from its usual emotionless baritone. "By selling yourself? By _sucking the cock of a pig like Sakazaki_?"

"I was trying to help you!" Akihito managed to reply, despite the excruciating pain of having his arm bent behind him in such an angle he was certain it was about to break.

"Yeah, I am sure that is what you told yourself..." Asami hissed again, sounding even angrier than before, "as he fucked your mouth..."

"Asami-"

"What else did you do, huh?" Akihito bit back a scream when the older man put even more pressure in his joints. "Did you let him fuck you in the ass too?"

He tried to shake his head in response. His heart was beating so fast and he felt so nauseated, that he feared he would throw up if he opened his mouth.

" _Answer me!_ "

More than Asami's enraged scream, it was the cold nudge of the muzzle of one of the man's pistols on the back of his neck that prompted him to finally speak.

"No!" Akihito cried in response, his panic more than evident in his wide eyes. "No!" he sobbed, feeling his chest burn with fear when the gun was pressed even harder against his skin. "I-I didn't want you to know... I didn't want you to see that p-picture..." he explained, as fresh tears fell from his eyes and made him choke on his own words. "Because I knew you would be mad... And I... I didn't want you to."

His relief when the man finally let go of him didn't last long. After another powerful yank, he was pushed towards the bedroom, but his wobbly legs failed him and he tripped on his own feet, his forehead landing on the corner of the TV rack with a loud thud.

"You assume too much, did you know that?"

His ears were still ringing when Asami spoke again, and he barely made out what the man was saying. He felt his head had just been hit with a hammer, and his brain seemed to be shaking inside his skull. With trembling hands, he touched his eyebrow, and felt the warmth of his own blood in his fingers.

"You assumed I would never find out, and I did," Asami continued, ignoring his state of temporary confusion. "You assumed I cared for you, which I didn't."

That part, even a sluggish Akihito was able to recognise as a lie, but given the circumstances, the photographer merely raised his eyes to the man's face, watching him in silence.

"Why would I?" the man added, and Akihito felt his blood freeze when the golden eyes stared at him, showing nothing but indifference. "You are nothing but a _worthless whore."_

The fresh tears that filled his eyes did nothing to help Akihito's already blurred sight.

"So now..." the photographer groaned in pain when Asami grabbed a handful of his hair, and forced him to stand up again. "You will _pay._ "

A rush of panic made Akihito's heart race. _So all of that had just been the preamble?_ His punishment hadn't even begun?

The mere thought made him fear for his life.

"Asami... please..."

Akihito sobbed when he realized his plead had been in vain. Before he knew, he had already been dragged to the secret room, his T-shirt had been nearly ripped out of his body, and Asami was cuffing his hands above his head.

 _Déjà vu._ Was he going to be flogged again?

His face was still stained with tears and blood when all feelings seemed to fade into black, except the morbid curiosity as to how Asami intended to punish him. He was reaching a much welcomed state of numbness in which his heart, body and soul seemed impervious to any further damage.

Too tired and scared to look behind him, the photographer closed his eyes and allowed his injured forehead to rest against the wall, enjoying a brief moment of relief when the cold surface numbed some of the pain in his head.

"But look on the bright side," the voice on his ear made his eyes shoot open. "At least, you finally earned your way out of my life. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

Akihito felt, once again, that he was about to throw up. Those words only intensified the nausea that had made a triumphant comeback after his fall, and he was hoping he had gotten it wrong.

 _A way out of his life?_ What was that supposed to mean?

"I guess a celebration is in order."

Asami's voice in his ear was just as terrorizing as the feeling of his pants and underwear being pulled down in one forceful motion.

_That could not be happening._

Akihito didn't even try to stifle his sobs when he started crying again, after finally envisioning what the other man had in store for him. He would rape him, who knows how many times, and it scared him not because of the act _per se_ even though he knew it would be brutal.

It scared him because they were back to the beginning, except that not even the beginning had been that bad.

Not even in the first time they were together had he felt so afraid, and in their first time Asami definitely did not look so out of his mind.

"No... Asami..." he felt his throat was closing, making it hard for him to breathe and even harder for him to speak. His voice was strangled and weak, and he turned his head in a desperate attempt to look at the man behind him. "Asami, please, don't."

"One last time, Akihito," he heard the man reply, before he caught a glimpse of the slender fingers unzipping his pants behind him, "for good times' sake."

His entire body shook, confusion and shock mixing with the urge to scream and fight. And yet, he was paralyzed, unable to move or speak, as if his mind and body had already embraced his fate.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Asami's arm move, probably bringing his weapon of choice to full mast, and waited.

He waited for a very long time.

_Nothing happened._

Asami's arm had stopped moving, and the suspense was beginning to wreck his nerves.

Akihito was about to open his mouth to speak when he heard the other man walk away, his footsteps angry and heavy somewhere behind him.

And then, he heard the ominous sound of chains rattling, but he had no time to turn around and see where the sound came from.

One blow was all it took for him to go blind with pain, his stomach ejecting all of its contents after a powerful contraction.

He struggled to catch his breath when the circles of light that had exploded behind his eyes finally faded, and he could see again.

His back hurt so much he couldn't even find the strength to cry.

Behind him, everything was silent. From the corner of his eye, he could see no movement of any kind - either Asami had hidden in the shadows or evaporated after striking him with what was _definitely not_ a whip.

At least, not a regular one.

Fighting to remain conscious, Akihito let his mind wonder. He had been through his fair share of incidents, injuries, humiliations, but Asami had rescued him in his darkest hours. Behind the imposing gold of those eyes, Akihito had always been able to see a hint of warmth, and it was that warmth, more than anything, more even than the ecstasy of sex, that had soothed his fears and given him comfort.

It was that comforting heat that he had grown used to seeking at night, under the sheets; the sound of Asami's heartbeat the only thing that could lull him into sleep for months after the penthouse was nearly destroyed by Aaron and his men.

And now, as his knees sank onto the slimy ground, he knew it was all gone. When he was able to catch a quick glimpse of the man's face after he released his wrists from the cuffs above his head, he saw there was no warmth in those eyes - only some sort of bleak resentment.

He sobbed, biting his lip and feeling the vile taste of bile and fish on his tongue. Perhaps that was why Asami had let him gorge in all that sushi? To have the sadistic pleasure of watching him come undone in a puddle of his own vomit?

A shudder went up and down his spine. He refused to believe someone could be that evil.

"Leave."

Asami's voice was final, cold, and emotionless. Akihito knew his fate was sealed, and yet he couldn't help but plead, one last last time.

"A-Asami..."

"Just go."

More tears streamed down his face when Asami spoke again, his face still hidden in the shadows, as if he was not even worth looking at.

"Leave your key," the man demanded, his tone clipped and bitter. "I'll have someone deliver your things to Kou's place."

The sullen silence that followed made Akihito swallow in fear. Maybe there was no point in insisting, and he would end up in the receiving end of another wave of fury if he tried to justify himself again.

Slowly, he tried to bring himself to a standing position, one foot after the other, using the wall as support. But as soon as both his feet were on the ground, a jolt of pain shot through his lower back, and made his knees falter.

He bit back a pained cry as he pulled up his pants, and tried to steady his shaky legs. Even breathing seemed to be making his right shoulder blade throb and burn.

He was grinding his teeth when he took the first tentative step, and he waited for his body to adjust to the discomfort to move forward again. He had planned to stop at the kitchen to grab a glass of water, then head to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get some clean clothes at the bedroom before leaving, but the pain of each movement made him change his mind.

He would be lucky to make it to the front door without collapsing.

After a painfully long minute, he located his T-shirt on the floor, not far from where he was, and that was the only thing he ended up taking with him before exiting the penthouse.

He was already dragging his feet to the elevator when his hand unconsciously reached inside the pocket of his pants, his fingers brushing against metal.

When his shoulders started shaking, he leaned sideways against the wall and let the tears spill from his eyes.

_He had forgotten to leave the damn key._

Limping, he managed to reach the door again, and his eyes fell upon Asami when it finally opened.

This time, it was Akihito that avoided eye contact, letting his gaze drop to the always impeccable Italian shoes instead.

Without a word, the photographer handed him the key, his hand brushing against the cold slender fingers for a moment longer than necessary.

And then, he left.

++++

It was still early in the afternoon, but the cold wind and the clouds above made him feel like spring had turned into one of those gloomy winters only Tokyo had to offer.

Rubbing his arms to warm them up, Akihito kept walking without a destination, limping and wincing when the fabric of his T-shirt rubbed against his injured back.

Around him, he was aware of the sideways glares he was getting from other passersby, and he couldn't blame them, really. With his wobbly staggering and dirty clothes, he probably looked - and smelled - like a decaying hobo.

His tired body forced him to stop upon reaching a bridge, and he found himself staring at the dark waters of the Arakawa River flowing silently under him.

_What was he supposed to do now?_

If he showed up at Kou's looking like that, he would have to answer questions that he really did not feel like answering. What if Maya came across him in that state?

Still lost in thought, he didn't even realize when a short, thin woman approached him.

"You know what this bridge is called?" she asked.

He took a moment to study her face, and saw that her eyes were vacant as she looked ahead. The white cane in her hand only confirmed his suspicions.

"No," he said, averting his gaze back to the river.

"Suicide Bridge," he heard the woman reply, her voice strong and firm despite her delicate features. "Are you planning to kill yourself?"

He frowned at her audacity to even ask something like that. What kind of person went around asking strangers if they were suicidal?

"I just wanted to think," he whispered in response.

"Quite a strange spot you chose, huh?" she continued, still staring ahead. "People usually do that in the comfort of their own home. Do you even have a home?"

Akihito bit his lip. Truth was, now, he didn't. He didn't have a home, he didn't have his things, he didn't know where to go.

All the reason why the woman's words had stung so much.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, his annoyance evident in his tired, throaty voice.

"I am a counsellor."

"Pff. Of course," the photographer scoffed. "Is that how you get clients, by approaching people at the _Suicide Bridge_?"

"Well, you are the first one I ever approached, but now that you mentioned it, yes... I do see a business opportunity," the woman answered, a small smirk curling the corners of her mouth.

_Was he supposed to laugh?_

"Excuse me," he said, taking one step away from the 'counsellor'. He was too tired and too sore to hang around for another round of bullshit. "I have to get going."

Only then did he realize that a second woman had joined them - a much taller one, with long black hair and a very serious expression on her face.

"If I tell you my name, do you promise not to jump? Or run?" he heard the shorter woman ask, her voice still calm and collected although it did sound a bit more strained than before. "I mean, I would catch up with you eventually, but I am at a disadvantage here," she added, lifting her white cane. "Might take a while."

Normally, he would find the woman's penchant for witty remarks a charming feature, on an other day he might have giggled and laughed.

Too bad that they had crossed paths in one of the worst days of his life, if not the worst, and even her jokes were making him feel like he was about to burst in tears.

"People call me Miyuki," the woman said at last, and Akihito noticed her tone had lost its casual gleefulness. "And yes, I know Asami Ryuichi. And no, I don't work for him. But yes, I know you are Takaba Akihito. And no, I did not come here because he told me to."

Akihito's mind was spinning.

Some time ago, he would have given _anything_ to find out who _Miyuki_ was.

Right now, he couldn't possibly care less.

The only thing he could think of was that the timing for their first encounter couldn't be more suspicious. Probably she was just one of Asami's underlings, one that he had sent to make sure he wasn't going to...jump off a bridge or something.

After everything, did the man still think he was that weak?

He grimaced when his head and back throbbed painfully, reminding him of the ordeals he had been put through.

"Well, whatever game that is... I am not interested..." he mumbled, his speech slurring as he pressed his temples with his index fingers. "I am not a part of his life anymore."

He had half expected the woman to insist, but much to his surprise, she remained quiet.

"So whatever it is you have to offer, I'm gonna pass on it," he added, stealing a glance at the taller Chinese lady a few feet away from him. He had already noticed the gun tucked under her belt, barely concealed by the hem of her jacket. It was a matter of time until she pistol whipped him, dragged him to some dark car and drove him to some unknown place he had not agreed to go to.

After all, he was used to people taking him places against his will.

His bitter predictions, however, failed to come true even after the three of them had stood in the same spot for at least five full minutes of silence.

"This is not a game, Takaba-san," the shorter woman said, quietly. "If you come with me, I will tell you how I knew where to find you. But right now, you sound like you need some rest."

He closed his eyes, torn between the desire to believe the woman was not a threat and the fear that she was just another criminal trying to take advantage of him.

"So that's who you are?" he asked, fumbling with a crumpled receipt he had found on his pocket as a means to ignore the crippling pain spreading across his back, and also to hide his nervousness. "His counsellor?"

"Guilty as charged," she said, nodding.

Akihito shook his head, a sad smile curling the corners of his lips.

_So the mysterious Miyuki was a counsellor, of all things._

"Damn it," he whispered, shifting on his feet when another jolt of pain shot through his back. "He never told me."

"He is a proud man," the woman replied. "Too proud for his own good."

"He's bleeding."

Behind him, the Chinese lady had taken a step forward, looking at his back with a deep frown.

"I-I'm fine," he stuttered, but his reflexes were not quick enough to stop her from lifting his T-shirt.

He swallowed when the woman gasped.

"He needs to go to a hospital," she said.

"What is it?" he heard Miyuki ask.

"I said I'm fine!"

He sidestepped too fast for his weakened body to cooperate, and his knees faltered. His sight was blurry again, and when he looked at his own feet, the ground under them seemed terribly crooked.

"His back is badly injured," the Chinese woman replied, and the urgency in her voice made his throat tighten.

He bent over, unable to fight the nausea. His stomach, however, had no more contents to expel, so nothing but bile splashed the ground in front of him.

"He has a cut above his eyebrow," he heard the female voice say, as she lifted his head and forced him to open his eyes. "And a concussion."

"I tripped and hit my head in the corner of table, ok?" Akihito retorted, frowning when he noticed the assessment of his injuries carried a silent note of disapproval.

"Oh yeah? What about your back?" the Chinese woman replied, with a look full of defiance. "You tripped and fell on what? A chainsaw?"

"Stay away from me," he hissed.

Why he found it so necessary to keep the origin of his injuries a secret, he did not know. Perhaps he was not ready to share his conjugal problems with a complete stranger.

"Let me take you to a hospital, Takaba-san," the shorter woman insisted, and her voice was full of honest, deep concern.

"No."

The word "hospital" was a deal breaker. The two women were probably making too much of it, his injuries were not such a big deal.

"No, I... I will go back..." Akihito felt he was fighting a losing battle when his eyes began to flutter closed, "...to... to my friend's...place..."

Before everything faded to black, he could see, and hear, random words coming out of the counsellor's mouth.

_"...Kirishima... tell... got him..."_

++++

Not five minutes had passed after he had called Shinada when the man materialized in front of his door.

"Come in," Asami said, before allowing the bodyguard into the penthouse.

Shinada had not yet been briefed about the change in his duties, and seemed terribly puzzled as to why he had been told not to follow Takaba Akihito when said man had left the building in what could only be described as a deplorable state.

Some people were very easy to read - the man he had personally chosen to protect the life of the photographer was one of them. A former baseball player with a passion for hostess clubs, at first, did not sound a wise choice for such an important role, but Shinada's extraordinary sense of loyalty and fighting skills had stood out among dozens of other candidates.

In more than one occasion, he had proved he would be more than willing to take a bullet or worse to protect Takaba Akihito from harm.

That afternoon, his loyalty to him, Asami Ryuichi, would be put to the test.

"Start here," the golden-eyed man muttered, his eyes fixated on the other man's shocked face as he entered the secret room and saw the stains of the wall and floor. Shinada had seen the state Akihito had left the building, so he knew very well who that blood and vomit belonged to.

"The cleaning supplies are in the laundry room," Asami continued, still studying the other man's expression as the lines of his face hardened, his eyes gleaming with a mix of sorrow and distress. "Don't worry. You will get a considerable raise after this."

When Shinada averted his eyes to his face, Asami realized there was an extra layer of shock in his young face. He knew, and the bodyguard knew it too, that no amount of money would be able to compensate that feeling of failure - the man he was supposed to protect had been hurt, and badly hurt, judging by the looks of it, by none other than the man that had hired him for the very specific task of not letting said man get hurt.

A mind boggling situation indeed, but one that Shinada would have to live with if he intended to continue enjoying the perks of being one of his employees.

"There is blood in the living room too," Asami said simply, ignoring the contradictory feelings warring inside his chest as he spoke. "When you're done, meet me in the kitchen. I will give you other instructions."

And so, the CEO of Sion headed to the kitchen himself, his steps calculated and precise as if he was running on automatic pilot as he grabbed an extra large garbage bag from one of the drawers and opened the refrigerator.

All the food would have to go. None of that had been purchased by him, other than the cans of beer and bottles of vodka, and he didn't want to keep anything that reminded him of the man he had just sent away.

The cupboards were wiped clean soon afterwards. Boxes and boxes of Pocky, snacks, sweets, curry bars. Nothing was left but his bottles of bourbon and a box of Cuban cigars that should not be in the kitchen in the first place.

After dropping the first full garbage bag in the middle of the living room, Asami headed to the bathroom with the same mechanic pace, his face showing no emotion although the pounding in his ears seemed to indicate that his soaring blood pressure was probably breaking some kind of world record.

Shampoo, shower gel, rubber ducks, toothpaste, toothbrush, all of Akihito's hair products... He threw everything inside another garbage bag without missing a beat.

By the time he had moved to the bedroom and placed all of Akihito's clothes on the centre of their bed, Shinada had already finished cleaning the living room, still looking distraught and mildly depressed, although his eyes were beginning to show some resignation.

"You will take all these bags, as well as the boxes, to Kou's apartment, immediately," Asami told the man, who responded with a single, respectful nod. "Unplug the video game and put it in that box, with the games and the DVDs. Wait."

When Shinada reached for the DVD cases, Asami took a step forward, and browsed through them until he found the one he was looking for.

_Battle Royale._

That one would have to stay, if only to keep him company in the sleepless nights that awaited him.

"I need to get rid of the couch..." he whispered, memories of all the times he had taken Akihito in the living room filling his mind. "And my bed linen..."

As if to punish him, his mind kept showing him images of how the two of them had left marks in each corner of the penthouse. The marks of the young man's nails on the wall behind the kitchen counter. The broken slate in one of the chairs in the balcony. The missing tufts of fur in the rug in their bedroom.

As he looked around, he started noticing all the other marks the photographer had imprinted in that apartment, the ones that had nothing to do with sex.

The 'matching' mugs Akihito had purchased, a heavily adorned one with the boy's name in big red letters, the other one stark black and slick, because he knew Asami was not fond of over the top, tacky crafts.

How and why such mugs had come in a set, he would never find out.

The beanies and vintage belts that every now and then would find a way to rest on top of his jacket, or near his suitcase, reminding him of his lover's presence every time he was about to go to work.

The landscape photographs that Akihito had framed and placed in strategic places of the penthouse, as if to remind them of the places they had been together.

Fireworks at the beach. The tropical island. The casino in Macao.

"Wait," Asami said, when Shinada was about to put the last game into the box. "Leave it."

"What?"

"Everything," he replied, his voice dull and quiet as the most absolute sense of loss began to crawl under his skin.

And for that, he had no one else to blame but himself.

"Get out," he muttered.

"Do I-"

"Get out," Asami repeated, ignoring Shinada's confused look and opening the door so that he could leave.

It occurred to him that the penthouse was about to become a soulless carcass, the only things that gave it any kind of life being Akihito's possessions - from the silly rubber ducks to his unlimited supply of Pocky.

He felt the back of his knees hit the couch when he took a step backwards, and allowed himself to fall on the couch with a silent plop, brow furrowed as his fingers clung to the garbage bag like a lifeline.

He knew he needed to return all those things to their rightful owner, he knew they no longer belonged there, and he also knew that it was not only Akihito that had just lost a home.

He was about to go back to a life in black and white, void of meaning and warmth - from that moment on, there would be nothing to look forward to when he was done at work, no solace waiting for him sitting at the couch as he played his silly games or watched one of his hideous horror movies.

All the good memories would be gone the moment he removed the boy's possessions from his sight, replaced by a compilation of images showing his own viciousness that morning.

Images showing how dangerously close he had come to raping Akihito again, and how strangely blessed he now felt for not being able to get an erection for the first time in his life... How he had blindly reached for that chain whip, failing to realize that the boy didn't need any more punishment, that he could still have let him go, unscathed, at least physically.

_But not even that._

His stomach churned when he imagined the agonizing pain that those spikes must have caused as they tore through skin, flesh and bone, the gashes so deep and ugly that he was absolutely convinced he would be seeing them in his nightmares for many nights to come.

Ignoring the trembling of his hands against the plastic bag, he pictured a different ending to that morning, one in which he would not turn his back on the other man like a coward, hiding his own panic stricken face in the shadows of the secret room.

He would be enough of a man to grab his injured lover and take him to his private physician to have him patched up. He would let out a relieved sigh when the man said it was nothing but a scratch, that it would leave no marks, that he was ready to go home. And then everything would be forgiven and forgotten and he could at least sleep in peace, without feeling his heart race at the thought of Akihito bleeding out somewhere in Tokyo, far from his reach.

Yes, he liked that version of the facts better.

That, or he could keep telling himself that it had not been as bad as he thought it would be.

That Takaba Akihito had left with his dignity intact.

That he had behaved abnormally well under the circumstances.

A clean break up, as it should be.

Asami pursed his lips, his mouth dry as if he had been chewing cotton for the past two hours.

_No harm done._

 


	26. Loyalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings…”_
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> Anaïs Nin
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist: Tanimura Masayoshi is NOT an OC!! I know, I know, I tried to tag him accordingly but ao3 doesn't allow me to! He is a character from the Ryu ga Gotoku universe that I will be using very freely. Some parts of his story will be kept, others will be changed to fit the plot. If you are curious as to what he looks like, check [this vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePVhkLrzlQE). 
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As she sat next to the hospital bed where Takaba Akihito was now resting, Majima Makoto let her mind drift back to Sion, where she had been more than four hours prior.

_"It's funny... Over the years I have heard so many people tell me they had never found love," she had said to the bespectacled secretary sitting across from her. "And it always made me think. Had they not, really? Because, I truly think love is within reach, and it's easier to find than we imagine."_

_There had been a moment of silence, in which she could hear the man draw in a very long breath._

_"But humans are strange..." she continued. "We spend an entire life wishing for something to happen, and when it does happen, we don't know what to do."_

_She heard Kirishima Kei scoff. He sounded tired, and restless._

_At first, she had thought he had called her to blow off some steam and do some grieving of his own._

_Much to her surprise, however, the man had not even mentioned the name of his former fiancée._

_"Without telling you what your boss told me in confidence, I will just say something that you already know, because you were there," she said. "Hayashi Mirai was my client too, she told me that your connection to Asami goes far back, is that right?"_

_"Yes..."_

_She nodded upon his quiet, monosyllabic answer._

_"He is doing it again," she had told him, lost in thoughts of her own. "Asami... He is giving up."_  

++++

 "Masa-chan..."

The name and endearing honorific rolled off the blond receptionist's tongue like music, as she twisted a lock of hair between her fingers.

"It had been a while, I was beginning to miss you...."

Tanimura Masayoshi let out a faint smile when the girl leaned forward and pressed her chest against the reception desk on the fifth floor of Chuo General Hospital.

"How are things with you, Yumi?" he asked, taking a seat under one of the TV screens at the waiting room and taking a notepad out of his jacket pocket.

"Not so good, not so good..." the girl replied, after letting out a theatrical sigh. "My boyfriend dumped me. Can you believe that?"

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," he answered, his smooth and yet jovial voice eliciting another flirtatious pout from the young receptionist.

"Yeah... Turns out he was in love with someone else," she explained.

He raised his eyes from the notepad to the girl's face.

"Ouch."

"Ouch indeed..." she replied. "He's from Germany."

"Your ex?"

"No," the girl pouted again. "The guy he fell in love with."

Tanimura's eyebrows shot up, but his eyes had already drifted back to his notepad and he was far too busy looking at his notes to pay much attention to the girl's heartfelt complaints.

"Oh..." he mindlessly replied, trying to string together the bits of information he had about the patient he was about to interview. Takaba Akihito, 26 years old, photographer, single, minor scars in his wrist, back and chest, and now admitted with a concussion, bruised ribs, sprained muscles and lacerations on his back.

"Right?" somewhere ahead, he could hear the female voice speak again. "That sucks..."

"Yeah...it sucks..." he muttered, frowning as he looked at his notes.

"Good thing that now at least I get to hang out with men that can truly appreciate me..."

Again, the words rolled off her tongue as if she was singing, and she was batting her eyelashes so forcefully she looked like a cartoon character.

 _'Ain't you shit out of luck...'_ he thought to himself, when the girl tried to make her cleavage even more evident by pressing her chest closer to the edge of the table.

"I understand," he said, finally putting away his notepad. "Your ex should have been honest to you from the get go."

"I know, right?" she said, redoubling her efforts to look confident and attractive now that the detective's eyes were on her again. "I bet you are a decent man... If a girl started hitting on you and you were gay..." she raised an eyebrow, after checking him out shamelessly. "You would let her know, right?"

He was about to respond when the sound of heavy footsteps made him avert his gaze to the opposite side of the room.

"If it isn't Tanimura Masayoshi..." said a tall, dark-haired man carrying a suitcase and a folded jacket over one of his arms. ” _The parasite of Kabukicho_."

The detective had to bit the inside of his cheek not to snort.

"Prosecutor Kuroda..."

"I thought you had been kicked out of the force?" the bespectacled man asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was," Tanimura replied, trying his best to keep his voice casual. "And then I was called back."

"Huh. Tokyo police must be undergoing some severe skill shortage if they had to resort to that..." he heard the prosecutor say, barely bothering to hide his disdain. "How is all the illegal gambling going?"

Again, the detective forced himself to remain silent.

"Or maybe you haven't had time for that..." he heard the man continue, taking off his glasses for a moment to wipe a stain off one of the lenses with his handkerchief. "Too busy liaising with syndicates?"

Tanimura's nostrils flared. Kuroda's mocking tone was finally getting on his nerves. He knew he had his fair share of wrongdoing to atone for, but at least he had a motivation that had nothing to do with money, power or the pathetic social circles the prosecutor himself seemed to care so much for.

"I guess I am just following the example set by my superiors," the detective hissed. "Although they would rather liaise with politicians and...I don't know..." he took a step forward to stare into the other man's face, ". _..CEOs with a flair for shady dealings?_ "

The prosecutor narrowed his eyes, and the mocking smirk disappeared from his lips for the fraction of a second.

And then, he snorted.

"You know, Tanimura..." Kuroda said, sounding more derisive than ever. "No wonder you are always broke. You must be terrible at poker."

"It's not my favorite game, no."

"Of course not..." the man replied quietly, sizing him up. "You should go home. There is nothing to see here, I don't even know why you were called. I thought your line of investigation was human trafficking?"

"It is. That is why I asked all hospitals in the metropolitan area to notify me of any cases of patients with suspicious wounds," Tanimura said, his light brown eyes glowing with defiance although his tone was still casual. "You would be surprised by the number of people working in the sex industry I was able to help by coming to hospitals."

"Now aren't you Patron Saint of Niceness?" Kuroda replied, as the corners of his mouth curled into a sneer. "As I said, there is nothing for you here. Takaba Akihito is not in the sex industry and he most certainly does not need to be rescued."

The simple fact the prosecutor found it necessary to say so, made the detective come to the conclusion it was the _exact_ opposite.

"I see..." Tanimura replied, after a thoughtful nod. "An old acquaintance of yours?"

"No. He is an investigative photographer, and therefore..." the man paused, and his voice was cold when he spoke again, "...prone to _certain accidents._ "

_'Ha...Accidents my ass...'_

His thoughts must have been obvious enough to show in his face, because the prosecutor was now looking at him with a mixture of contempt and apprehension.

"Well," the young detective said, before reaching for his notepad with renewed interest. "If you don't mind, I would still like to talk to him."

There was a moment of silence, in which Kuroda's glare was his only response.

"Sure..." the man said at last, shrugging. "Good luck."

Judging by the silent threat in the prosecutor's eyes, he knew he was about to get into trouble.

A little smirk curled the corners of his lips when the man finally left him alone with a still sighing receptionist.

"Bring it on," he whispered to himself, before leaving the waiting room.

++++

Takaba Akihito blinked once, and then twice, when he found himself staring at a wall showered by rays of light.

He felt disoriented and absurdly tired, so his eyes fluttered shut again. He wondered if he was at Kou’s place, and if he was late for work…

His mind kept itself busy with many other pointless concerns. Was it Sunday? He didn’t remember undressing… Those sheets did not feel like the ones at the penthouse…

And then, images of the penthouse, of the secret room, of Asami and his fury danced before his closed eyes, and his chin trembled.

Maybe it all had been just a really bad nightmare. Soon enough, he would open his eyes, and find out he had fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for the man to get home.

Before he did, though, the smell of antiseptic and the prickling of a needle inside his elbow destroyed his illusion.

He had not fallen asleep on the couch.

He was not at Kou’s place.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye when he noticed he was wearing a hospital gown.

_He was in a damn hospital._

His back felt numb, but the memories that rushed to the front of his mind made his wounds burn and sting, as if to reinforce that what happened had not been a nightmare, not by a long shot...

A ragged sigh escaped his throat as he brought himself to a sitting position, his ears throbbing with the violent pounding inside his chest. He hated hospitals.

More than that, he hated the reasons that had brought him to one.

“Hey, take it easy,” he heard a female voice next to him say. “Don’t move too fast, or you will feel sick.”

And sick did he feel, as soon as he tried to lift himself off the bed.

“Stubborn, much?” the woman asked, when he covered his mouth and coughed half-heartedly. ”Drink some water, coughing might make your stitches pop.”

“Stitches?” he asked, letting the relieving coolness of the water soothe his dry throat and chapped lips. “How many?”

When the woman standing by his side merely pursed her lips in response, he repeated the question.

“How many stitches?”

Akihito saw her open her mouth to respond, but it was another female voice, from the other side of the bed, that provided him with the much-feared answer.

“Fifty-seven.”

Akihito’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“F-fifty-s-seven? _”_ he stuttered, a wave of panic flooding his veins as he looked from the blind lady to the tall Chinese woman. He had been injured before so he was well familiar with stitches. Ten, twenty, even thirty, when he was younger and fell off his scooter.

But _fifty fucking seven?_

“Is it gonna leave a scar?” he asked, foolishly. He already knew the answer to that question, but he couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, things were not as bad as they seemed?

Again, it was the shorter woman that spoke, her face somewhat serene even though her voice was obviously sad.

“There is always cosmetic surgery…”

Akihito felt his eyes fill with tears.

“L-Let me see it,” he said, his voice shaky as he tried to ignore the sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

“You can see it later, get some r-“

“I want to see it _now!_ ” he screamed, and the effort make him break into another coughing fit.

“Fine,” he heard the woman respond, after drawing in a long breath. “Li, can you help him get up?”

His entire body was shaking when he used his left hand to grab the taller woman’s arm to get out of the bed, fear crawling under his skin as he walked to the bathroom and stopped in front of the mirror.

“Listen,” he felt the woman cover his hand with hers when he gripped the hem of his gown. “Just remember it will get better, ok?”

The photographer bit back a sob, staring at his own feet as he tried not to cry.

“Ok?”

He nodded, and felt the woman let go of his hand to adjust the mirrors in the bathroom before untying his gown.

Akihito, however, took his time to lift his gaze to the image reflected on the mirror next to him, and when he finally convinced himself to look at his own reflection, his eyes were fixated on the back of his head for the longest minute in history.

No injuries there, at least.

But then, his eyes dropped to his right shoulder blade, and from there to his lower back, and his breath hitched when more tears rushed to his eyes, blurring his sight. Past the tears, he could see a hideous half moon of injuries stretching across his skin. Large, deep purple welts encircled a set of cuts and punctures, still swollen and red, made even uglier by the black thread of the stitches. His shoulder seemed to be twice its normal size, and the bruises and cuts there seemed to be darker and deeper than the others.

All of that, from a single blow. If Asami had continued, he might as well be dead by now.

“What did he hit me with?” he sobbed, when the woman behind him carefully tied his gown closed again so that his injuries were no longer in sight.

“A _qilinbian_ , probably,” the woman replied, quietly, as she led him back to bed. “It's a Chinese chain whip, I have one myself, it's used in martial arts but... not like that…”

Akihito could barely process what she was saying. Truth was, he didn’t need to know the specifics. He didn’t _want_ to know what Asami had used to hit him, it was enough to know that he had caused enough damage to _cripple_ him. Screw the name of the weapon he had picked - he felt stupid for even asking, and angry that the woman had actually answered.

“But I don't know...” much to his dismay, the Chinese lady continued her assessment. “They don't usually have spikes, unless it's a mod…”

“I am deformed,” he whispered, letting his shoulders droop in defeat as he sat on the bed and more tears ran down his face.

“That is because of the swelling,” the woman replied quietly, pulling the blanket up to cover his legs as he lay down. “It will get better with proper treatment.”

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, he tried to reach for his glass of water – this time, with his right hand, just to find out his arm wouldn’t budge.

“I can't move my arm,” he muttered, feeling a new wave of panic fill his veins. “What happened to my arm?”

“It's just the trauma,” the Chinese lady replied, her voice soothing and low. “You have a shoulder sprain and two bruised ribs, I know it hurts but it will all heal… You just have to give it time.”

“B-But... I, I can't move it,” he insisted, feeling his chest heave painfully with each sob he tried to stifle. How was he supposed to keep working as a photographer with a dead arm, what would he do with his life? Taking pictures was the only thing he was good at…

“It's temporary,” the woman replied, and he sat up and lowered his head just enough to hide the tears falling from his eyes to his lap. “Trust me, you will be able to move your arm soon. The doctor said your vertebrae are intact, there was no harm to internal organs, and you will gradually recover sensibility in your shoulder and back once the wounds heal.”

He wanted to find some kind of comfort in those words, he wanted to truly believe that those wounds would heal and leave him with no scars…

As it was, though, he was much more afraid of the other scars, those that no one else would be able to see because they would be many, many layers under his skin.

“Please lie down…” he heard the Chinese lady say.

Before he even had the chance to comply, the shorter woman opened the door behind him, entering the room with a gloomy expression on her face.

He hadn’t even noticed that she had been away.

“Takaba-san…” she said, after letting out a sigh. “Do you want to press charges?”

“W-What?”

“The hospital notified the police due to the suspicious nature of your injuries,” she explained. “I can handle the situation but I need to know what you want to do…”

Akihito felt he had been hit in the head with a brick.

_Press charges._

His lips curled into a sad smile when he remembered that not long ago, he and Asami were sipping hot drinks and having meals together like any regular couple. After so much time coexisting under the same roof, the two of them seemed to have finally moved forward, what with Asami letting him learn more about his past, his troubles, his family…

And now… he was being asked if he wanted to _press charges_ against him.

_Talk about a crazy turn of events._

“Do you want to press charges?” the woman asked again.

After swallowing the giant knot in his throat, he shook his head, ignoring the tears still spilling from his eyes.

“I’m sorry, is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” she whispered, after giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

 _Shit._ He had forgotten she was blind.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, his voice nasal as he covered his nose to block the impending flood of snot. “I’m sorry. It’s a no, it’s a no.”

He wiped his tears on the back of his left arm, still trying to bounce back from his _faux pas._

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly.

His eyes darted from her small frame to the hardened expression of the Chinese woman behind her.

The two of them looked mildly surprised.

“Yes,” he replied, certain of his decision even though the reasons behind it were still muddy to him. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

++++

Tanimura was about to approach the nurse heading to Takaba Akihito's room when a short woman appeared by his side.

"Officer?" she asked, and he automatically reached for the Tokyo Metropolitan Police badge on his belt.

Only then did he realise that her vacant eyes were looking right through him, and her slender fingers were clutching a white cane.

"Yes, my name is Tanimura Masayoshi," he replied, bowing respectfully even though he knew he could not be seen. "I'm with Community Safety, I hear a Takaba Akihito has been admitted with serious injuries to his back?"

"Yes."

"Are you a member of his family?"

"No..." the woman replied, her face just as calm as her voice. "More like a... family friend..."

"Ah...I see."

"Name's Majima Makoto," she added.

He opened his notepad with a slight frown. It was almost as if the woman in front of him was expecting him to say something, but the name did not ring any bells.

If anything, he knew at least half a dozen Majimas, all of them ordinary citizens.

As if the noticing his hesitation, the woman spoke again.

"As in.. Majima Goro, former Lieutenant of the Tojo Clan."

He couldn't help but gasp.

Oh, _that_ Majima.

"I am his widow."

"M-Majima-san..." he stuttered, bowing once again to show his respect.

"Tanimura Masayoshi..." she said, her voice distant and quiet. "You are the cop that helped Saejima Taiga prove his innocence in the Ueno Seiwa hit, aren't you?"

"Yes," the detective replied, his lips curling downwards as he spoke. "I can't believe he's dead..."

For an entire year, the two men had worked together to uncover a scandal within the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, and survived the most absurd, life-threatening situations...

_Just for the older man to fall dead with a stab to his throat in Asami Ryuichi's headquarters._

"He was an extraordinary man," Tanimura whispered. "I hear that so was your husband."

Majima Makoto chuckled in response.

"Funny words to hear from a police officer."

"You wouldn't hear me say those words a couple of years ago," he explained. "But things change... I realized that there might be more honorable people in the Tojo than in the police force..."

He let his gaze drop to his shoes, lost in thought. It had only been five years since he joined the force, but he already felt old and jaded; the only surprises his career had provided him with had been far from pleasant.

"Maybe..." the woman replied. "People lose sight of their values very easily these days."

He nodded silently, feeling a certain pang of guilt.

He knew he was no saint himself...

"Look, Tanimura-san..." she continued. "Takaba Akihito... He doesn't want to press charges."

He blinked a couple of times. In his brief "woo-is-me" moment, he had nearly forgotten about the injured photographer.

"Does he know the aggressor?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Ah...I see."

He pursed his lips, images of his encounter with Prosecutor Kuroda flashing before his eyes.

There was _no way_ his presence at that hospital had been a mere coincidence.

He stole a glance past the small glass window and saw the back of the young man's head. There was something shady going on, but if the photographer had opted to leave the police out of that case, his hands were tied.

"Well... In that case, I think there is nothing I can do..." he said, averting his gaze back to the face of the woman in front of him. "If there is...please let me know."

"Thanks," she replied, before bowing politely and excusing herself. "Have a good day."

"You too, Majima-san..."

In silence, he waited until the woman had disappeared behind the door to take his leave.

++++

Inside the room, Akihito's mood alternated between despondent, combative and downright depressed. The nurse had explained that was to be expected due to his concussion, but being told that his head was bound to malfunction was not doing much to cheer him up.

"What's your name again?" he asked the Chinese woman, his voice void of enthusiasm.

"Li Jiao."

"Li Jiao..." he repeated. "And what do you do for a living?"

The woman crossed her arms, frowning as her eyes searched the other woman sitting at the far end of the room.

The photographer took her silence as a personal offense.

"Bouncer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Babysitter? Hired gun? No?" his voice, by then, was hitting a dangerous crescendo of sarcasm. "Frustrated housewife? Huh? Am I close?"

Li Jiao merely scrunched up her face in response, every line of her face screaming a very loud _"what's-with-this-guy?"_.

In the meantime, a very agitated Takaba Akihito kept shaking his legs over the edge of the bed, his eyes darting across the room like a caged animal looking for a way to break free of captivity.

"And you?" with a tilt of his chin, he elected the blind lady as his new target. "Your name is not Miyuki, is it? I bet it's a fake. I heard her call you 'Majima-sama', when you thought I was asleep."

He paused, just to exchange a very contemptuous look with the Chinese lady by his side.

"You are no ordinary counsellor, are you?" he asked, getting even more flustered when the woman's mouth curled into a smirk. "What are you, some kind of serial killer?"

"Takaba-san..." she said, resting her head on one of her hands as she spoke. "Is there anyone you would like to call?"

The question seemed to steal the photographer of his belligerent vibe, and he lowered his eyes to the ground.

"Yes..." he answered, with a much more contained tone. "My friend... His name is Kou."

What he would tell Kou when he called him, he still didn't know.

"Ok..." he heard the counsellor respond. "What is his number?"

"It's...on my phone," he answered, narrowing his eyes as he tried to remember the last time he had used the device. "My phone... I think... it's inside the jacket."

"I can't find the jacket..." he heard Li Jiao whisper, as she walked around the room.

And then, he remembered.

"Shit," he muttered, feeling a fresh wave of despair hit him. "Shit! I left it in the penthouse..."

Noticing the distress in his voice, the blind woman stood up and approached the bed.

"Calm down," she said, covering one of his hands with hers.

"I can't remember his number," Akihito said, eyes filling with tears when phone numbers, addresses and birthdays formed an indistinct jumble inside his head, just to vanish into a cloud of smoke. "I-I can't remember his number..." he repeated, his voice shaking with the fear that his brain damage was worse than he thought, "His name is Kou...He lives...he lives...on...on..."

Of course, he was not able to remember his friend's address either, so instead of a street name, he finished his sentence with a sob.

"Takaba-san..." by his side, the woman's voice was low and soothing. "I need you to calm down. They gave you some very strong painkillers, and with the concussion it is only natural to have a hard time remembering things."

Only then did he realize that she was still holding his hand, her thumb tracing gentle circular patterns on his skin.

He let out a whimper when he lifted his eyes to her face. All that comfort and the kindness in her voice made him think of his mother, and his sobbing intensified.

That damn concussion was really fucking him up.

"Take it easy, young man..." she added, patting him on the head before spinning on her heels and walking towards the door. "Give me a minute, I will see what I can do."

He nodded quietly, feeling embarrassed for his current state of mind. When she left the room, and it was only him and the Chinese lady again, he felt his face was on fire.

"I'm sorry..." he muttered, after finally gathering the courage to look at her face. "For...you know...the frustrated housewife comment..."

He sniffled, and wiped his face with the collar of his gown as he cast a sideways glance towards her, just in time to see a small smile curl the corners of her lips.

"It's okay," she replied, with her arms crossed again.

"Yes, okay indeed," the counsellor said as soon as she got back into the room. "Do you have a friend called Maya?"

Akihito couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"She's Asami's daughter..." he whispered.

"Is she your friend?"

 _Was she?_ Well...probably. It was not as if they had spent that much time together but at that point, he could at least say they got along well.

He nodded quietly, just to remember, once again, that the woman couldn't see him.

"Y-Yes..." he finally responded.

"Do you want to talk to her?" the counsellor asked. "I got her phone number."

A concerned frown wrinkled his forehead.

"From whom?" he asked.

"Not from Asami, don't worry."

He watched when the woman passed him the phone, with Maya's number ready to be dialed at the touch of a button.

He swallowed as he waited for the call to connect. What exactly was he gonna say?

_"Yo, Akihito!"_

"Kou?" Akihito asked, frowning at the male voice.

_"No, silly, this is Maya! Can't believe you fell for it!"_

"Oh..." he whispered, failing to react to her prank with the expected enthusiasm. "Is Kou with you?"

 _"Yeah,"_ she heard the girl reply. _"You wait until you hear what he did today. It was pretty awesome."_

"Oh?"

 _"We have a lot of new information about the Omi, we have to get together and talk about this,"_ she continued. _"Where are you now?"_

The Omi.

His thoughts sent him back to the last conversation he had had with Hayashi Mirai, and his heart skipped a beat.

She had asked him to take care of them, of Asami and Maya, and he had failed. The girl had only come to him in the first place because of her father - now, they had just lost the one thing that bonded them. He had lost Asami, he would probably lose Maya too, and the spirit of the girl's mother was probably looking down at him sternly and shaking her head in disappointment.

"I... I'm sorry..." he said, feeling his stomach sink.

 _"What?"_ on the other side of the line, Maya sounded terribly confused. _"Why?"_

"I was supposed to help the two of you get back together, but now I can’t…" he explained, his voice shaky as more tears rushed to his eyes. "I’m sorry…"

_"Akihito…you are not making any sense."_

"I…Your father and I…" he forced himself to explain, despite the lacerating pain inside his chest. "We are not together anymore."

He covered his mouth to stifle a sob. Saying it aloud only made it even more real.

_"What happened?"_

"I… I don’t wanna talk about it..."

 _"Where are you?"_ the girl asked, her voice showing her evident concern. _"Are you at Kou’s?"_

"No, I…I don’t know."

_"You don’t know where you are?"_

"No, I know where I am, I just…"

And then, it occurred to him that there was no way he could tell her he was at the hospital without letting her know exactly what had happened. His injuries would not be easy to hide and he knew the girl would be just as horrified by them as he was, perhaps more so. Maya already had a very low opinion of her father as it was - he didn't need to give her yet another reason to hate him.

If anything, not for Asami's sake, but for her own, and his.

After all, it was not as if he wanted his friends to pity him.

"I need some time on my own," he said at last, after clearing his throat.

_"But…where are you going to stay?"_

That question, he could not answer either. He had no idea what to do, and it only made his sense of loss reach new heights.

_"Akihito?"_

Quietly, he pressed the end button on the screen and finished the call.

When he looked out of the window, he realized that the sun was beginning to set, and the truth finally hit him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had expected Asami and his assistants to show up and take him away from that place. The man would still be pissed, but at least he would take him back home, make sure to keep him under his wing, like he always did, no matter how mad he was. He would still hold on to him, keep tabs on him, remind him that he belonged to him and that he was not going anywhere.

The fact that he had not shown up just confirmed that this time, he was really on his own.

Asami would not look for him, not to apologise, not to take him back.

Akihito felt a single drop escape the corner of his eye, as if his body was too tired to produce more tears after an entire day of grieving.

"I don't want to stay here," he whispered, trying to swing his legs out of the bed when he realized another nurse had come to check on him, every now and then stealing glances at his back as if he was some sort of circus attraction.

"Where are you going?" he heard the counsellor ask.

"I don't know...somewhere," he muttered, reaching for the needle stuck in the inside of his elbow and feeling the Chinese woman hold his hand before he could rip the IV out of his vein.

"Just... Leave me alone!"

The protest seemed to have taken away what was left of his energy, and all of a sudden he felt so exhausted he could barely move his eyes.

His entire body felt heavy, and he forced himself to turn his head to the side, looking at the nurse and the syringe in her hand...and that was the last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered closed.

++++

An hour later, Majima Makoto sat next to the bed where the photographer slept peacefully – or as close as it got to that – in one of her many guest rooms in her house in Shinjuku.

Again, her thoughts drifted to the conversation she had had with Kirishima Kei that morning.

_"Giving up?" the man had asked, after a long pause. “So that is it? He will do it again, and there is nothing we can do?”_

_“Asami is the only one that can change the story he wrote for himself,” she replied._

_“But the kid...Takaba...”_

_“Why do you worry so much about him?”_

_She could hear the man shift on his seat, and draw in a long breath before replying._

_“The night...Mirai died,” he whispered, and she couldn’t help but notice the bleakness in his voice, “she was holding a picture. Of her daughter, Takaba and a friend,” he explained, before taking another pause. “If there is one thing I know, is that she had never stopped loving him. Not even when we were engaged,” he said, the words flowing out of his mouth seamlessly despite the obvious sadness they elicited. “I knew that for her, Asami Ryuichi would always be the one. She always cared deeply about him, despite everything. She didn't want him to be alone.”_

_Makoto nodded quietly as he spoke. Hayashi Mirai had been one of her clients, after all, so she knew exactly how accurate Kirishima’s assessment was._

_“That night...I think she had finally accepted it,” he added. “That he had found someone else, someone that... I think she had made her peace,” she heard him gulp, and reached for his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. “She could finally let go, because she knew he would be in good hands.”_

_And then, his hand slipped from under hers, and she heard the faintest sniffle._

_She made a mental note to remind herself to invite him for a drink after that storm had passed. It sounded like Asami’s first assistant could do with a break – the man sounded like he was about to burst into a cloud of sadness._

_“When I look at that kid now, all I can think of is...” he said, after clearing his throat. “I can't let it all go to waste. Do you understand?”_

_She nodded in response, a sad smile curling the corners of her mouth when his phone started ringing and he excused himself to answer it._

Let it all go to waste.

_After so many years of counselling men and women plagued by regret and loss, Makoto sometimes felt their burdens weigh on her shoulders as well._

_She had once read somewhere that love never dies a natural death... Oh, yes, now she remembered. Anaïs Nin. She used to say that love dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. ‘It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings…’_

_She frowned when somewhere behind her, she heard Kirishima mutter the word ‘deplorable’. At that moment, she knew she should brace herself for the worst._

_“It was Shinada,” Kirishima said, after the call had ended. “Takaba's bodyguard._ Former _bodyguard,” he corrected. “He reported that Takaba just left the penthouse.”_

_Reaching for her phone, Makoto pressed a button and waited for her driver to answer._

_“Follow the kid, but do not approach,” she said to the man that had been previously allocated to the whereabouts of Asami’s penthouse. “Send me your GPS coordinates, and wait until Li and I get there.”_

_When Makoto stood up, Li Jiao was already heading to the door, with the keys to their spare BMW in hand._

_She let out a sigh._

_Perhaps she had decided to help not because Kirishima had asked, after all. Perhaps she would have helped anyway, because there is a time in one's life when the battles left to fight are no longer their own, but somebody else's. Or maybe it was just her nature to reach out for those in need, and help them get back on their feet._

_Whether helping Takaba Akihito get back on his feet would result in him mending his relationship with Asami Ryuichi, or putting an end to their story, it was too early to tell._

_People's desires, and loyalties, had a mind of their own._

_“I will keep you posted,” she said, walking past Kirishima and giving his shoulder a quick pat before walking out of the room._


	27. The ground beneath his feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asami is a ticking bomb waiting to explode. Allies, beware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Warning: when I tagged Asami Ryuichi/Original Female Character, it was this chapter I had in mind. Yikes! Thanks, Lainie, for the hand sanitizer, I certainly need it after typing the scene in which Asami tries to stick his magic wand where he shouldn’t. ~~Spoiler alert: and gets cockblocked. Ha!~~
> 
> That being said, I miscalculated how long this chapter would be so I am breaking it in two parts. Mildly Sadistic Kirishima Kei ended up in part 2, which is pretty much finished as well, so expect another update soon!
> 
> Thanks for your patience! ^_^

 

Asami Ryuichi crossed his legs and leaned against the thin cushion covering the lounge chair in the balcony, a vacant shadow clouding his eyes as he watched the city from the top of his penthouse.

The air was cold and dry, and it insisted on sneaking under the only piece of fabric covering his skin, stealing whatever heat had been left in his body. He blinked slowly, and tightened the robe around his waist, mindlessly. He was unsure as to how many minutes, or hours, had gone by since he had gotten out of the shower.

Judging by the cans and bottles by his side and the ashtray filled to the brim, enough time for him to drink half of his supply of liquor and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes.

His head was about to explode.

By now, he should have been able to find something to distract him. It was only a matter of picking a crisis to think about - he had plenty of problems to choose from.

Give him syndicates, missing cargos, subordinates trying to pull a stunt on him, anything. All he needed was something, _anything,_ to occupy his thoughts.

And yet, his mind remained blank, vacant, uncooperative - not a single thought came to his rescue, other than the ones that carved his own guilt and regret deep into his chest, a dull, intangible pain spreading across his body as if his own blood had turned into poison.

A brief glance towards his cell phone showed him an endless list of missed calls, mainly from Kirishima and Kuroda. What those two wanted from him, he did not know. What had happened was none of their concern, anyway.

The sound of the doorbell struck him like thunder, and he squeezed his eyes shut painfully before standing up.

He hoped it was not Shinada again - he had made it clear he needed more time to finish packing Akihito's belongings. An obvious lie, of course - he had finished packing a long time ago, what he needed was to gather the courage to let go of all the bags and boxes.

Eventually, he would. Only...perhaps not that night.

When he opened the door, however, his expectations were proven wrong. Instead of the bulky bodyguard, he found Kuroda Shinji waiting outside with a suitcase in hand and his coat folded over one of his arms.

"Sorry for showing up unexpectedly," he said. "But you were not answering your phone."

With an annoyed sigh, Asami opened the door and motioned for the other man to come in, barely bothering to hide the calamitous state of his apartment, still cluttered with boxes, bags and empty cans and bottles of alcohol.

"Tokyo Police was called in today at the Chuo General Hospital," he heard the prosecutor explain, after the two of them were sitting opposite each other in the living room. "It seems that Takaba Akihito was admitted with... _suspicious injuries_."

Silently, Asami raised his eyes from the floor to the man's face, just to notice him scanning the living room with a concerned frown.

"I got there as soon as I could to inform the hospital it had been an accident, but a cop from the Community Safety division decided to show up as well," the man continued, tearing his eyes from one of the garbage bags to finally look at him. "I believe the situation is under control. I have asked my men at the force to keep me informed, but so far it seems that Takaba did not press charges."

Asami felt his temples throb painfully.

He couldn't say he was surprised. For a while now, Akihito seemed to be aware that the police force was not exactly to be trusted, and that Asami's connections were solid enough to guarantee that no charges pressed against him would stick anyway.

More importantly, what he wondered was _how_ he had ended up in a hospital. He knew Akihito dreaded hospitals like the plague - he remembered the struggle it had been every time to get the young man into one after his countless mishaps, and how most of the times he had had to be sedated to accept proper medical attention.

"Who took him to the hospital?" Asami asked, his voice distant and low as he stared mindlessly at the rug.

"Uh..." he heard the flipping of pages before Kuroda replied. "According to the hospital records, two women, Akimoto Kaoru and Zhuan Chen. Why?"

Asami narrowed his eyes.

"Did you see them?" he asked.

"I caught a glimpse of them, yes," Kuroda replied. "But very quickly, I didn't want them or Takaba to notice me."

"What did they look like?"

He saw the prosecutor touch the rim of his glasses with a concentrated frown.

"One of them was Chinese...the other had short hair...I couldn't see her face, but she was holding a white cane, so I assume she was visually impaired. Why?"

Asami’s eyes, once again, dropped to the ground.

_What were the odds?_

"No reason," he whispered quietly.

After that, he truly hoped Kuroda would realize he was not in the mood to talk, neither about business or worse, about his personal life.

The man, however, glanced around the living room one more time before speaking again.

“You sent him away, didn’t you?”

Asami felt one of his eyes twitch. The words made his heart beat irregularly, and his clammy hands closed into fists by his side.

“Why the long face?” he asked, his voice low and emotionless as he stared at the prosecutor. “Of all people, I thought you would be the one celebrating. You never approved of my relationship with Takaba...”

“I was only worried,” Kuroda was quick to reply, shifting slightly on his seat.

“About me, losing my edge,” this time, his words came out clipped, and his eyes were probably showing just as much of his bitterness as his voice. “Yes, I remember.”

“You sound offended, but you know I was right,” the prosecutor continued.

If anything, he had to applaud the man for having the nerve to even dare to engage in that discussion, given his participation in the events that had led to that morning’s catastrophe.

It had been his suggestion, after all, to get Akihito involved in that perfidious investigation, and now that he thought of it, it might as well have been due to the prosecutor’s relentless taunts that the photographer had become so determined to help and prove his value.

As if Akihito ever needed to prove anything to him… As if he didn’t know his value…

All of a sudden, he felt tempted to throw the bespectacled man sitting across from him out of the window.

And then, of course, to jump right behind.

“He was a liability, Ryuichi, perhaps... It was better this way,” the muscles of his jaw clenched when Kuroda continued his assessment of the situation. “I just did not expect you to be so… _devastated_.”

The word felt like a slap on his face. Had he become that obvious? Was that how his allies would now look at him, as if he was some kind of tame, manipulable weakling?

“I am not devastated,” he replied, his eyes glowing dangerously as he tried to void his face of any troubling emotion.

“Well... You are surrounded by garbage bags with his belongings, and it seems you have been drinking for a while,” Kuroda said simply, averting his gaze to the floor when the glare cast towards him intensified. “I guess it's safe to assume, at least, that you are not doing very well.”

Asami allowed the tiniest of smirks to curl the corners of his mouth. For a moment, he had almost been convinced that Kuroda was genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. But then, his mind was quick to remind him that an ally does not necessarily translate into a _friend_ , not when their connection is based on favors and deception.

If anything, the prosecutor was concerned, once again, that his emotions would get in the way of their business.

“Do you...even want to know what his condition is?” he heard the man ask, unaware of his bitter thoughts.

“No.”

The answer rolled off his lips before he had time to think about the question.

“I...was able to retrieve his medical file before it was sent to Tokyo Police, to avoid any scandals...” Kuroda seemed to have finally realized that a close to that conversation was long overdue. “I will leave it here, in case you change your mind.

Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Asami snorted quietly.

“You've done more than enough…” he replied, in a morose whisper.

“I see...” the other man replied, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “Whenever you are ready to discuss my findings about the Omi informants, let me know.”

When the district attorney got to his feet and headed to the door, Asami showed no intention of lifting his gaze to the man’s face, let alone standing up for a proper farewell.

Kuroda could see his way out on his own.

“Take care…” the prosecutor whispered.

To that, Asami gave no response either.

++++

“Kirishima?”

The bespectacled secretary was so busy trying to find his way around the sea of manila folders covering his desk that he barely heard Suoh call his name.

“Kirishima?”

“What?” he finally acknowledged the other man’s presence, not even bothering to hide his tiredness – the expected result of a double journey consisting of his usual duties at Sion and the added responsibility of babysitting the company’s CEO.

“When is Asami-sama coming back to Sion?” the bodyguard asked.

The secretary glanced down at his watch.

“Very soon, I hope,” Kirishima replied. “The Annual General Meeting is scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes.”

It had been three days already.

Three days of delivering confidential reports personally at the penthouse, just to find his boss with the same aggravated expression on his face each time. It was mystifying, to say the least, that the man seemed intent on holding on to the multiple boxes and bags scattered around the place – the one time the secretary had foolishly offered to take them away, his suggestion had been met with such a sour glare that he opted not to bring up the topic again.

In the meantime, he would do what he knew how to do best: he would bring Asami Ryuichi to a full recovery, doing the laundry, airing the futon, cooking his meals – which, by the way, the man had not even bothered to eat – staying way past midnight for the conference calls with their subsidiaries in Europe and in the United States, dodging the occasional criticism and snarky remarks that he knew was the way the man vented feelings that had nothing to do with him.

One of the many things he had learnt after nearly fifteen years of being a part of his life.

“Plus,” Kirishima continued, forcing himself to fight his own exhaustion as he searched for the minutes of the meeting that was about to begin, “he has a meeting with the leader of the Baishe tomorrow. I don't think Liu Fei Long would be pleased if he didn't show up.”

Suoh nodded quietly, as if lost in his own thoughts.

“Are you not concerned?” he heard the blond man whisper.

“About what?”

“About him.”

“Him, who?” the secretary asked, raising an eyebrow. “Fei Long or our boss?”

“The boss,” Suoh replied, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that none of the board execs heading to the conference room down the hall could hear his concerns. “Well, Fei Long too, whenever he is around someone ends up getting shot…”

Kirishima’s eyebrows went up, and he had no choice but to nod in agreement.

He still remembered how all of them had been strained to their limits with the Hong Kong episode – both physically and psychologically.

He suspected, however, that their troubles at the time would pale in comparison to what Takaba Akihito had had to endure, being passed around from mafia leader to mafia leader…

His mouth went dry when his mind reminded him of the look of pure terror in the kid’s eyes when he finally joined him at the stern of the ship, how his entire body shook as he gripped his arm as if his life depended on it, how he seemed to be hanging by a thread…

And, of course, how emotionally unstable their boss had become during their separation.

He took off his glasses, his eyes vacant as he stared at the manila folders in front of him.

“I think, Suoh... that we have some very bad days ahead of us,” he whispered. “And that is not a concern, it's a certainty.”

The words had barely left his mouth when the hallway went absolutely quiet, and they both turned their heads in time to see a row of senior executives bowing to welcome the CEO of Sion into the conference room.

When the man turned around, Kirishima could see that his eyes were hollow, grave, and dangerous. Not very different from the usual, except that there was an additional shadow of turmoil that only those very acquainted with the man’s subtleties would be able to notice. 

With a silent nod, Kirishima bid his goodbyes to Suoh and exited his room to join his boss, who had already taken his place at the head of the table.

Going about the usual procedures, Asami Ryuichi seemed to be at the top of his game. Both his posture and voice were firm, and left no room for debate as to whom was in charge as he called the meeting to order and directed his secretary to read the minutes of their previous annual general meeting.

"Are there any corrections to the minutes?" he asked, his golden eyes slowly but thoroughly scanning the faces of each exec sitting around the table.

Not many dared to meet the scorching, penetrating gaze.

"There being none, the minutes stand approved as read," Kirishima heard his boss continue, before inviting him to present the company’s annual report.

His lengthy presentation was followed by reports from Sion’s treasurer and internal auditing committee, and the secretary realised with no small amount of relief that his boss seemed to be completely focused on the numbers and facts presented to him.

 _A busy mind was a mind safe from destructive thoughts_ , he pondered, and as long as the man defended Sion's interests with the same fierce determination as he always did, he could at least hope his state of mind was not as dire as he had initially assessed.

He was still studying the man's face when he saw the precise moment his attention slipped, his eyes suddenly clouded and vacant as he stared at the glossy surface of the conference table.

The manager of Club Ambitious was presenting his case, trying to explain the unexplainable, sweating bullets as he pointed to graphs and came up with all kinds of excuses to justify the disparity in the numbers spotted by the team of auditors.

In the meantime, Asami Ryuichi was lost in his own thoughts, for the first time failing to exert his power over the other members of the board, even though not all of them were aware of it yet, what with openly avoiding looking at him in the eye.

And then, there was silence, in which all eyes finally shifted to the man sitting at the head of the table, waiting for his verdict.

Slowly, Kirishima saw the golden eyes focus again, although he had no doubts whatsoever the man hadn't heard a single word of what had been said in the past fifteen minutes.

"Resolved," was the verdict.

" _Not_ resolved," the secretary found himself saying.

The wave of gasps that followed was almost as unsettling as the ferocious sideways glance the CEO cast towards him, the reprimand hitting him with the silent crack of an invisible whip.

He reached for a piece of paper, and scribbled down a word before passing it to the man by his side.

_Adjourn._

After a brief moment, in which he saw his boss's nostrils flare dangerously, the silence was finally broken.

"This meeting stands adjourned to meet tomorrow at 9 am."

The man's quiet voice appeared to send chills down the other execs' spines, and one after the other, they all rushed to leave the room after a series of extremely polite bows, until the CEO and his secretary were the only ones left behind.

"Sir, I-"

"Kirishima."

The secretary had no time to explain himself. The fierce, menacing gaze of the other man had already shifted to his face, demanding silence.

"The next time you contradict me in front of the board," he heard his boss say, his voice deceptively calm despite the obvious anger in his golden eyes, "there will be consequences."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Denied."

"Well, my apologies," the secretary replied, his pitch hitting a nervous crescendo as he spoke. "I will speak anyway."

The other man narrowed his eyes, but Kirishima was not intimidated. Not that long ago, he had found it in him to smack his boss upside the head upon finding him under the influence of drugs after having clearly engaged in sexual relations with Takaba Akihito in his office; he would not hesitate to be the one to force the man to sober up and take his job seriously once again.

"I would not have needed to contradict you if your mind had been here. But it wasn't," he refused to lower his eyes even when the other man's lips tightened in a thin line of disapproval. "And you had just agreed to close down Club Ambitious on the grounds of, the manager said, and I quote, _'high cost of maintenance and insufficient profits'_ ," he continued, without missing a beat. "However, to anyone actually paying attention to his presentation, it was fairly obvious that the only reason the profits were low was because he has been tampering with the club earnings and probably keeping a fair share of the money to himself."

As he rested his case, Kirishima couldn't help but notice that his words, if anything, had only made the other man look even more resentful.

"So you are saying he is stealing from me," he heard the CEO say, squeezing a pen between his fingers with so much strength he was expecting it to break in two pieces at any moment, "and I almost let him get away with it."

"Yes."

"Do you think I'm losing my edge, Kirishima?"

He would have to be very careful as to how he would answer that question. There would be no point denying that spacing out during the most important meeting of the year was a terrible sign, but the idea Asami Ryuichi was ‘losing his edge’ couldn't be further from the truth.

"No, sir," he replied, his voice calm and collected after he allowed himself a moment of respite. "You just appeared to be awfully distracted a few minutes ago."

The man by his side seemed to have sensed his hesitation, and a dangerous smirk curled the corners of his mouth.

That was a prelude to bad news.

"You know, Kirishima, maybe you are right. Maybe I do need to clear my mind of _distractions..._ " he said, his eyes gleaming dangerously as he placed special emphasis on the last word. "Perhaps I should...blow off some steam?"

The secretary merely blinked in response.

Being well acquainted with his boss's preferred activities for _blowing off some steam_ , he couldn't wait to see what kind of imbroglio he would come up with this time.

"Here is what. Since our AGM was...adjourned," one of the man's eyebrows went up, and his eyes still seemed to be gleaming with spite as he laced his fingers together and rested his chin on top of his hands. "I am taking a break. Your next assignment is to find me an escort."

The secretary almost let out a relieved sigh. If all he wanted was sex, there was a slim chance his day would come to a close without him having to dispose of dead bodies in Tokyo Bay.

_Hopefully._

"Male or female?" he asked, picking up his pen and a spare piece of paper to jot down the requirements.

"Female."

"Any preferences?"

"Yes."

At the lack of further detail, Kirishima looked up, waiting.

"Long brown hair, brown eyes..." the other man finally said, and the secretary could feel the weight of his gaze on him. "Tall. Half Japanese. _Half Thai._ "

The pen on his hand slowed down, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

_So that was what it was all about._

"With... or without tattoos?" Kirishima asked, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the rush of adrenalin flooding his veins.

"Good, you get the point," he heard his boss reply, and he had to bit the inside of his cheek at his vindictive tone. "Without."

After swallowing a lump in his throat, the secretary finished his notes by scribbling a name next to the list of traits he would have to look for.

_Hayashi Mirai._

"Do your best," the man continued. "If you find someone that measures up to Mirai, I would be willing to _share._ "

There was a moment of deliberate silence, in which his boss seemed to be savoring the distress his words were causing.

The tension in the room was so thick that the air between them could be cut with a knife.

"Or maybe...you could just wait _until I am done with her to take your turn_ ," he concluded, before snapping a manila folder closed and pushing his chair back to stand up. "That seems to be more your style."

The malevolence in the baritone voice left the secretary at a loss for words.

Fifteen years later, he was still amazed at Asami Ryuichi's ability to detect and use people's vulnerabilities to retaliate against them.

With trembling hands, he took off his glasses, just in time to hear the man speak again.

"You have one hour," he said, walking towards the door with his usual grace and concealed fury. "Do not disappoint me."

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

_Again._

_And again._

Kirishima waited until his face was no longer on fire, his blood pressure no longer making his eardrums throb, to stand up and head back to his desk.

If things kept going south, one of them would probably end up having a stroke.

Judging by the looks of it, probably him.

++++

It was still early in the morning when Maya heard the door to her hotel room open.

"Kou?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbows to look at the young man through half-closed eyes. "I thought you were going to work?"

"I was, but I...” she heard the young man reply, and made room for him to sit on the bed, next to her. “I want to talk to you about something."

The girl couldn’t help but notice his voice was full of concern.

"What is it?" she asked, even though she suspected she knew the answer.

"I'm worried about Akihito," Kou replied.

"He hasn't called you?"

"No..." the boy continued, raising his dark eyes to her face. "And don't get me wrong, I know the two of you are friends too, but I just find it odd that he called you that day, and not me."

"I know...” Maya whispered, frowning as she remembered the last time she and Akihito had talked. “It is strange, and it's been three days...”

"I know he said he needed some time on his own but I just have a bad feeling," Kou spoke again, and unconsciously Maya found herself tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear, staring at his face with a slight frown.

When she realized what she was doing, she pulled her hand back as if she had touched hot iron.

The designer, however, was so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely seemed to have registered the unexpected demonstration of affection.

"Every time I call, it goes straight to voicemail," he added.

"What do you think we should do?" Maya asked, shifting on the bed and rubbing her eyes on the heels of her hands as she spoke.

"I was wondering...” she heard the young man reply, as he rubbed the back of his neck with a distant look in his eyes. “Maybe you can call that friend of yours, the cop?"

"Masa?"

"Yeah. Maybe he knows something."

Maya raised her eyebrows, nodding quietly. Akihito had definitely not sounded like himself when he called, and even though she had avoided thinking about the worst, three days was a long time to go by without news.

"Sure,” she said, reaching for her cell phone before stumbling out of bed. “Let's find out right now."

She was looking at her reflection in the mirror when her friend answered the phone.

_"Tanimura."_

"Masa? It's Maya."

_"Oh, hi, Maya-chan!"_

"Hi…” she said quietly, failing to match the detective’s cheerful tone. “Masa, I... I have a friend that has been missing for three days now...,” she explained. “I was wondering if you can check the police database to see if he got into some kind of trouble."

 _"Sure,_ ” Tanimura replied, his voice almost drowned by what sounded a lot like the hustle and bustle of a street market. _“What's his name?"_

"Takaba. Takaba Akihito."

 _"Taka-hold on,”_ he said, and all of a sudden the background noise seemed to fade, as if the detective had brought the phone closer to his lips. _“You mean, the photographer?"_

Maya felt her stomach sink.

It could not be a good sign that the police recognized the name of her friend that fast.

"Y-Yes,” she stuttered, feeling the palms of her hands grow damp. “Why? H-How...Do you know him?"

" _Uh, not really, no..."_ Tanimura replied, his voice lower and completely void of his initial enthusiasm. _"You said he's your friend, yeah?"_

"Yeah..."

_"Well, I am not sure what kind of trouble he got into, but he was admitted to Chuo General Hospital three days ago."_

She felt her pulse race, a mixture of guilt and concern clutching her insides.

She should have known something was wrong, she should have looked for the police earlier…

"H-Hospital?” she asked, whipping her head around in time to see Kou spring from the bed. “Why, what is wrong with him?"

She could hear the man on the other side of the line take a deep breath before answering.

 _"He had serious injuries on his back, a sprained shoulder… And a concussion, I think,”_ he explained. _“Maybe broken ribs too, I can’t remember now. The doctors sent out an alert for physical assault but Takaba-san chose not to press charges."_

Maya felt a hand had wrapped around her neck, squeezing it so tightly she could barely breathe.

_Physical assault._

A physical assault on the day he had broken up with Asami Ryuichi.

And, of course, he had chosen not to press charges.

"Thanks, Masa..." she whispered, trying to blink back the angry tears pooling in her eyes.

Just when she thought that there was nothing else that man could do to disappoint her.

_"Hey, May-"_

She finished the call without saying goodbye, feeling ashamed, guilty, disgusted.

Akihito had ended up in a hospital because of the monster that happened to be her father.

“What happened? Maya?”

Behind her, Kou couldn’t possibly sound more desperate. If she turned around now, he would be even more distraught, what with the tears streaming down her face.

"He's in a hospital? Where?"

"Chuo General Hospital," she replied, trying to wipe away her tears as discreetly as she could.

"What…what happened to him? Is he still there?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask..."

"I'm going there,” Kou replied, grabbing his backpack and running towards the door. “You coming?"

She shook her head, finally turning around to look at the designer.

"I...I have to go talk to someone," she whispered, searching for her jeans as she spoke. "Call me when you get there."

She saw Kou nod in response, before disappearing behind the door.

Less than ten minutes later, she was also exiting the hotel, marching towards her motorcycle with a frown that made a few heads turn to glance at her uncontained fury.

Another ten minutes later, she had reached her destination, and not a second after she had taken off her helmet, she located the man she was looking for on the opposite side of the street, walking out of Sion with his usual arrogant strut.

_Oho, she was going to give him a piece of her mind._

She froze on the spot, however, when her eyes located another car approaching the limousine parked in front of the building. She watched as one of the doors opened to reveal a woman with very heavy makeup on, wearing clothes that were far from what one would call business attire.

Soon enough, she was entering the limousine, with Asami Ryuichi closely behind.

“Son of a-“ Maya muttered, grinding her teeth as she marched back to her motorcycle.

As she followed the car as stealthily as she could, she suspected she knew exactly where that “business meeting” would take place.

When the limousine parked in front of the Sheraton, she pursed her lips, all thoughts confirmed.

Eyes glowing with anger, she kick started her bike and rushed back to Sion.

_Asami Ryuichi was in for a surprise._

++++

Much before he swiped the card to unlock the door to the presidential suite of the Sheraton, he knew Kirishima hadn’t even tried to find someone according to his specifications. The woman by his side was not half Thai, not even half Japanese.

Unless he was very wrong, his escort was an import from the Philippines.

The only resemblance to Hayashi Mirai was the choice of outfit back in the day: jeans, boots, tank top. But again, it was not as if it mattered. If anything, he had only come up with that stupid request to rub salt on Kirishima’s wounds.

If he, Asami Ryuichi, was supposed to be devastated, then he would take everyone down with him. Including his first assistant, including the whore sitting on the bed, taking off her clothes.

“Where are you from?” he asked, taking off his jacket and reaching for a small bottle of gin inside the minibar.

The woman turned around, the dark eyes smudged with eyeliner and dark eye shadow now round with surprise. She clearly had not expected any small talk, not from him at least, and the small smile curling her lips made things _so much more interesting._

To lower his victims’ defenses, to see their eyes shine with hope and trust, to let them think they stood a chance, made _breaking_ them much more satisfying.

He let a cold, merciless smirk curl the corners of his mouth.

The prospect of delivering nothing but pain and fear made the muscles in his lower stomach coil tight. His failure with Akihito days before had made him worry, but all concerns were gone when he felt his sex stir and harden against his thigh.

He would not fail, not that time.

“Vietnam,” the woman replied, before reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra.

“Ah… I see,” he replied, his eyes following her hands as she pulled down her jeans and moved closer to him, wearing nothing but a G-string. _“_ _Bạn có nói tiếng Nhật?”_

It didn’t really matter if she knew how to speak Japanese or not - if she had understood his first question, then she would be able to understand the very few words he intended to say from then on.

“A little, yes…” she answered, another small smile on her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

As he unbuckled his belt and sat on the edge of the bed, he allowed his mind to wander. That little smile, the spark in their eyes…All the prostitutes that he had crossed paths with seemed to nurture that same hope, that perhaps their current client would be better than their previous one…

What a sweet _, sweet_ illusion.

“Show me what you got,” he said, ignoring the sounds of someone knocking on the door and allowing his erection to break free from its confides.

Whoever it was, they would have to wait.

His eyes were cold as he stared at his throbbing shaft, his mind miles away from everything, his brain barely registering the first tentative licks, the fake look of satisfaction in the eyes of the woman kneeling in front of him, the slurping sounds.

His body felt numb, and he suspected that the only reason his cock remained as hard as a rock was because of the uncontrollable anger pulsing in his veins. That encounter had nothing to do with pleasure, not even with physical need.

It had _everything_ to do with spite, with worry, with emptiness.

What he needed was an avenue of release, and sadly for the girl from Vietnam, she would be the sacrificial lamb, even if she didn’t know yet.

Without further preamble, he wrapped a hand around her hair and forced the entirety of his cock down her throat, holding her in place even when she tried to break free, her long nails digging into the fabric of his pants as she struggled not to gag.

He kept looking at her face, her jaw stretched so wide that tears were spilling from the corners of her eyes, strange fascination washing over him as he saw her body strain, trying to fight the discomfort.

After seconds that probably felt like eternity for the woman on the floor, he let go of her head, and waited until she stopped coughing to grab her hair again and lift her up.

He was about to toss her on the bed when another urgent knock on the door made him snap.

“Asami-sama,” he heard his bodyguard announce. “I am sorry, sir, but this is urgent.”

With an enraged growl and dark bangs falling in front of his eyes, Asami tucked his raging erection back into his pants as he marched towards the door. He had not brought his gun but he would be happy to use his bare hands to kill Suoh if his interruption was poorly justified.

“Sir, it’s your daughter,” the man promptly explained as soon as the door opened, as if sensing the risk of an impending attack. “She was arrested.”

Asami felt his already erratic heartbeat grow even more irregular.

“What did she do this time?” he asked, a frown so deep that his eyebrows nearly connected.

“She attacked a police officer that tried to detain her when she was…” he saw the bodyguard hesitate, “when she was… _vandalizing…_ the entrance of Sion.”

“Vandalizing?” Asami asked, his voice loaded with a mix of anger and confusion. “Vandalizing how?”

“Graffiti.”

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, allowing his head to tip backwards and touch the cold concrete behind him, waiting for the lump in his throat to dissolve.

Graffiti was a minor issue compared to all the other problems he had to handle these days, and it was not the first time he would have to bail the girl out of jail anyway. He had no reason to feel so upset, so… _out of control._

And still, he felt he was on the verge of a mental breakdown, tittering at the edge of an abyss.

By his side, he noticed Suoh was eyeing him with concern, as if he had been caught off-guard by his boss’s extremely rare display of emotion.

“Why didn’t you call Kirishima?” he asked, his voice finally regaining its usual coldness as he squared his shoulders.

“Actually, sir… _he_ called _me_ ,” he heard his bodyguard reply. “He was able to bail her out and take her back to the office, but…” the blond man paused, as if searching for the right words to say. “It looks like she is out of control.”

 _Out of control_. That made two of them, then.

With a few strained words, the CEO of Sion instructed the woman on the bed to get dressed and leave.

He doubted he would get another erection anytime soon, anyway.

Picking up his jacket from the armchair, Asami Ryuichi felt his blood was once again turning into cold, viscous poison. Not for the first time that week, he felt the ground beneath his feet was about to crack open and swallow him whole.

If it did, he would not complain.

As it was, a trip to hell would be a refreshing break from his routine.

 

 


	28. Love from a distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a confrontation with his daughter, Asami Ryuichi finds himself very close to claiming Takaba Akihito back.

Idiots, all of them.

From the security guards that almost made her break her neck as they tried to capture her while she was climbing down the front wall of Sion, to the police officer that tried to snatch the can of spray from her hands by hitting the back of her knees with a fucking wooden staff.

 _A wooden staff,_ of all things.

Either Tokyo Prefectural Police had a really tight budget for purchasing proper equipment, or she had been unlucky enough to be caught in some sort of medieval revival.

Heh...at least she had managed to throw quite the jab to the man's jaw. Her knuckles were hurting like a bitch but she wanted to believe the officer's face was hurting more.

Speaking of which, she wondered why Kirishima seemed to little inclined to get her some ice so that she could numb the pain spreading through her joints. Even though she had expected the silent treatment she was getting, she couldn't help but notice the man looked out of sorts.

As if noticing her curious gaze, the bespectacled man pushed his glasses further up his nose, and let out a sigh.

"Your father is going through a very complicated moment," he said.

“Oh, _he_ is? _He_ is going through a- Kirishima, are you _fucking kidding me_?” Maya scoffed, her increasingly high pitch reflecting how unlikely she was to tone down anytime soon. “Everyone is going through a rough patch, my mother died less than a week ago!"

She paused when her voice lost some of its strength, and cleared her throat before unleashing the next round of protests.

"Akihito is going through a motherfucker of a rough patch now, because _your boss_ beat the crap out of him!” she snarled, grinding her teeth as her hand closed into a tight fist.

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Kirishima looked positively surprised.

“Have you been in touch with Takaba-san?” he asked.

“Fuck no, he’s been missing for three days…" she replied quietly, her shoulders drooping in defeat. "I just found out what happened because Masa told me Akihito had been admitted to a hospital…" she explained. “I don’t even know where he is now, he won't answer his phone… I don’t even know if he is alive..."

Even though she was too busy staring at the surface of the man's desk, she noticed the secretary had shifted on the chair after muttering something unintelligible.

“It was him," she continued, pursing her lips as a new wave of anger and resentment made her blood boil. "If he didn’t want to press charges, it _had_ to be him," she said, pointing an accusing finger towards her father's office. "What the fuck was he thinking?”

She watched Kirishima take off his glasses, and put them back on after rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand for a very long minute.

“Maya, this is not the right time to confront your father about it," he whispered. “It would be like…prodding a cornered animal with a stick, you will only make him angrier and he will strike back to defend himself.”

“Fucked if I care," she replied, without giving her words too much thought until their bluntness rang in her ears.

“You have a horrible temper, did you know that?”

She felt her face was on fire. The man was right - with her, there was no in between. Either she would hide her feelings under layers of fake indifference, or explode in a purple cloud of bad manners, swearing and angry tears.

Maybe that's what you got when you were half an Asami, half a Hayashi.

“Are you done?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Kirishima raised his eyebrows, and shrugged before speaking again.

“Thanks for finally bringing back my laptop," he said.

“I figured you were using a backup machine, if you headed back to work without it," she replied, scratching her elbow with a vacant look in her eyes, "so I figured there was no hurry."

She allowed her mind to drift back to the flash drive in one of her pockets. When she left the hotel and headed to Sion, her plan was to first talk to Kirishima about her findings and then confront her father about Akihito.

That is, until she saw the man walk into a hotel with a prostitute. Then her plan flew out out of the window, and before she knew, she was climbing Sion with a can of spray in her hand.

“Did you find anything?” Kirishima asked, forcing her to snap out of her reverie.

“Plenty," she answered, nodding as she spoke. "But the most important bits are encrypted so it might take a while.”

That was the last thing she could say before the sound of footsteps made her turn her head, just to find her father opening the door to his office, his eyes shining with a silent threat as he looked at her.

Maya knew that glare very well - in short, it meant he had no intention of pulling any punches.

After taking a steady breath, and hoping that her shaky knees would not falter, the girl stood up with a scowl of her own.

She would pull no punches either.

++++

Asami Ryuichi had plenty of experience confronting people and bringing them down to their knees when the situation required it. Even though his charms were enough to entice most of the people he had to use and manipulate as a part of his job, some people were harder to persuade.

And with those people, he would not hesitate to use _other methods_.

With the girl sitting across from him, however, the situation was entirely different.

He spent a very long minute studying her face, the golden eyes glowing with anger as her chest heaved up and down... The long black hair cascading down one of her shoulders, the clenched jaw and the tiny little earrings on her eyebrow and nose...

Confronting his daughter was always a challenge, mainly because he always felt drained afterwards.

It was as if the girl was constantly testing his emotional strength, always putting him at odds with his feelings.

Other than her, only Takaba Akihito had the power to make him that uncomfortable.

The longer he looked at her, the more inclined he was to feel things he did not want to feel. He let out an annoyed sigh when he realised his mind was already urging him to check her living arrangements, to make sure she had been taking proper care of herself...

"I saw you going into a hotel with that…woman."

Her voice brought him back to reality, and he was forced to remember the reason why the two of them were having that conversation. He hadn't even gotten to see the graffiti yet, since Suoh had driven into the secondary entrance to the building, but judging by he girl's bitterness, he already expected the worst.

"You really have no respect," she added.

"Respect?"

"You hurt Akihito."

The words made his nostrils flare. Of course, if he had thought things through - which he hadn't - he would have realized that one of the first people to find out what he did would be his own daughter.

"He ended up in a hospital because of you," he heard the girl say, her pitch rising as she spoke. "Yes, _fucking respect!_ It only happened three days ago! I don’t care why the two of you broke up-"

"We didn’t break up," he said, unwilling to let the girl get the upper hand. What did she know, anyway? "Whatever relationship you think we had, we didn't."

"Still. You should have waited, if anything, out of respect for his pain!"

"I don’t see how this is any of your business," he whispered, raising an eyebrow as he stared at his own hands, feigning indifference even though his pulse was racing.

Maya's ability to scream her way into people's minds was getting to him, but it was one hundred years to soon for her to think she could win in an argument with him.

"He is my friend!"

"Regardless," he said, his voice as cold and piercing as the eyes he had finally averted to her face. "I don't care what you think of it. And also, I don't care what he thinks of it."

His words were met with a snort.

"He is so much better off without you, I just hope he realizes that," he heard the girl say.

Asami found himself biting the inside of his cheek. Given his current state of mind, any other person that had the nerve to say something like that would have to deal with a gunshot to the knee or, at the very least, a punch to the stomach.

But she was _his daughter_ , and that fact alone kept him bound to his chair by an invisible rope.

"He will come back to me," he replied, in the same threatening tone. "Make no mistake."

"Goddamn, you are unbelievable!" she continued, with her eyes wide and an expression of pure disdain on her face. "Do you even...know how he is now? Do you even care if he is _alive_?"

His hands closed into fists when her screaming intensified. Of course he was alive, it was not as if he had shot him or anything. What he did had been bad, but not _that bad._

 _Couldn't_ have been that bad.

Until the girl brought it up, he had never even thought of the possibility of having caused the photographer some kind of permanent damage... Let alone of Akihito being dead.

The mere thought made him even more furious, and slowly but steadily, the face in front of him seemed to be dissipating until all he could actually see was the shadow of his own anger.

"He will not go back to you, not if I can stop him," Maya said, her tone dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "He is a nice guy, he deserves someone who really values him for who he is and not some heartless old timer that can only find release hiring prostitutes to keep his bed warm."

Her eyes were cold as she spoke, but the glint of scorn in the golden orbs left no doubts she meant every word that had just left her mouth.

"You are pathetic," she added, before leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

Under any other circumstances, and if he hadn't been the target of her viciousness, he would allow himself to be proud of the girl's ability to speak her mind in such a blunt, ruthless manner.

But, as it was, all he could feel was a mix of anger, shame and disappointment.

"Thanks for your input," he whispered, his voice casual as he raised an eyebrow and looked at his own hands. "Is that all?"

When he finally averted his eyes to her face again, he hoped they were as cold as indifferent as he wanted them to be.

He suspected they weren't, though, because the girl found it in her to speak again.

"I don’t know what he saw in you in the first place…" she snorted, and her mocking tone got under his skin like the blade of a poisonous knife.

For a very long moment, he simply watched her face, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk.

 _It was time to teach her a lesson_.

"I see you got another of those... _things_ ," he said, touching his own eyebrow as he spoke.

"It's called body art," the girl replied.

It was his turn to snort.

"Well, you should give it a break," he whispered, and he made sure his tone was just as derisive as hers had been. "All the _body art_ is _deforming_ you."

A part of him cheered when the little smirk disappeared from her face, her chin trembling slightly.

Another part of him felt like the most immature and heartless bastard to walk on earth.

"Oh...wow..."

He watched as the girl struggled to keep a straight face despite the tears pooling in her eyes.

"You..." her voice was shaky, and her attempt to chuckle merely resulted in a couple of tears falling down her face. "You are one... to talk about being _deformed._ "

He could tell his daughter was fighting with all her might not to cry, but the fierce expression on her face slowly dissolved into one of sadness and resentment. Her eyes, so strong and fearless when she first entered the room, could barely hide the vulnerability of a girl that had lost a parent not that long ago and that now, thanks to the horrible father she had, would go back home feeling self conscious about her own appearance.

"To think that my mother died thinking you were a good man," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face freely as she got up and turned on her heels.

"Maya..."

Uselessly, he tried to reach for her arm, but the girl was faster and stormed out of the room without looking back.

++++

The first thing that Kirishima saw when the door to his boss's office was flung open, was Maya's tear stained face.

"Good luck saving his ass from the Omi," he heard her say, among sobs, after slamming a flash drive on top of his pile of reports. "I am not...doing this anymore."

He had just opened his mouth to speak when the phone on his desk beeped, and he picked it up as fast as he could.

_"Kirishima, tell security not to let Maya leave the building."_

"Yes, sir."

As he pressed another button and waited for his call to connect, he stole a quick glance towards the elevator, just to find out the girl had already disappeared.

If the girl was as unhappy as she seemed to be, she would be hard to catch.

Nevertheless, he instructed the security team to the best of his capacities, making sure they understood how delicate the situation was.

Even so, he already knew what he was about to hear when his phone beeped again, this time to indicate an incoming call from Suoh himself.

_"Kirishima...she got away."_

Of course she had.

With a morose sigh, he picked up the phone again, this time to break the bad news to his boss.

_What a long day that was turning out to be._

"Asami-sama..." he whispered, sensing the man's scorching anger on the other side of the line. "My apologies, sir, but she got away."

After a second of silence, he literally heard the man slam down the phone inside his own office.

When he reappeared in front of his desk, eyes gleaming with nothing but murderous intent, he figured he might end the day by disposing of dead bodies in Tokyo Bay, after all.

"Do I have any other meetings scheduled for today?" Kirishima heard him ask, slowly regaining his composure as he smoothed an inexistent wrinkle in his jacket.

"No, sir."

"Good. Get the car ready," the man replied, before heading back to his own office.

"Where are you headed, sir?"

He saw his boss stop on his tracks for a moment, and turn his head to the side to address him again.

"Majima Makoto's residence," Kirishima heard him reply, before disappearing past the door.

The secretary felt his blood freeze.

Whether his boss needed counselling or he simply knew that was where Takaba Akihito was staying, it didn't even matter.

What mattered was that the two of them were about to come face to face, and with the man being as distraught as he was, he could already foresee the possibly tragic outcomes of that encounter.

Mindlessly, he pocketed the flash drive Maya had given him, and put his laptop inside his suitcase, walking to the elevator with his thoughts scattered all over the place.

What kind of alarming information had the girl come across?

_'Good luck saving his ass from the Omi...'_

Her words were still echoing in his mind when he got to the exclusive parking lot, and if Suoh was talking to him at all as they headed to the limousine, he could not tell.

He was too busy trying to juggle his multiple concerns.

And now they were heading to the counsellor's place... What was his boss up to?

"Has the graffiti been taken care of yet?"

He hadn't even realized that his boss was already in the car until he heard the man's voice behind him.

"They are working on it, sir."

"I want to see it."

The secretary exchanged a very concerned look with the blond bodyguard by his side.

That sounded like the first of many bad ideas, but an even worse idea would be to confront a pissed-off Asami Ryuichi about his decisions.

He brought the limousine to a halt when they reached a part of the road from where the large, red words could be read without much effort, despite the many ladders, people and brushes now crowding the area.

 _'Asami Ryuichi is a w,'_ read the unfinished sentence sprayed on the windows of the third floor of the building.

Kirishima found it remarkable that the girl had managed to climb that high to vandalize Sion, but his boss looked far from amused.

"So... Was the rest of the word cleaned off or she didn't get to finish it?" the man asked, his voice low and distant.

"She didn't get to finish it."

There was a long pause, and then his boss spoke again.

"I can't think of a single good word beginning with a 'w'..." Kirishima heard him say before lighting up a cigarette. "Do you think I could get away with 'wimp'?"

The secretary raised an eyebrow.

If it was an honest answer he expected to hear, an honest answer he would get.

"Absolutely not," he finally replied.

By his side, Suoh let out a small gasp.

"Me neither," the man on the backseat replied, after taking a long drag off his Dunhill. "My money's on 'whore'."

Another pause.

"Asami Ryuichi is a _whore_ ," he snorted quietly, and Kirishima looked at the rear view mirror just in time to see his boss glancing sadly out of the window, with the cigarette dangling from his lips. "And here I was, thinking she would settle for 'monster'..."

Finding that his input would not be necessary that time, Kirishima remained quiet.

"We can go now..."

At those words, the secretary set the car in motion again.

He did not consider himself a resentful person, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel like giving his boss a piece of his mind for his irrational behaviour as of lately.

The whole incident with Takaba-san... All the unwarranted criticism he had to put up with because of his mood swings... And now the girl leaving his office in tears...

"Stop the car," he heard the baritone voice say, and he had just stepped on the brakes when he heard the door open to let his boss out.

With a frown, he glanced at the rearview mirror and saw the man stumble onto the sidewalk, leaning against the wall next to a noodle shop as he clutched his shirt, knees bent as he struggled to keep standing.

When Suoh was about to leave the car, Kirishima held his arm, jaw clenched as he continued to watch his boss from the mirror.

“Leave him,” he whispered.

“But… he might be having a heart attack!”

“He is not having a heart attack,” the secretary replied, his eyes strangely calm as he watched Asami Ryuichi loosen the knot in his tie with shaky fingers, his eyes full of terror as he stared at the ground.

_It was happening again._

++++

_An idle mind is the devil's playground._

"True..." Akihito responded quietly to the voice inside his head, his eyes staring vacantly at the door as he lay on his bed.

The suite he had been assigned in the immense house in Shinjuku had been his home for the past three days.

The place looked like some kind of castle: his window overlooked a garden that was almost as big as one of the parks near his old studio, and the only time he had forced himself to get out of the bed and roam freely around the property, he had nearly gotten lost in the endless maze of hallways and staircases.

He didn't even know there were houses like that in Tokyo. Though, calling that place a "house" was quite the understatement...

Who the hell would build something that huge in the middle of one of the city's busiest areas?

"Probably some deranged yakuza..." he found himself saying, and a frown followed his words.

It could not be a good sign that he was actively engaging in another conversation with himself.

He let out a sigh. At least that kind of trivial chatter with his own mind was better than the sleepless nights he had spent revisiting all the bad memories of his time in Hong Kong, of all the times he was shot...and forced to do things he didn't want to do.

When his eyes started filling with tears again, he shook his head.

He would not let those things destroy him. They had happened a long time ago, they were over, he had not let them break him then, he would not let them break him now. It was true that now he could no longer count on Asami’s comforting presence to rid him of the ghosts of his past, but still…

He sobbed when the first tears ran down his face.

"Idiot!" he snarled at himself, drying his eyes with an angry movement of his wrist. "Why are you crying?"

Before his mind had the chance to answer, he stood up and walked towards the window.

His eyes drifted to the beautiful cerulean sky above, and he allowed its silent warmth to wash over him.

There were still things in life for him to look forward to.

When he got better, he would invite Takato for a drink, catch up with his friend's latest news. He felt guilty for not calling his friend more often after he had gotten married, but he figured it was not as if Takato would be willing to hang out with him and Kou like they did before... His wife was a nice woman but not crazy enough to put up with his shenanigans... Especially when there was alcohol involved.

 _Poor Kou..._ The things he had endured on Takato's absence...

Being Takaba Akihito's wingman was not a job for the weak of heart.

Akihito chuckled, his eyes closed as he remembered the time the many times his friend had kept him company during Asami's business trips...

And then he thought of his own _business trips_ , so to speak... That one time he had ended up in the man's jet, heading to a casino in Macao, and then that night they had spent in the kind of hotel he had only seen in movies...

He laughed when he remembered Asami's face when he pulled him into the bathtub, still fully dressed...

And then, just as fast as his lips had curled into a smile, they trembled to form a heartfelt pout, his nostrils burning when more tears rushed to his eyes.

When he was about to dive headfirst into that sea of sadness and sorrow, the door opened to reveal the figure of the Chinese woman that had been his caretaker for half a week now.

"Is the soup not to your liking?” she asked, after her eyes had fallen on the bowl resting on a tray next to his bed.

“The soup is good,” he replied, blushing when he realized he once again had barely touched the food the woman had brought him. “It's just... I'm not hungry.”

“I know…” she muttered, placing a tray with all kinds of bandages, little bottles and an ice pack on the desk in one of the corners of the huge room. “You have been saying that for three days…”

Akihito swallowed, staring at his own feet as he mindlessly scratched one of his elbows. He was beginning to feel like a spoiled little kid, turning down their hospitality like that.

“Anyway... It's cold now,” she said, putting on a pair of latex gloves. “I will heat it up after I change your dressings.”

With a silent nod, he took off his T-shirt and lay on his stomach, resting the side of his head on his hands over the pillow.

He was still having a hard time understanding why those two women were taking such good care of him, giving him shelter, food, new clothes… The blind lady had said she was not working for Asami, but then, why was she helping him at all? Whoever was giving her pointers had also given her Maya’s number…

Well… maybe if he stopped dodging the woman’s attempts to approach him, instead of locking himself in that room, he would get the answers to his questions…

“Is it getting better?” he asked, distracting himself with other thoughts when the potent scent of calendula filled his nostrils, and he felt the woman’s fingertips spread some kind of ointment over his injured skin.

“Oh yes, it is,” Li Jiao replied. “It's not as swollen... It's healing well.”

That was a question he asked her every time she changed his dressings, at least five times a day. He had to salute her patience, what with bringing herself to give him a response that contained a different kind of positive assessment every time. ‘Not swollen’, ‘not red’, ‘better than yesterday’, ‘looking good’…

“It would heal faster if you ate your food, you know,” she added. “If you starve yourself, your body will only get weaker.”

Akihito blinked slowly, the corner of his eye catching the movement of her arms behind him. He knew the woman was right. Refusing to eat would do nothing to help him get back on his feet – at some point, he would have to snap out of his blues.

“How does your shoulder feel?” she asked.

“Better,” he answered, letting out a small sigh of relief when he realized that he was able to move his arm again, even though the pain was still intense due to his shoulder sprain. “I guess yesterday it was hurting more…”

“Yeah... That's good, that's good,” she whispered. “The ice packs are helping. In a week or so we can start some exercises to restore flexibility and strength...”

In a week or so.

He frowned, a sudden feeling of discomfort making him shift slightly on the bed.

“How long do I have to stay here?” he asked.

“You don't _have_ to stay here,” he heard Li Jiao reply, her voice still calm despite a very clear note of defiance. “Majima-san is not holding you captive or anything, you can go whenever you like…”

“Who is that woman, anyway?” he snapped.

What kind of counsellor lived in a house that big? And what was the deal with all the scary _Hannya_ masks on the walls, and the grenades hanging in chains like some sort of crazy curtains next to the windows… and the swords, and knives…?

Last thing he needed was to end up in the hands of a weirdo with a passion for _demons._

“Why don't you ask her yourself?” the woman replied. “She is looking forward to getting to know you too.”

“I don't need counselling.”

“I was not talking about counselling, just talking,” she explained, before her voice dropped to a much quieter tone. “It's not as if you can afford her fees anyway…”

An even deeper frown wrinkled his forehead.

“Don't get me wrong,” Li Jiao replied, probably noticing his reaction to her comment. “I can't either, nor can anyone who is not a billionaire.”

“You do realize that only gives me another reason not to trust her, right?” he replied, barely bothering to hide his discontentment. “People that only hang out with billionaires are likely to be as corrupt as they are…”

“You sound very bitter,” he heard the woman chuckle in response. “I will bring you some candy next time, let's see if you brighten up a little...”

“I don't need to _brighten up_ ,” he hissed. “I just need to go home.”

When the words left his mouth, he found himself blushing again. By then, he had probably earned the title of most ungrateful guest of the year, what with refusing to leave his room, declining the food offered to him, badmouthing the woman that had taken him in and now talking back to the person tending to his wounds.

Much to his luck, Li Jiao was handling his temper tantrum with no little amount of grace.

“You need to get better,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Then you'll go home. How does that sound?”

He was about to apologize for his bad manners when she patted the back of his thigh, indicating that she was done for the time being.

“I'll be right back,” she said, as he brought himself to a sitting position and watched her pick up the tray with his soup.

After the woman closed the door behind her, Akihito found himself walking across the room, once again drawn to the window, as if his feet had a mind of their own.

He let his gaze drop to the garden, and then to the iron gates separating the property from the street, until his eyes fell upon a black limousine parked on the other side of the road, and his heart skipped a beat.

The heavily tinted windows did not allow him to see who was inside, but his pulse raced anyway, the palms of his hands sweaty and cold, his gut twisting with fear and hope and all kinds of contradictory feelings...

And then, before he had the chance to narrow his eyes and look at the license plate to confirm his suspicions, the vehicle took off, and Akihito felt the air in his lungs slowly escape his mouth, as if he was a sad, deflating balloon.

++++ 

When the limousine parked near the entrance to Majima Makoto's residence, Asami once again reached for his pack of cigarettes, gazing at the iron gates on the other side of the road and the garden behind it. His eyes studied each and every window, every door, every corner of the magnificent property.

He could go in, all guns blazing, and confirm his suspicions.

But he simply didn't have to.

He was there. He _had_ to be there. Somehow, he _just knew_ \- just like he had known other times, just like the other man seemed to have the same skill finding him, sensing his presence.

It was as if they kept following each other's scent.

When he finally averted his eyes from the house, his gaze met Kirishima's on the rear view mirror, any signs of their earlier fallout long forgotten now that Asami had allowed him the pleasure of witnessing another of his panic attacks.

Oh yes... He had seen the savage gleam on the secretary's eyes when he walked back to the car, with his dignity shredded to pieces after succumbing to another episode under the scrutinizing gaze of his subordinates.

He had seen in the eyes behind the glasses - Kirishima Kei had savored _every single second_ of his anguish, as he tumbled on a gutter in Tokyo, clutching his chest as he panted for air...

_Fair enough._

The man had certainly earned the right to take pleasure in his pain after his unfortunate comment that morning.

"Kirishima…" he whispered, eyes once again fixated on one of the top windows of the four-storey house. "What is Takaba Akihito’s status?"

Except for the very subtle clenching of his jaw, the first assistant remained impassive. Asami could notice, however, that his shoulders had tensed, as if he was clutching the steering wheel harder than before.

“I know who took him to the hospital, Kuroda saw them," Asami explained, still looking at the rear view mirror and studying the secretary's face. "Did you tell them to use fake names?”

“No, sir.”

“Well… They did,” he continued, his voice lacking the usual amusement he would express at people’s attempts to pull a stunt on him. “But it doesn’t matter now, just answer the question. There will be no sanctions.”

That was the most absolute truth. He had no intentions of punishing the man for reaching out for a third party to guarantee Akihito would be safe.

That is what he, Asami, should have done in the first place.

“He is very bad shape at the moment, but I believe he will make a full recovery,” Kirishima finally replied.

Asami had just opened his mouth to elicit a more detailed explanation as to what exactly _‘very bad shape’_ meant, when his words died in his throat.

Inadvertently, his eyes had shifted to the house again, and he found himself staring at the figure of a blond man looking out of one of the windows on the fourth floor.

He blinked, his brain taking a full five seconds to register that ‘very bad shape’ were words to use with care when it came to Takaba Akihito.

To him, the photographer looked as beautiful and strong as ever, with his fierce hazel eyes staring at the sky above.

But the sling in which one of his arms was resting reminded him of the extent of his damage, and Kirishima’s words crawled under his skin once again.

_Very bad shape._

His fingers were already on the door handle, and in a matter of seconds he had drafted an entire action plan to get to that fourth floor and get the young man back.

The two of them would get into the jet and fly to another exclusive destination, and he would spend days, weeks, months, giving his fiery lover his own brand of medicine, he would erase all the bad memories, especially that last one, the one that he had provided, and he would make Akihito love him again…

He clenched his jaw when the photographer laughed, still oblivious to his presence, still looking at the sky as if lost in his own thoughts.

Asami Ryuichi had never been a man to deny himself what his heart desired, even if he had to use force to get what he wanted.

If he had to tie Akihito down to make sure he never left his side again, he would.

But his hand lingered on the door handle for a second too long, and it was enough time for him to see the smile disappear from the photographer’s rosy lips, his eyebrows angling upwards in the most honest and purest expression of grief.

Grief that he knew _he_ had caused.

He knew Akihito was thinking of _him_.

When the young man whipped his head around and moved away from the window, Asami released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Some things, he pondered, should not be conquered by force. He realized that he still craved Akihito with every fibre of his being, but not like that.

Not against his will, not that time.

_Not anymore._

By the time he could finally bring himself to let go of the door handle, his heart was beating so fast that he wondered if Suoh or Kirishima could hear it.

If they could, they did a magnificent job ignoring it, because when the photographer disappeared back into the room, neither man made a comment.

“Transfer 100 million yen to Makoto's account, make sure that she provides everything he needs,” Asami whispered, after lighting up another cigarette in an attempt to soothe his nerves. “Let me know when it runs out, I will transfer more.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is Shinada doing these days?” he asked, crossing his legs as he tried to look calm and collected even though at that point, it was fairly obvious that the latest events were taking their toll on his mental health.

“I have allocated him to the security operation in Warehouse 11, sir,” Kirishima replied.

Asami nodded quietly in response.

“I need him to go to the penthouse and take away all the bags and boxes I have packed,” he said, smashing what was left on his Dunhill on an ashtray. “Send them to Kou’s residence or… Makoto’s, wherever he chooses to stay. Organise a team to make it go faster, get rid of all the furniture too.”

The words came out of his mouth effortlessly, as if he was reading a script.

“Book me a room in one of the hotels I own, in the meantime.”

He saw his first assistant nod quietly in response, and then the car was once again silent.

Somewhere in his mind, Asami acknowledged that he could salvage some of his dignity by coming up with some sort of pointless conversational topic, at least to make it less evident that the only reason why the car was not moving was because he continued to stare morosely at the window, waiting for the photographer to appear again.

He stole a quick glance towards the mirrors of the limousine just to see that both Kirishima and Suoh were busy looking out of their windows, completely ignoring him.

If there were two people that knew the exact extent of his obsession with Takaba Akihito, it had to be the two men in that car. For their neutral silence, and the carefully averted eyes, Asami was unconditionally grateful.

He raised his eyes to the window again, his thoughts a jumble of good and bad memories.

He was well aware that he was the kind of person that hardly ever made mistakes, but when he did, they tended to be remarkably catastrophic. Doing what he did to Akihito, bullying his own daughter, harassing his most loyal subordinate… He had really managed to outdo himself lately.

He took a deep breath.

 _Why was he even doing that to himself?_ If the point of that trip down memory lane was to prove that he had made huge mistakes in a very short period of time, he already knew it very well.

It was not his style to mope over his bad decisions. The past could not be changed, anyway, what was lost was lost and he would carry on with his life, just like he always did.

It was with that thought in mind that he ordered Kirishima to drive away as soon as Akihito appeared on the window again, their eyes meeting for the fraction of a second even though he was too far, and the windows were way to dark, for the young man to have seen anything.

"Where to, sir?"

“Drop me back at Sion,” Asami replied, squaring his shoulders as he tried to reorganize his thoughts. Maybe he would make use of his company’s exclusive pool, and pay a visit to their dojo before heading back to his office and getting his business matters back on track. “You both are free to take the rest of the day off, but first, Kirishima, send an alert to all my subsidiaries and ringleaders spread across Asia.”

“What alert, sir?”

The corners of Asami’s lips curled into a vindictive smirk.

“One billion yen for whomever finds Sakazaki, and brings him to me,” he replied, savoring the taste of each world as they rolled off his tongue.

“Dead or alive?” he heard Kirishima ask, noticing that familiar ferocious glint in the man’s eyes as he spoke.

“Alive and _unharmed_ ,” Asami replied, certain that his sadistic secretary would enjoy what he planning to do almost as much as he would. “I will make an _example out of him_.”


	29. Shooting blanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sakazaki proves he will not be an easy person to catch, Fei Long and Asami meet, new shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the same Sengoku Hiroshi that Mirai beat the crap out of back in Chapter 15. Too bad he survived - he is such a disgusting pig that even Sakazaki looks like a prince when you put the two of them side by side. ~~Well...maybe not a prince, but still!~~
> 
> A note about Sakazaki, btw: expect him to play a larger role in this story, far from "the man who touched Aki, and got tortured and murdered as punishment". He is very skilled at manipulating people and turning tables, so when he and Asami finally come face to face, things will *not* go as Asami planned...
> 
> Finally...yes, I had to update the number of chapters. 40 would not be enough! xD

 

**Club Prime, 8 am, Dotonbori, Osaka**

"I am terribly sorry, sir, but we are not open yet," said the young man at the reception of Club Prime, bowing profusely under the cold stare of a much taller, much more muscular man, whose tattoos sneaked from under the cuffs of his red shirt. "We only open at-"

The waiter never had the chance to finish that sentence.

After a punch to the stomach that made him growl in pain, the young man hit the ground, his head pinned between the door and the wall.

"Now...you...fucking...are..." the taller man made sure to slam the heavy mahogany door against the waiter's head after each word.

When the limp body at his feet no longer moved, the man finally stopped, wiping the blood on the tip of his white shoes on the waiter's vest.

"Scum..." he grumbled.

"Ochida, give it a break..."

A bald, beefy older man made his way past the door, with an entourage of at least other ten men behind him.

"Aniki..."

"Just stay here with the others and make sure no one goes in or out until I'm done," the bald man added, after taking off his sunglasses and approaching a young woman that was cowering against one of the counters. "Go get your boss."

With slow, heavy steps, Sengoku Hiroshi made his way to one of the booths in the empty VIP session of the club, wiping a trail of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. The large, heavy golden rings in each of his fat fingers, in conjunction with the silver chain around his neck and shiny sweaty scalp made his head glow like a distorted, greasy light bulb.

"Sengoku-san..."

The bald man lifted his eyes to the face of a tall, dark-haired man wearing glasses and a sleek, pinstriped designer suit.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit so early in the morning?"

Sengoku reached for the bottle of Suntory whisky that had just been placed on the table, pouring the amber liquid into a tumbler as the other man took a seat across from him.

"It came to my knowledge that Asami Ryuichi has just put a 1 billion bounty on your head," he said, with a slight frown on his face.

"I might have ruffled his feathers, yes," the only her man replied, shrugging slightly as he tucked a strand of hair behind his pierced ear. "You sound concerned."

"You bet your motherfucking gay ass I am concerned, Sakazaki," Sengoku snarled, slamming the tumbler back on the table and sending some of its content flying up in the air. "Last thing I need is to draw attention to myself by giving cover to a wanted man."

"Oh, I know..." Sakazaki whispered, jeering as he looked at the other man over the rim of his half-moon glasses. "Especially now that some of your precious secrets were stolen in that cyberattack...Have you found out who did it, by the way?"

It was his turn to reach for the bottle and fill his glass.

"I will take that as a no," he said, when the other man merely pursed his lips in response.

"How do you even know about the cyberattack?"

Sakazaki chuckled, taking a sip of his whisky and letting the expensive drink linger on his tongue before answering the question.

"Information travels fast, especially when you have ears in every corner of this town," he said, touching the anchor-shaped patch of black hair on his chin. "See, maybe if you allowed me to...liaise with your sources in Tokyo-"

"My source in Tokyo is none of your concern."

Sakazaki raised an eyebrow, his eyes glowing with curiosity as he spoke.

"Source? Singular?" he asked. "Putting all your eggs in one basket... That's very bold of you," he added, with a condescending sneer. "Or stupid, depending on how you look at it."

The bald man on the other side of the table looked positively livid, his face contorted in a frown that went from the top of his forehead to the tip of his chin.

"I have put up with you far too long-" he hissed.

"Because we are two crickets on a string, never forget that," Sakazaki interrupted, his voice lacking its usual casual tone. "You hand me to Asami Ryuichi, and all of a sudden the Chairman of the Omi Alliance will find out that a certain family boss has gone rogue and is stealing money from the organization, _among other things."_

The two of them spent a full minute staring at each other like two animals ready to pounce on their prey.

"Make no mistake, Sengoku, I know that very few people are aware of the reason Asami is after me and you are one of them," Sakazaki snarled. "If you leaked that picture to get rid of me, you made a very serious mistake."

His expression softened, however, when he realised the confusion on the other man's face.

"Or perhaps you _didn't_ leak it," he added, on a much more friendly tone. "If that is the case, I suggest you check where the loyalties of your source in Tokyo stand..." he whispered. "I have been in this line of business long enough to know that backstabbing is a terribly common practice these days."

After stealing a final glance at Sengoku's concerned face, Sakazaki stood up, straightening his jacket with the usual little smile on his lips.

"Now if you don't mind, I need to take one of my waiters to the hospital..." he said. "You should muzzle that lieutenant of yours, he's a rabid little animal, isn't he..."

Without waiting for a response, he stepped out of the private booth, and left.

++++

**In Tokyo...**

The sun had barely risen when Asami finished getting dressed.

His meeting with Fei Long would not happen until much later in the morning, which gave him time to resume the activities he had left unfinished the night before.

There were so many matters requiring his attention that the nearly ten hours he had spent in his office had been far from enough. He had only headed to his presidential suite at the Ritz when Kirishima's pestering finally got on his nerves, and he agreed to get at least four hours of sleep.

Now, he sorely regretted having done so.

With an annoyed sigh, he ordered his breakfast and headed to his desk, where a pile of pictures, reports and memos awaited him. The books of Club Ambitious, the findings on Saejima Taiga's murder, the Tojo, the Omi... All of that would have to wait.

Right now, he was too busy trying to figure out why the leader of the Baishe had been seen more than once negotiating with the Korean Mafia behind his back, and in Osaka, of all places. The city was where some of his most important warehouses were located... If the two groups decided to pull a stunt on him, his business would suffer a gigantic backlash.

He felt he had just wasted four hours sleeping instead of working harder on that puzzle.

By the time his breakfast arrived at his room, he was ready to leave.

It was not as if he was hungry anyway, he pondered as he finished his third cup of black coffee and headed to the elevator, after grabbing a box near his suitcase and double checking the guns snuggled tightly against his chest.

Given his current state of mind, that meeting was bound to go south. It was Fei Long, after all, when _didn't_ things go south?

Still...the thought that the man was plotting against him again was unsettling. After the stolen data episode that had led to Akihito being taken to Hong Kong years prior, he had hoped Fei Long had finally come to his senses...That for his own good, he would stop pursuing his vapid delusions of revenge and that there was some validity to their mutual agreement to tolerate each other for the sake of business.

Now, he didn't know anymore.

And not knowing made him feel restless, frustrated, and _pissed_.

"What's the purpose of this meeting?" he heard the leader of the Baishe ask many hours later, when the time for their meeting at Sion finally arrived.

Asami allowed himself to study Fei Long’s face for a very long minute before answering.

“Some alarming information has been brought to my attention involving you and the Jingweon Mafia,” he said at last, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. “Before I come to my own conclusions, I would like you to explain this...” he opened a folder to retrieve a picture of the other man meeting with the higher executives of the Korean group, “…and this…” followed by a different picture showing a similar encounter, “…and my personal favorite, _this,_ ” he concluded, passing Fei Long the copy of a contract of acquisition.

The leader of the Baishe tried to feign indifference, but the subtle clenching of his jaw was enough to make his discomfort evident.

“It is not what you're thinking,” he said.

“You really think too much of yourself if you truly believe you can read my mind, Fei Long.”

“You're more obvious than you imagine,” Asami heard him reply, his eyes glowing dangerously although his face remained impassive.

The CEO of Sion let his chin rest on top of his laced fingers for a moment, his eyes still fixated on the man sitting across from him.

“I'm still waiting for your explanation,” he whispered, searching for any signs that might reveal Fei Long’s intentions.

“I don't owe you an explanation,” the younger man finally seemed to be losing some of his cool, his forehead showing the first wrinkles of annoyance and concern. “So yes, I thought that strengthening ties with the Koreans would benefit the Baishe, so what? Since when do I report to you?”

The only problem was, Asami was beginning to lose his cool too.

“The trading routes in Osaka belong to me, not to the Baishe, not to the Jingweon,” he said, his voice still calm and collected even though his golden eyes were filled with threat as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “So, I can't help but wonder...” he continued, leaning forward again, so that his face was even closer to Fei Long’s. “What possessed you to think that drafting a contract of acquisition of the Dotonbori warehouse was a good idea?”

”You have your guns pointed at the wrong organization, Asami,” Fei Long’s drawl made his blood boil. “And I find that very entertaining.”

Asami let out a sigh, leaning back on his chair to clear his thoughts and void his face of any emotions.

“In our line of business, it is only prudent to keep guns pointed at all organizations, at all times,” he whispered, and his tone made it clear he took his own words very seriously. “You can never know who is planning to betray you.”

“Sounded like the true paranoid you are,” Fei Long chuckled in response, although his eyes remained cold and indifferent.

“Aren't we all?”

“I suppose…”

As he watched the leader of the Baishe cross his legs, looking at him with the same poker face he had in the beginning of that talk, Asami realized that whatever his intentions were, Fei Long was doing an exceptional job hiding them.

He had always taken pride in his ability to detect hidden agendas and schemes while they were still in the making, and very few people were still alive to gloat that they had successfully lied to him.

All the evidence scattered across his desk seemed to indicate Fei Long was either planning to move behind enemy lines or had already done so, and yet his instincts were not convinced…

The only thing he knew _for sure_ was that the man was hiding something, and it bothered him tremendously.

“Well... I assume you are not going to tell me what your intentions are in Osaka,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. “A shame really, not only did you make me waste my time with a useless meeting but now I will also have to do my own fieldwork.”

Fei Long’s only response was a small smile of triumph, which warranted another sour glare and a new wave of suspicions.

As he had thought earlier that morning, that meeting _would not end well_.

“Consider my partnership with your organization officially strained after this episode,” Asami concluded, gathering all the documents and putting them back into the folder.

After carelessly shoving it all into one of his drawers, he retrieved a box from under his desk.

“And here. I would like to return a gift,” he said, pushing the box towards the man sitting across from him. “It has brought me nothing but bad luck.”

“It is very rude to return a gift, did you know that?”

“Not when the gift is a curse,” Asami replied, after lighting up a cigarette. “I guess that qualifies as an exception.”

“This precious qilinbian, a curse?”

At those words, he raised his eyes to Fei Long’s face, and found the man looking at the chain whip with a mix of respect and fascination.

“Such blasphemy…” Fei Long whispered, thoroughly examining each and every spike. “Ah... I see you have used it for other purposes than Kung fu... Why am I not surprised, I am well acquainted with your penchant for physical punishment…”

“Are you?” Asami asked, averting his gaze to the astray, his voice distant and strained. “Because as far as I remember, I never gave you the privilege of being my willing victim...”

“ _Willing?_ ” Fei Long raised an eyebrow after a mirthless chuckle. “Oh, I don't think anyone on their right mind would _willingly_ be at the receiving end of a chain whip…”

He saw the exact moment realization dawned on the other man, his eyes going wide as his lips parted, in shock.

“Asami... _Whose blood is this?_ ”

A mix of relief and angry clashed inside Asami’s chest. He had cleaned that stupid whip with surgical precision more than a million times to get rid of the evidence of the vicious attack he had unleashed upon Akihito… Or maybe he hadn’t, and he was just enacting his own version of Crime and Punishment.

“Answer my question,” he heard Fei Long hiss.

“I don't owe you an explanation.”

The other man’s nostrils flared, and his dark eyes irradiated fury.

“You hit... Akihito… _with a qilinbian_?”

That had to be some kind of rhetorical question. Even if it wasn’t, he refused to answer it: confessing his crime would mean revisiting it, and he could not afford to take another plunge into hell that soon.

“Are you out of your mind?”

By the time Fei Long’s enraged scream pierced his ears, he was already standing up, ready to either strangle the other man or let himself be strangled.

“Where is he?” the younger man snarled, rising from his chair so fast that it tumbled backwards.

“Don't you dare go anywhere near him.”

“Where...is...he?”

He watched Fei Long’s chest heave up and down, his dark eyes clouded with fury as they stared at each other.

“I take it he hasn't been sending you any emails as of lately?” Asami muttered, his voice dripping with poison as he surrendered to his own incontrollable anger.

At what exactly he was angry other than himself and his catastrophic series of blunders, he no longer remembered.

“You are a monster,” Fei Long replied, a frown of concern and disbelief wrinkling his forehead.

“I am. And _so are you_ ,” Asami hissed in response, his feverish golden eyes darting across the other man’s face. “Don't look at me as if I am the sole responsible for this carnage, you are just as guilty of destroying Akihito as I am.”

“Because I gave you _this_ as a gift?” Fei Long shrieked, raising the qilinbian with an expression of pure disbelief on his face.

“Because you harmed him as much as I did!”

For the first time, Asami found himself wholeheartedly blaring in the middle of an argument with Liu Fei Long. Nothing could be worse than those demonstrations of lack of self-control, but what did he care. At that point, all he wanted was the other man to feel as bad as he was feeling.

“More so,” he continued, bangs of his dark hair falling in front of his eyes as he shoved the other man so harshly against his desk that it moved a few inches backwards despite its solid structure. “You are no hero, Fei Long, stop playing the part because it does not fit you.”

He almost smiled when Fei Long’s expression went from furious to haunted, a second before he managed to escape his grip.

“Have you ever been hit with a chain whip, Asami?” he heard the other man ask as he walked towards the door. “Because I have. When I was learning Kung fu, I was accidentally hit in the head. I have a pretty nasty scar in my scalp.”

Asami watched when Fei Long’s fingers closed tightly around the whip, his eyes containing a silent threat as he took his stance.

“So here's what…” he said, deftly swinging the chain around while still staring intently at his face. “Why don't I show you how it feels...”

Asami sidestepped to avoid getting hit the first time, but his second attempt was not as successful.

He bit his tongue when the spikes pierced his left arm, the chains wrapping around his flesh like a snare. But before Fei Long had the chance to pull him forward, causing even more damage, he grabbed the chain and gave it a solid pull, ignoring the excruciating pain as the spikes tore through the palm of his hand.

“I am very resistant to pain, you should know that by now,” he managed to hiss into Fei Long’s ear when he stumbled forward, reaching for his shoulder holster and pointing his Beretta to the other man’s temple.

“Don't point a gun at me unless you are really going to shoot, Asami,” he heard the other man whisper in response.

“As you wish.”

And then, he pulled the trigger, but the most unexpected, searing pain spread from his groin to his stomach, and he felt like throwing up.

_ He had been shot too. _

Where, he did not have time to see.

“Son of a b-“

That was all he had time to say before he passed out.

++++

Asami's ears were still ringing when he opened his eyes a few hours later, under the supervision of his private physician.

“Welcome back…” said the elderly man.

“What happened?” he asked in response, struggling to bring himself to a sitting position when his eyes fell upon an IV line in his arm. His head felt heavy and his own voice sounded distant to his ears, as if he was hearing it from behind a wall. “Am I dehydrated again?”

“Well, yes, you are, that’s what happens when you don’t replenish your non-alcoholic fluids…” the doctor replied quietly as he adjusted the drip chamber. “And on less alarming news, you were also hit with a chain whip and... _shot_."

The bespectacled old man let out a sigh, but Asami barely noticed the note of disapproval in his voice.

He was too busy lifting his hospital gown to check the extension of the damage.

Fei Long had shot him, again.

Fei Long had shot him… _in the groin._

“Don’t worry,” the older man was quick to add, probably noticing his irregular breathing and panic-stricken eyes. “Your genitals are intact. Or… almost.”

The heart rate monitor by his side beeped faster, and Asami forced himself to swallow a knot in his throat.

“What do you mean, ' _almost'_?” he asked, his voice strained and low as he gripped the gown, too afraid to look down and see his most compelling physical attributes lacking their usual glory.

“One of your testicles is a bit swollen due to the trauma,” Kimura-sensei explained, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “A contact shot to the groin…Who did you piss off this time, Asami-sama, if you allow me to ask?”

Asami felt a mix of relief and the most absolute anger fill his veins. Yes, upon further inspection, everything seemed to be in order despite the unusual, uncomely swelling, but how bold of Fei Long to even try to cripple him like that? True, he himself had taken no prisoners either, what with aiming for the man’s head…

His fingertips trembled for the fraction of a second. Could it be that he…? No. He had made sure the muzzle was pointed outwards when he pulled the trigger…

“How bad is it?” he asked quietly, when he once again shifted on the bed and felt half of his body was completely numb.

“It’s bad, but I suppose it would have been worse if whoever shot you was not using blanks...”

Asami’s eyebrows shot up.

“Blanks?”

“Yes. But contrary to popular belief, they can be just as lethal as regular ammo, especially when fired at such a close range…” the older man explained. “The muzzle blast is quite harsh. You are lucky that your counterpart seems to have gone for your, how should I call it… _thigh gap_?”

Asami’s expression of surprise slowly gave way to an annoyed frown. ‘Lucky’ was not in the list of words he would use to describe his current situation.

“Right between the legs…Either that was very lucky or very precise, in case whoever shot you was going for the scare of a lifetime,” he heard his private physician say. “A few inches to the left and it might have blasted your femoral artery. A few inches up and you would have become Japan's most famous eunuch."

The doctor seemed so absorbed in his own comment that he might have missed the sour glare directed at him.

There was nothing he could do, really, other than put up with the old man’s occasional humor and the jokes made at his expense. That was the price he paid for almost fifteen years of competence, discretion and loyalty – not to mention that he found the doctor’s defiance and authenticity rather refreshing.

“The abrasions on your groin and inner thigh will cause some discomfort when the sedative wears out, but with proper care there will be no scars,” Asami heard him explain, with the same stern tone and a hint of resignation. “Expect your whole crotch to feel very tender in the next couple of days due to the bruises and burns, but rest assured that there will be no permanent damage, it is all superficial,” the old man continued to explain, after lifting the blanket, and his gown, for a final inspection. “I recommend keeping the action down there to a minimum for at least another two weeks.”

Asami’s eyes shifted to the ceiling, and he scoffed quietly.

Now that was a medical recommendation he would have no difficulty following, given the latest developments in his life.

“Now, the injuries in your arm and hand..."

He lowered his eyes just in time to see his private physician take off his latex gloves with a very concerned expression on his face.

"How do you know it was a chain whip?" Asami asked, raising an eyebrow as he remembered what the man had said in the beginning of that conversation, when his brain was still too foggy to make much sense of it.

Kimura-sensei shrugged in response, before pointing to the bloodied qilinbian resting on a chair near the door.

"Your secretary brought it in," he replied, and his face showed very little emotion although his voice was serious and low. "The lacerations are rather deep, so the glue was not an option. I stitched you up the best I could but there will be scars, obviously.”

Asami, however, was no longer paying attention to the man’s words. The monitor was beeping faster again, and his chest felt like it was about to burst.

"It's still too early to know if you will lose sens-Asami-sama, what are you doing?"

"I want to see it," he muttered, tearing apart the pristine bandages covering his forearm and ignoring the doctor’s attempts to stop him.

"But-"

“Turn the monitor off,” he hissed, the frenetic beeps by his side making him nauseated as the torn skin began to come into view.

“But-“

“ _Turn it off_ ,” Asami snarled, and his voice was so full of anger that not even the intrepid physician found it in him to argue.

Now that the evidence of his emotional disquiet was not amplified by any machinery, he allowed his eyes to go back to his injured arm, the slow dripping of his IV lulling him into a moment of complete disconnect.

So that is what his back must have looked like, hours after he had committed that atrocity.

Patches of dark, bluish, bruised skin with ugly reddish cuts and the dark thread of the stitches keeping it all together… The swelling, the pain, the certainty of scars.

Except that in him everything must have hurt tenfold, not only because the affected area had been much, much bigger, but because of everything else…

_ You are nothing but a worthless whore. _

Nothing could be further from the truth, and yet those had been his parting words…

_ Worthless whore. _

Takaba Akihito.

His feisty, beautiful Takaba Akihito, the very opposite of a whore.

The very opposite of _him._

"Not a pleasant sight, is it?" he heard his physician whisper.

Asami felt his nostrils burn as slowly but steadily the reality of the facts settled in. The desire to redeem himself clashed with the certainty that he was beyond salvation... He was trapped inside his own maze of bad decisions – each turn just led him deeper in and further from the exit.

“Is Kirishima outside?” he asked, averting his gaze to the floor as he covered his arm with what was left of the torn bandages.

“He is. Would you like me to call him?”

“No,” Asami replied, after letting out a long, tired sigh. “I would like you to join him.”

“Ah...” the older man whispered in response, with a quiet nod. “Certainly. Before I leave, however, are you in pain?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your arm, your crotch..." Asami heard him ask as he looked at him over the rim of his glasses. "From 1 to 5, how would you rate your discomfort?"

"Zero," was his honest response. "Half of my body is numb."

If only he could say the same thing about his mind. That state of awareness, of lucidity, was just as unwelcome as all the other injuries that had been inflicted upon him, and probably more painful than all of them combined.

He, however, had never been a man to succumb to self-pity.

Bad as things were, he was not about to become one.

"Your resistance to pain never ceases to amaze me, Asami-sama," the doctor said, once again adjusting the drip chamber as he spoke. "I am quite sure I didn't give you enough sedative for you to feel numb, but just in case..."

After the older man left the room, Asami found himself staring at the smaller plastic bag hanging by his side and the liquid that now dripped on a much slower rate... so slowly that his eyelids grew heavy after a few seconds of trying to keep up with its rhythm.

He was already dozing off when his cell phone started buzzing on the small table next to his bed.

"Asami."

_ "Asami-san?" _

It took him longer than usual to recognise the voice on the other side of the line, but when he did, his eyes went wide.

"Yoh?" he asked, his voice strangely strained now that he was about to confirm his suspicions. "Is Fei Long dead?"

_ "No." _

The man's quick response made him feel strangely relieved.

Much as he hated Liu Fei Long with all his heart, it would have been a shame to have sent him to kingdom come under such unfavorable circumstances.

_"I am actually calling on his behalf,"_ Yoh added.

"What does he want now?" Asami asked, once again bringing himself to a sitting position - the prospect of a fallout with his favorite enemy always made him feel invigorated. "Wasn't shooting me in the groin enough for him?"

_"With all due respect, sir, he seems to be in worse condition,"_ he heard his former subordinate reply. _"His jaw was broken and burnt due to the impact of the shot... His face and neck are severely bruised and one of his eardrums was blown out..."_ he explained. _"And that's because you actually missed his head. I suppose blanks are just as lethal as bullets when the two of you are involved..."_

Yoh's voice was nothing but a whisper by the time he finished his sentence, but it was loud enough for Asami to make out every single word that had left his mouth.

"Blanks?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? I don't use blanks."

And also, he never let anyone touch his guns. How could he have shot Fei Long with blanks?

When he spoke again, his voice carried a distinct note of threat.

"Yoh..."

_"Kirishima called me earlier today to advise that personal matters might arise during the meeting,"_ Yoh replied, and his voice showed no hesitation. _"He and I agreed to prevent the worst."_

Asami didn't need any further details. At that point, it was rather obvious that his first assistant had made use of his privileged 24x7 access to his hotel room and replaced the bullets in his guns with blanks while he was asleep. Or, to be precise, after he had passed out after doubling down on his sleeping pills.

It was only fair to assume that Yoh had done the same thing with the leader of the Baishe.

Bold men, those two. No wonder they ranked high in his very short list of people he admired.

_"Asami-san..."_ Yoh's voice brought him back to reality. _"I will put you on speaker now."_

"Can he hear me?"

_ "Yes, just keep it loud and clear." _

_ That was going to be interesting. _

"Good," Asami said, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he pictured Fei Long's head wrapped in bandages like some sort of decrepit mummy. "I suppose he has just woken up from surgery?"

_"Yes, that's correct,"_ Yoh replied, his voice just as serious as usual.

"And the first thing he thought of was calling me?"

He raised an eyebrow when the man on the other side of the line remained silent for a considerable amount of time.

_ "I...suppose so." _

"Fei Long, your obsession with me really knows no limits..."

His comment was met with another pause.

"What kind of conversation is this?" Asami asked, fighting the urge to chuckle at the speeding beeps coming from the heart rate monitor on the other side of the line. "Can he talk at all?"

_"No, he can't,"_ Yoh finally replied. _"But he is writing a response."_

Asami leaned back on his bed to hear the first round of insults.

_ "'I...am going to...kill you. You...shot me...in the head.'" _

"And you shot me in the balls," he said, making sure his voice remained casual as he spoke as loud as clear as possible. "We both missed. Is that all you had to say? You could have sent an email."

_ "He is writing again." _

"Or a text message..." Asami added.

_"It says, 'you always ignore my emails'",_ Yoh replied. _"'And text messages'"_

"So does everyone else, apparently." Of course, he could not miss that opportunity to remind Fei Long that Akihito had not been doing a great job replying to his emails either. "Goodbye, Fei Long."

He bit his tongue not to laugh when he heard the monitor beep even faster. Getting under that man's skin was far too amusing.

He was about to hang up when Yoh spoke again.

_ "Wait! Asami-San, wait, he is writing something..." _

It was his turn to wait in silence.

_ "'You said that I... harmed...Akihito... as much...as you did.'" _

Whatever amusement Asami had found in that conversation was quick to disappear. His smirk faded into a horizontal line of apprehension as he pursed his lips, knowing ahead of time what he was about to hear.

_"'Not true,'"_ he heard Yoh say. _"'You...hurt him...more'. He is underlining 'you' and 'more'."_

For some reason, he couldn't find a proper response to that - not a single snarky remark came to his aid, and he found himself gripping the phone harder, torn between the need to hang up and the masochist desire to keep listening to the other man's bitter - and accurate - assessment of the situation.

_"'He...gave you...his heart,'"_ he heard Yoh add, and an invisible hand closed around his neck at those words, the palm of his hand clammy and cold as he held the phone even closer to his ear.

All of a sudden, he was absurdly grateful for the fact his heart rate monitor had been switched off.

_"Wait, he is looking for something on his phone,"_ said the voice on the other side of the line. _"'I am forewarning...' forwarding, sorry," Yoh quickly corrected. "'I am forwarding one of the last...emails...he sent me.'"_

There was another pause, and he knew it was his turn to say something.

He, however, could find nothing to say.

_"'Read it...to understand...how...'"_ Yoh continued, just to pause once again and let out a sigh. " _'Read it to understand how dumb you were.'"_

Asami blinked quickly, as if trying to recover from a swift punch thrown to his face.

_ "'Goodbye, Asami.'" _

Without bothering to bid his farewell, he ended the call, sinking lower under the bedsheets as he waited for his phone to beep with the dreadful notification.

And in time it came, indicating a new email in his inbox.

His nostrils burnt again, images he did not want to see crawling behind his eyes as he stared at his phone screen...

 

**\---------- Forwarded message ----------**

**From: Takaba Akihito**

**Date: May 6, 1:59 AM**

**Subject: RE: Question**

**To: LFL <flyingdragon@wechat.com>**

 

That was an email he would have to read eventually, just like he had to eventually let go of all of Akihito's belongings despite the void it left in his life.

Only...not that night.

He put the phone back on the bedside table, and his cold fingers moved to the drip chamber attached to the small plastic bag by his side, adjusting it so that its contents would flow faster into his vein.

When his head finally hit the pillow, a tear fell from the corner of his eye and quickly disappeared on the fabric under his cheek, the wet trail on his face drying off not much later.

He told himself it was probably just a side effect of his medication, perhaps a result of his evident exhaustion. Tomorrow he would feel better, when guilt and regret slid back into some dark corner of his mind, hidden from his view by the compassionate mantle of forgetfulness.

Or so he hoped.


	30. Mixed feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maya receives a message from her stepfather and the two of them meet - suspicions arise on both sides. On the other side of the town, Akihito gets his phone back, pays a certain someone a visit, and finally decides to get some things off his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter ahead, with more talk than action. Expect a couple of "preparation chapters" and time jumps from now on, some important events approach and they need the appropriate setting, so bear with me, folks! ^_*

By the time she reached the door to her apartment, Maya felt her heart would burst out of her chest.

It had been almost a week since nice she last set foot there, and she was positive she would not feel any better once she stepped inside. Her stepfather was probably a wreck, mainly because she had been selfish enough to walk out on him when he probably needed her the most.

She swallowed, guilt building up an uncomfortable knot in her throat as she fumbled with the keys, thinking of his text message sent a few minutes prior.

_‘Need to talk to you. Can you come over?’_

What could she possibly say for justifying so many days away, without even bothering to give him a call? That is, other than the truth, of course. That she had been running from him because she knew he was in pain, and being with him would mean having to face her own. That their apartment was crawling with memories of her mother, from the pictures on the wall to the kettle she had given her on their last Mother's Day...and she didn't want to be reminded that those were the only things left.

Memories.

She was still trying to find the right key when the door opened, and she forced herself to swallow a gasp.

Her stepfather was the image of hell.

His usually sleek blond hair looked like crunchy straw, and his face looked like a wax mask stretched over his sharp cheekbones. There were dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his clothes - sweatpants and a tank top - smelled of alcohol and cigarettes.

"Thanks for coming," he said, and his voice was hoarse and weak, as if it hadn't been used for a long time.

"I'm sorry, I should have come earlier..." she whispered in response, still staring at his thin, ghostly figure.

"I know, I look horrible...."

Maya blinked rapidly, averting her gaze to the floor and stuffing her hands inside the pockets of her jeans.

"Have you been eating?" she asked, her voice cold and indifferent.

"Yes," he replied, pouring water into two glasses and passing her one. "But not much."

"When was the last time you went to work?"

"It's been a while..."

She watched him down his water with a couple of gulps, and took her time to drink hers. Her eyes were scanning the living room, finding it in the most absolute disarray.

In less than one week, both the man by her side and the whole place seemed to have deteriorated alarmingly fast.

"Please take a seat," he whispered, and she was quick to comply.

Whatever it was he wanted to talk about, she just hoped they would get it over and done with as fast as possible, so that she could leave and forget she had been there in the first place.

"When I married your mother, I promised her two things," she heard him say, after taking a seat across from her and cracking his knuckles. "That I'd stay away from drugs, and I that I'd take care of you if anything happened to her."

She tilted her chin upwards, still avoiding his eyes.

"I'm failing in both stances."

In silence, she finally shifted her gaze to his face, fully aware that the bitterness in the golden orbs would be interpreted the wrong way.

If anyone had failed in that room, Maya certainly did not feel it was her stepfather.

"But I'm gonna get clean again. I...I..." he stuttered, droplets of cold sweat forming in his forehead as he gripped his sweatpants and moved uncomfortably on his seat. "Are you planning to come back home?"

"I don't know..." she shrugged.

"I am thinking of moving out," he continued, after a brief pause in which his eyes seemed to flash with disappointment at her curt, indifferent response. "So if you don't want to come back I will just... return the apartment to the landlord."

"Sure," Maya replied, with another mindless shrug. "Go ahead."

"And then, when I come back..." he continued, his eyes darting back and forth as he spoke, as if he was searching for a sign, any sign, that she cared at all. "If you want...we can find another place."

She nodded, faking a smile when he attempted to do the same.

Things had never been that awkward between them, and she knew it was her fault. The only way she could deal with the things happening in her life was to become detached and distant, even though that probably meant hurting the ones closest to her.

When the corners of her eyes started burning, she scratched the back of her neck and took a deep breath.

"Maya...you haven't been hacking again, have you?"

Her eyes went wide.

"Why are you asking?" she whispered, noticing a sudden glint in his eyes.

She wondered if it was the influence of drugs, or if he was really looking at her with an accusatory glare.

"I don't want you to get into trouble," he added, his smooth voice tainted with a note of irritation.

"No," she lied, hoping her answer would bring that conversation to a close. "I haven't."

"Ok."

And then, the glint of suspicion in his eyes was gone, replaced by the same haunted shadow she had seen as soon as she entered the apartment.

She shook her head, trying not to frown at his sudden change of heart.

It had to be the drugs. Either that or she was imagining things.

"How is school?" he asked, in a more amiable tone.

"Hasn't started yet."

"Oh. Right."

And then, there was nothing but awkward silence. When she looked at his face again, she saw him staring at her, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Do you miss her?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Maya raised her eyebrows, biting her lower lip as she willed her chin to stop trembling. She answered his question with an angry, annoyed nod when the corners of her eyes started prickling again.

"Me too," he replied, trying to stifle a sob.

"I should get going," she whispered back, before jumping from the couch.

"Yeah..."

How she had managed to reach that door so fast, she didn't even know. But all she wanted, all she needed, was to get away from that place, and so she mumbled a goodbye and left, without looking back.

"If you need anything, give me a call, ok?"

His words were the last thing she heard before she rested her forehead on the wall outside, tears streaming down her face as her shoulders shook.

In the five years that man had been a part of their lives, he had endured the worst of her convoluted teenage years, preventing her from going too wild, too fast, being more of a friend than a parent, putting up with her anger for having a father that didn't want her and a mother that had joined the yakuza, of all things.

He had given her all kinds of support when she had needed it, and now, when it was him that needed help, she was unable to offer a word of comfort, a hug, a smile.

Perhaps Akihito had been right, that day he said she was more of an Asami than she would ever admit.

When her eyes found her reflection on a neighbour's window, she cursed in silence.

_They were all fucked up._

++++

Akihito had just finished his breakfast when he heard the commotion at the front gate of the property.

Slowly, and trying his best to remain unnoticed, he stood up and tip toed around the large fountain near the seating area, where he hoped the small trees ahead would hide him from view.

And then he saw it: a small convoy of black cars, and at least four men in black suits and sunglasses carrying boxes and bags into the house. When one of them snapped the trunk closed, and reappeared near the door with a Nikon D5 box under his arm, Akihito felt his heart jump in his throat.

That box, and the brand new camera inside it, was his. And if that box was his, so was everything else...All the bags, all the other boxes.

They were bringing in everything he had left in the penthouse.

"Shit..." he whispered, fingers shaking as he leaned against the wall. "I have been officially evicted."

Just then, another realization hit him. If they were bringing his stuff in, that's because Asami knew where he was staying. The limo yesterday... It was him.

The bastard knew where he was staying, but hadn't even bothered to check on him. And now he had recruited a bunch of his lackeys to dump his belongings at the counsellor's house so that he wouldn't have to do that himself.

After three years, after chasing him countless times, in the most absurd ways and places, that was how Asami Ryuichi had chosen to exit his life.

"Coward!" Akihito hissed, giving the wall a kick, and then another, and many more, until the tip of his sneakers was covered in chipped paint and his toe started throbbing. "Son of a bitch!"

What had he expected, anyway? That the man would show up, go down on his knees, and beg to be forgiven? He had only done what he said he would: have his belongings delivered to him.

"Fuck," the photographer whispered, allowing his forehead to rest against the cold surface when tears started pooling in his eyes. "Fuck! I... I fucking hate you!"

He punched the wall angrily, and almost wailed in pain when his shoulder protested.

And then, his eyebrows arched in a sharp angle, and he clenched his jaw.

He was going to give Asami's minions a piece of his mind.

He was about to storm into the main hall when he heard a familiar voice coming from the counsellor's office.

_"How is he doing?"_

Once again tiptoeing, he hid behind a vase and pressed one of his ears against the door leading to the woman's office.

 _"He is a strong young man. Li Jiao is tending his wounds, she says they're healing fast...And today he's had his first decent meal, so things look good,"_ he heard the counsellor reply. _"How is Asami?"_

 _"In the hospital,"_ the male voice replied, and Akihito's eyes went wide. _"Got into a fight with an old friend of his..."_

_"Is that so?"_

_"He is...out of control. I am almost relieved he has been admitted to a hospital, I'm afraid he really needs supervision."_

There was a pause, in which Akihito let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Why was his heart beating faster, why did he even care... Served Asami right, to end up in a hospital, he hoped the bastard was in pain!

His lips immediately curved downwards in response to that obvious lie.

 _"I am sure he does..."_ it was the woman's turn to speak. _"I'm still waiting for him to call me, I'd be glad to help."_

_"Can't you call him instead?"_

_"I can't coerce my clients to talk, Kirishima. Plus I don't do telemarketing, if he wants to be counselled he will have to come to me."_

Akihito couldn't help but notice that her tone was still serene, but carried a note of annoyance.

 _"The longer he postpones it, the deeper he is going to sink,"_ she added, and then her voice got so low that he had to press his ear harder against the door, _"...such a violent reaction..."_

_"Do you think... and the kid... any chances?"_

He pursed his lips when the secretary decided to lower his voice as well, and he could only make out fragments of his sentence.

 _"I don't know. You tell me..."_ the photographer heard the counsellor reply, after a rather loud sigh. _"You have known your boss for almost 15 years, do you think he is willing to make amendments?"_

Akihito's fingers curled against the wooden surface, his heart beating faster once again.

 _"Even if he is...do you think Takaba would take him back?"_ Kirishima asked, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

_Would he?_

_"Would you, if you were him?"_ the counsellor's voice brought him back to reality, and he swallowed the knot in his throat.

_"I'm afraid I can't answer that question with the expected level of neutrality. He is my boss, I will always take him back."_

Akihito rolled his eyes when the two of them chuckled.

"’I will always take him back...’" Akihito found himself scoffing quietly. "What a doormat..." he whispered, frowning when he realised his sudden anger at the secretary was nothing but concealed jealousy.

_"Well, I should get going."_

Those words made Akihito take a few steps backwards to hide behind a pilar. Not much later, he saw the secretary and the counsellor exit the office, still talking quietly to each other.

When the two of them walked past him towards the main hall, Akihito turned on his heels and headed to the staircase, reaching the fourth floor much faster than usual.

At least now that he got his stuff back, he would be able to use his phone again...

++++

“Maya!”

After swiping his key card and kicking the door open, Kou dropped his messenger bag next to the bed and looked around, searching for his… _partner in crime,_ for lack of a better word.

_Heh._

Of all things… those were the terms that best described their relationship at the moment, with all the hacking and running around like fugitives. Sure, the girl was also his friend, but friends didn’t do the _things they did_ , at least not that often.

“Whatever…” he mumbled, before knocking on the bathroom door. “Maya?”

“Here.”

He spun on his heels to look at the girl standing on the opposite side of the suite, leaning against the hall that led to the small living room.

“Oh,” he gasped. “You got a haircut.”

“Yeah…”

The dark, shorter strands of hair that now barely touched her shoulders and covered both sides of her head were, of course, the most obvious change in the girl’s appearance. But Kou couldn’t help but notice the other things that looked different – her face had no make-up on whatsoever, and her eyes were reddish and puffy.

_She had been crying._

“What happened to your piercings?” he whispered, taking a step closer to the girl to take a better look at her face.

“I had them removed,” she shrugged. “Thought I should try a new look.”

He raised his eyebrows, his gaze dropping to the slightly pale lips that even without the usual rosiness still looked very kissable.

And her eyes, oh…those golden eyes. Even reddish and puffy they were still the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

“You look amazing,” he said, and he meant it. From her bare feet to the baggy grey sweatpants and white tank top, to the last hair on her head…He could look at her all day.

“Yeah, right…” he heard the girl snort in response.

“You do! I liked your hair before but now you look even...edgier.”

He saw a faint smile curl the corners of her mouth.

“Not sure edgy is a good word to describe me right now…”

“Well, I don't think your edge is in your makeup or your clothes, so…” he shrugged, “…there's that.”

“Oh really?” the girl chuckled, with both hands on her waist. “And where would my edge be, I wonder?”

“Eh… I don't know,” he replied, opening the minibar and grabbing two cans of soda. “It's just...who you are,” he explained, or tried to. He couldn’t actually explain why Maya would always stand out in a crowd. It was not necessarily because of her looks, although she was extremely pretty… “Whether you accessorise or not...doesn't change who you are on the inside, I guess.”

After opening both cans, he passed her the Cherry Coke, and saw her chin tremble slightly.

“Sorry,” he whispered, frowning when her reddish eyes seemed to glisten. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Maya shook her head, the little smile reappearing on her lips. “No, I... I just had a crazy day yesterday, and this morning was odd too, so…don’t mind me.”

“Sorry I didn't come back here after work yesterday…”

He wished he had. Ever since they started…well, _going about their illegal cyber activities_ , it had been the first time he had slept at home. But he had had to work overtime to make up for the days he had been absent, and his useless visit to Chuo General Hospital to find out Akihito’s whereabouts had soured his mood.

“It's okay…” she replied, after patting his hand and handing him a bag of chips. “Ah, you were gonna say something when you got in, what was it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kou replied, sitting on the bed and gesturing for her to do the same. “Akihito called.”

“And?”

“He's okay. He said he was in the hospital because he suffered an accident during a stakeout or something...he didn't want to go into detail and I didn't push it, but… He sounded nervous.”

Maya raised her eyebrows, and he could see that she hadn’t bought that explanation either.

“Where is he now?” she asked. “Why didn't he call before?”

“He is doing some work for this rich doctor or something. As to not calling...” Kou paused, pursing his lips before speaking again. “He said his phone had run out of battery and he couldn't find his charger.”

The two of them exchanged the same look of disbelief.

“That is a lame excuse.”

“I know, right? I didn't buy it either, so I asked him to FaceTime to see if he was really okay,” he continued. “He looked fine. He was sitting in a patio, near a fountain and a swimming pool. Got some lady servants to wave at the camera... So...” he scratched his neck, his obvious discomfort showing in his voice. “Quite sure he is hiding something but I guess he'll tell us when he's ready, right?”

The truth was, Kou knew Akihito far too well to know that the lies his scatterbrained friend came up with had a single purpose: to prevent the people he cared for from getting hurt, or worried. That was why he knew it would be useless to force him to spill the beans.

_For now._

“You're a good friend…” Maya whispered, one of her hands resting on his thigh.

“Akihito is like a brother to me…”

“I know. He is very lucky.”

Her voice was soft and carried a sensual note that he had come to recognize very well. That, added to the hand on his leg and the little smirk on her lips… When their eyes met, Kou couldn’t help but replace the thoughts of his friend with… _other things_.

“Do you want...to do something tonight?” he asked, averting his gaze to the ceiling as the girl slowly moved closer to him. “Maybe watch-“

“Yeah...”

Her lips brushed against his ear, and he pondered, for the fraction of a second, that Akihito was not the only one hiding something…

During their conversation earlier that day, he had not even mentioned what he and Maya had been doing for the past week or so.

He still had a feeling that his friend would be thoroughly pissed when he found out.

++++

Hours had gone by since Akihito finally laid hands on his phone, but he still hadn’t managed to go through all the notifications and emails that had accumulated in those past four days.

Kou alone must have called him more than one hundred times…Then there was Maya, text messages from Mitarai and potential employers that by now had probably found someone else to do the jobs they had to offer, and oh, for crying out loud, even _his mother_ had called him.

And since he had not been around to answer, she had texted. And because he hadn’t responded to that either, she had resorted to sending him emails.

 _Many_ emails.

Apparently, she was not the only one who had done so.

Liu Fei Long was spamming his inbox as well. Thirty-two text messages sent in the past 24 hours.

He wondered what the emergency was… And as he searched his mind for recollections of any alarming news, Kirishima’s words echoed in his mind, and his eyes widened.

_In the hospital…Got into a fight with an old friend of his..._

“Oh hell no…” he whispered. “Not again, you gotta be kidding me…”

Running his fingers through his hair, he read every message… not that there was much to read, actually – the content was short and very clear, with slight variations.

_‘Akihito, call me. Where are you?’_

_‘Akihito, what happened?’_

_‘Akihito, answer my messages.’_

He was not even halfway done when another message popped up.

_‘I know you have read my messages, I see the double blue check.’_

“What the…” Akihito muttered, his shoulders drooping in defeat when he realized the man had no intention of giving up. “What’s with these Mafia leaders and all the attention-seeking…”

After letting out an annoyed sigh, he pressed a button on his phone, and waited.

“Fei Long?” he said, as soon as the call connected. “Listen, I don’t know what you and-“

_“Takaba-san.”_

The photographer frowned. That was _not_ Fei Long’s voice.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

_“Yoh.”_

“Yoh? Oh…”

Akihito shrugged. Apparently, their relationship had taken quite a step forward, if the man was now answering Fei Long’s personal calls on his behalf.

“I am returning Fei Long’s call.”

 _“I see,”_ he heard Yoh reply. _“I’m afraid he won’t be able to speak with you, however.”_

“Why not?” Akihito asked, with an even deeper frown. “Then why the hell did he ask me to call?”

 _“He can’t move his jaw, so I will facilitate your communication,”_ the man explained. _“I will put you on speaker, and read his resp-“_

“Yeah, right, okay,” the photographer snorted in response. “Where is he staying?”

There was a pause, during which he could hear the other man speaking Chinese on the other side of the line.

_“Fei Long-sama would like to wait until he is in better shape for an encounter with you, Takaba-san.”_

Akihito’s eyebrows shot up. _In better shape to do what?_ What had Asami told him, that he was back in the market?

“Yoh, listen,” he narrowed his eyes, a hand curling into a fist as he spoke. “Whatever his idea of an ‘encounter’ is, I am not interested.”

 _“He says you have the wrong idea,”_ Yoh replied. _“He wants to wait because right now, he looks like a monster.”_

Akihito rolled his eyes.

 _“His words, not mine, by the way…”_ he heard the man on the other side of the line whisper.

“Put me on speaker.”

After a brief moment of silence, Yoh spoke again.

_“You’re on speaker, Takaba-san.”_

“Fei Long, tell me where you are, and we can talk. If you don’t, I will block you from my contact list and you will never hear from me again. Take it or leave it.”

++++

In a matter of seconds, of course, the address of the hospital where Fei Long was currently recovering showed up on his screen.

After a long debate with the owner of the house, who seemed adamant about not letting him take the train, he had finally capitulated and accepted to use one of the woman’s cars – and drivers - to get to his destination.

“Takaba-san, thanks for coming,” he heard Yoh say, as soon as he entered the private clinic tucked away in a residential corner of Shinjuku. “He has been very agitated ever since he found out about…what happened between you and Asami-san.”

“What the hell happened?” Akihito asked, frowning as he followed the other man towards a room at the end of a very long hallway.

“I am not sure, because their meeting was private. I believe they were talking business when you were brought into the conversation, and…” Yoh paused, his dark, deep eyes showing a hint of concern even though his voice remained impassive, “…they ended up shooting each other.”

“Yeah… I hear Asami is in a hospital too?”

“He is.”

“How bad is it?” Akihito asked, his voice low and worried as he stared at his own shoes.

“I assume it was not as bad as it could have been.”

The photographer pursed his lips. That man and his cryptic answers…though, if he thought about it, being unclear and economic with words seemed to be everyone’s m.o. in that line of business.

“Do you…do you know what hospital Asami is staying in?” he asked, when they finally reached the spacious, luxurious medical suite.

“I'm afraid I don't.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You should ask Kirishima,” Yoh added.

Akihito nodded, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans before they parted ways and he took a left turn to walk towards the bed on the opposite side of the room.

“Whoa…” he found himself exclaiming, as soon as his eyes fell upon Fei Long’s face, almost entirely wrapped with gauze.

No wonder the leader of the Baishe had been reluctant in receiving him – he had always been very proud of his looks, and as it was, his face looked like a watercolor stain, with one of his eyes more swollen than the other, his lips crooked in a weird angle, and his sharp cheekbones soft and round like two steamed buns.

“The hell happened to you?” he asked, sitting on the armchair across from the bed.

He saw the man uncap a marker, and write his answer in a notepad.

_‘Asami.’_

“Well, yeah… I figured,” Akihito replied.

_‘How are you?’_

“Fine,” he shrugged.

He noticed one of Fei Long’s eyebrows go up, before he started writing again.

_‘Let me see it.’_

“No.”

_‘Why did he hit you?’_

Akihito shook his head, a little sad smile curling the corners of his mouth. He really didn’t want to talk about it, and even if he did, he doubted Liu Fei Long would be an appropriate confidant. Between that man and Asami, it was always about war, about winning, about shooting each other, and he didn’t want the blood of either of them to be in his hands.

“That’s between Asami and me.”

_‘Why?’_

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He lifted his gaze to the other man’s face, and noticed his resigned frown.

In no time, he was writing again.

 _‘I want to apologize,’_ read the first line, before he moved on to write another. _‘I was the one that gave Asami the chain whip.’_

“I’m quite sure that when you gave it to him, that was not the use you had in mind,” Akihito snorted. “If it was…then yes, I accept your apologies. And if it wasn’t, you have nothing to apologize for.”

Fei Long drew in a long breath, still studying his face.

“Where did you shoot him?” Akihito asked, and his question elicited a strange, tilted sneer.

_‘In the balls.’_

The photographer gasped, and he was sure all blood had drained from his face. Fei Long seemed to have noticed his reaction, because he was quick to scribble other two lines.

_‘Don’t worry. I missed them.’_

Why that fact filled him with so much relief, Akihito was not sure. It was not as if he should be nurturing any hopes to see Asami and his privates ever again.

When Fei Long tapped his notepad with the tip of his pen, he raised his eyes to the next thing the man had written.

_‘Do you want to go back to him?’_

Akihito narrowed his eyes. Again, Fei Long was trying to make him talk about things he did not want to even think about.

“Ask me something else,” he replied, fidgeting with the chains attached to his belt in an attempt to keep his tone casual.

_‘What if he looks for you?’_

“He won't.”

_‘How do you know?’_

“Intuition,” Akihito said, even though the response he had really thought of was, ‘well, he had the chance yesterday, and he didn’t…’

After another sigh, Fei Long was writing again.

_‘I know that it is not your style, but I have to ask.’_

Akihito waited for the second part of his thought before making any comments.

_‘If you had the chance to get back at him, would you?’_

When he realized the man had not finished writing, he remained silent.

_‘Do you want him to pay?’_

The expression on Fei Long’s face left no room for doubt.

“I’m quite sure that all you want is a reason to strike him again,” Akihito scoffed.

Those people never learnt. Was that how they solved their problems, really? By retaliating against each other, by plotting, by hurting…? Didn’t they ever get tired of it?

“I don’t seek revenge, Fei Long,” he answered, his voice calm and collected even though his heart had started racing at the memories of all the times his life, and Asami’s, had been in danger because of their relentless pursuit of retribution. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here, would I?”

Akihito saw Fei Long’s gaze drop to his notepad, and took that chance to revisit his own thoughts.

For a very long time, he had thought he was above all that underworld shit. That it would never rub off on him, that it would never change who he was… And now, he felt like he was disintegrating.

Would he end up like Fei Long, and waste his life drowning in resentment, secretly plotting against Asami to make him pay for what he did? He had been so bitter that morning, when he had heard Kirishima say the man was in a hospital… Was that where he was headed? He had never been one to hold grudges, but what if he had changed, after all?

He didn’t want to. Regardless of how badly Asami had hurt him, there had to be another way to get over it, one that did not involve Fei Long’s methods, or anyone else’s, really, other than the ones he believed in, and that had nothing to do with all that ‘revenge’ crap.

When Fei Long tapped his notepad again, much louder than the first time, Akihito shook his head and averted his gaze to his face.

_‘What's wrong?’_

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Listen, Fei Long... Now that Asami and I are not together anymore, I could really do with a break.”

He noticed the man’s eyes lose some of their spark.

“So… I would really appreciate if you stopped writing to me...calling...” when the man started to write again, he quickly continued. “Nothing personal, I just need to be away from all this shit for a while. I...have things to figure out.”

Fei Long then paused, turned a new leaf, and wrote again.

_‘Will you be ok?’_

“Yes.”

The two of them exchanged a final glance, before the photographer stood up and headed to the door.

“Get better soon,” he whispered, before leaving the room and missing the _‘you too’_ written on the notepad behind him.

++++

The sun had already set when Majima Makoto finally closed one of her brailled reports about Asami Ryuichi, carefully sliding it into one of her drawers before lacing her fingers on top of her lap.

An interesting man, that one.

She couldn't help but wonder what exactly had been said and done the day Takaba Akihito ended up in a hospital. She remembered very well Asami's tone when he spoke of his lover, the measured words, the confessions... His apathy when talking about the circumstances in which they had met...

Given his fear of being rejected, it was not a surprise, at least not for her, that the man had gone for a preemptive strike against the photographer after he left the island, but how he had gone about it made her forehead wrinkle in concern.

Was it a crime of passion, or an attempted honour killing?

Had she missed something? Despite his obviously aggressive nature, she had taken Asami Ryuichi for a man that calculated risks and avoided acting on the spur of the moment - in fact, she had found his ability to control his emotions rather remarkable. But after his haphazard attack against Takaba Akihito, she was beginning to suspect there was something else fuelling his anger other than jealousy...

The counsellor filed those thoughts away when she heard the voice of Takaba Akihito outside her office.

"Come in," she said, with a small smile.

If there was a person that could help her make sense of that enigmatic relationship, it had to be the young man whose footsteps echoed quietly in her office.

"Take a seat, Takaba-san, make yourself comfortable," she added. "I believe Li Jiao brought me tea and mochi, it must be somewhere behind you. Go ahead and help yourself."

Her smile widened when she heard the young man pour some of the matcha into a cup, and not much time later, the sounds of timid, quiet munching.

"You can call me Akihito," he said, his voice low and slightly strained.

Makoto nodded in response, trying to put together all the tiny bits of information her newest client was finally giving her to draw a better picture of him inside her mind. He smelled of crisp, sweet apple and peaches, his movements were blunt and she could tell he was fidgety while sipping his tea and busying himself with the little rice cakes. Probably studying her face, deciding if she was worth his trust or not... He wanted to be addressed by his first name, even though they barely new each other, and that, added to the frankness in his voice, only reinforced his jovial, daring spirit...

She could tell right off the gate that Takaba Akihito wore his heart on his sleeve, and his openness couldn't possibly antagonise more with Asami's cold, calculated demeanour.

No wonder the older man always sounded so astonished when speaking of his lover - she had barely spent time with the photographer and already found herself fascinated by his authenticity.

"Your name is not Myuki, is it?" the counsellor heard him ask.

"No," she replied. "My name is Majima Makoto."

Her words were followed by a low clatter of china hitting the wooden surface of the desk as the young man in front of her put down his cup.

"Why do you use a fake name?"

"It's a long story," she said, after a brief pause.

"Oh... Alright, then."

Judging by his clipped tone, Makoto suspected he had not appreciated her rather vague response. After letting out a sigh, she leaned forward, crossing her arms over the desk.

"Do you see the grenade curtains?" she asked, tilting her head towards the spot where she knew the glass doors were. "Very creative, don't you think?"

The photographer's silence was enough of an answer.

"My late husband had a passion for...explosions, among other very dangerous things," she explained. "Let's say that he is the main reason I had to hide my identity for a very long time."

"When did he pass away?"

"Twelve years ago," the counsellor answered, noticing that the young man's voice was becoming more relaxed and amiable as the conversation went by. "The circumstances in which we met are very curious as well...Another story I will have to tell you one of these days."

She could hear the sound of fabric rustling against the chair, as if the boy was shifting on his seat.

"But now... You sound troubled," she said, feeling she could finally create the opportunity for him to talk now that he seemed to be slightly more comfortable in her presence. "Would you like to talk?"

His breath hitched, but his voice was casual when he spoke again.

"Nah... I'm okay," he replied.

"Okay."

Curious as she was to learn more about the young man sitting across from her, she knew that certain things could not, and should not, be rushed.

"If you ever feel like you need to get something out of your chest, I will be happy to listen," she added.

After another minute of silence, in which she could hear the photographer refill his cup and munch on another mochi, the young man cleared his throat.

"If I... The things I say..." he said, and she noticed the hesitation in his voice. "Will you tell Asami? I mean, you are his counsellor..."

"Yes. Not his subordinate," she replied, her tone serene but firm. "I do not report to Asami Ryuichi, and telling him what you told me in confidence would be extremely unethical. I take my job very seriously," she explained. "Whatever we talk about, now or later, will not leave this room."

His concern was understandable. Perhaps it was too much for him, to trust a complete stranger with such sensible information, especially under his current circumstances...

"How does he know I'm here?" the counsellor heard him ask, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Why are you helping me, how did you find me at the bridge that day?"

"Kirishima called me that day, he knew something bad was about to happen," she answered, lacing her fingers as she spoke. "He asked for my assistance, he wanted someone to look after you."

"So he knows about Sakazaki too..." the photographer whispered, and his voice was so low she had barely understood what he had said.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing..."

And then, there was another long pause, in which Akihito's breathing had become slightly more laboured.

"As I said, there is no hurry," she reinforced. "If you don't feel like talking t-"

"Do you wanna know why he hit me?" Akihito interrupted, and the counsellor found herself mildly surprised by the sheer bluntness of his question despite the shakiness in his voice.

Before she could reply, he was speaking again.

"He hit me, and he kicked me out, because I paid for information with a blowjob."

Makoto was convinced she looked unimpressed by his statement, basically because she was unimpressed. For starters, she already knew about the picture showing the act - Kirishima had filled her in on the details. Also, she was not a prude, unlike most of her former colleagues. Words like blowjob did not make her hair stand on end. And finally...she was well acquainted with the fact that in times of need, one used whatever methods of payment were available to them.

Her unaffected response seemed to put the young man at ease, because in a matter of seconds, he went on.

"Which is very rich of him..." she heard him add, a note of obvious bitterness punctuating his words. "It had never bothered him before, me...being with other men. I guess he can make an exception when it is for his own entertainment."

His voice was shaky - whether because of anger, resentment or shame, it was not clear.

Her guess was that he was feeling all three of those.

"He was probably pissed because I did it without his authorisation," he continued, and his weak, saddened scoff only seemed to confirm her suspicions. "But he was right, at least about one thing. That time was different, because it was a trade."

She was missing far too many pieces of that puzzle to understand what he was referring to, but she would let him talk, without interruptions.

Eventually, there would be a time to ask questions.

"I knew that it was degrading, I... I hesitated. There was a moment I thought I'd just leave, but then he said the price would go up. And I thought, I really need the info. Asami really needs the info. So I did it," he continued, his voice regaining some of its steadiness but losing its initial energy, as if he was immersed in his own thoughts and memories, disconnected from his current surroundings. "The means justifying the ends...that was never what I believed in. That was something I always fought against. And there I was..."

The counsellor, noticing Akihito's hypnotic trance and the delicate nature of that topic, tried to make as many mental notes as she could before he continued with his monologue.

"At that time, I told myself I wouldn't do it a second time, but who knows? If things kept going, who knows what decision I would have come to... If the means justify the end and the end... It was always the same."

"What was the end?" she asked quietly.

His silence made her think that she had taken him out of the zone, but after a sharp intake of breath, he finally replied.

"To prove myself. To show him that I had some value, that I could be his equal."

Makoto nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"I remember that at the time, there were...all these people saying they didn't understand why Asami kept me by his side. And I didn't either. I was confused. I thought...that getting that information would show him...that I was worth keeping."

When his voice broke at the end, she realised the trance, that blessed state of detachment, was over.

"Then I was abducted...harassed...by this other guy, who said things that...made me realise that I didn't have to prove anything. That I was a part of Asami's private life, not a business associate," the photographer's voice was heavy with emotion, its modulation far from stable. "Not a source, a spy. He would have never asked me to give someone a blowjob to get information. He would have never allowed me to. Because he wanted something else. He just wanted...me."

When he sniffled for the first time, Makoto thought of asking if he wanted to stop.

She didn't have time to, though.

"And that is why I never told him what happened that day. I was ashamed. I knew he would be disappointed," he continued, his voice nasal as he sniffled again. "I wanted to explain that to him, b-but he didn't let me. And I don't know if it would have mattered, he was so...mad."

The counsellor heard him blow his nose before continuing.

"You know, everything is so complicated with him," he said, and she was quick to realise that he no longer sounded sad, but slightly annoyed. "So many things happened, and...and then this one day I called myself a whore and he got so mad and I... and I could see that he was upset and I just knew he didn't see me as a slut and then there was you and your messages and he never tells me anything, how was I supposed to know you were his counsellor? We had a huge fallout because of you, I thought... I thought you two were having an affair! And see, that is another funny thing, he gets to keep his secrets, but for once I keep mine and everything just goes to shit?"

She should be recording that conversation. There was no way she would remember all the information the young man had just shared.

"He had never hit me before.." he whispered, and Makoto noticed the grievance was back in his voice. "The things he said...the way he looked at me, I just..."

Another sniffle.

"I don't want to feel like this," he muttered, before sucking in a long, teary breath.

"Like this how?"

"Confused," she heard the photographer reply. "Angry, sad... Everything."

Makoto moved one of her hands across the desk, trying to locate the young man's arm across from her. When her fingers connected to his wrist, she gave it a reassuring squeeze, with a little smile on her lips as he blew his nose again.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just tired," he whispered, his voice still nasal but much more relaxed than before. "Sorry for the rambling, I don't think I made much sense, did I? "

"Do you feel better?"

"No," he chuckled, and she couldn't help but laugh as well. "Am I supposed to?"

"Well... I guess 'better' is not the right word. Maybe... Lighter?" she said. "It sounded like you had been munching on those thoughts for a while..."

"Yeah..."

What a fascinating human being that Takaba Akihito was turning out to be. He was such a refreshing novelty... Some of her clients had taken months, years, to even begin to reveal what truly bothered them, trying to save face by playing all kinds of games in her office. That bold young man, with his peppy attitude even in his moments of sadness, had not hesitated to talk about his feelings after some tea and a couple of rice cakes...

"I guess I do feel... kinda relieved. There are not many people I can talk to, you know, about...these things," she heard him say, and a smile curved the corners of her lips. "Wait, does this count as a counselling session? I really don't have the money to pay you..."

"Asami has already paid all the fees."

"Of course he has..." the photographer snorted, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. "Can you return it to him?"

Her eyebrows shot up. Asami had told her the young man had never been interested in his money, but that knowledge did not prevent her from being surprised at Akihito's fierce determination to reject any kind of financial help.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked.

"Yes, I will work for it. To pay your fees," he replied, and his tone left very little room for debate. "I will cook, clean, do the gardening, whatever you need."

"Good..." the counsellor nodded in response. She was one of Japan's richest people, so every now and then she could afford to work pro bono and it would be her pleasure to counsel Takaba Akihito free of charge. She suspected, however, that offering such a deal would offend the fiery young man even more, so she decided to agree with his terms. "I guess I can do with a handyman. Asami's payment will be returned right away."

"Thank you," he said.

"Would you like to send him a message?"

"Yeah..."

Instead of a response, however, all she heard was the sound of a chair being pushed back, and the rattle of the chains attached to the photographer's belt as he stood up.

"Tell him to shove his money up his ass," he added, before his footsteps echoed in the office once again as he moved towards the door.

"Excuse me," she heard his distant voice say, before exiting the room. "Uh... Thanks for the tea."

When a soft click indicated her door had been closed, she shook her head, smirking as she imagined Kirishima transmitting that last message to his boss.

_Takaba Akihito was a truly exceptional young man._

"You're welcome, sunshine..." she whispered, before picking up her phone to call Asami's secretary.

 


	31. Affections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirishima is not pleased to find out his boss has messed up his personal assistant, Melissa; Akihito peeps on a couple getting some action; the morning ends with the two men having a sincere conversation before parting ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though this will initially look like a random chapter, there is a purpose to it. First, for Kirishima and Akihito's interaction to make more sense, I found it important to show more of Kirishima's living arrangements and, therefore, his methodic personality - I think the contrast between his precision and Aki's chaotic nature makes their relationship even more interesting. Second, we won't be seeing much more of Aki's days with the counsellor so I chose to take a moment to show what his routine was like. And last but not least, I intentionally give Li Jiao quite a bit of space because she will be very relevant in this story later on. ; )

Kirishima Kei's apartment was the perfect reflection of his personality.

The walls were bare except for the huge Takehiro Tobinaga panel covering three quarters of the main hall, and nothing in the luxurious apartment was out of place. Not even dust dared to test Kirishima's relentless pursuit for perfection: the sleek designer furniture seemed to have popped straight out of a magazine, and all the cutting-edge electronics spread around the place were shining and scratch-free.

In the kitchen, stainless steel appliances, knives and other utensils were kept together so neatly that they seemed to have been painted over the counters. The faint light coming from the lamps in the corners of the living room made it somber but cosy, and the high tech laptops, hard disks and other gadgets were certain to give any computer geek a raging hard-on. 

Between the two carefully decorated rooms, the only one thing stood out as a blur of disarray was Kirishima's desk, and the man behind it.

With a sigh, his hair standing on end thanks to the many times he had run his fingers through the frizzy, unruly strands, the secretary lit up the fifth cigarette of the day, and rolled his lighter between his fingers before resting his head on the cold surface of the table.

He woke up half an hour later, with a piece of paper glued to his cheek and the smell of freshly-brewed coffee filling his nostrils.

"Your triple _ristretto_ is ready, sir," said a gentle, feminine voice coming from the fridge. "And you ran out of eggs, milk and tomatoes. Would you like me to email your shopping list to the grocery store?"

"Yes, please," he replied, scratching his shoulder as he dragged his slippers across the living room, and reached the counter where a fuming cup of hot coffee awaited for him in a recently-purchased espresso machine. "And adjust the thermostat, it is too cold in here."

" _Hai_ ," the soft female voice responded, this time echoing gently in the room out of the Bluetooth speakers near the TV.

"Thanks, Melissa."

The secretary let out another sigh after taking a sip of his drink and returning to his desk, rubbing his pajama-clad arms as he read one of the reports in front of him, the dark bags under his eyes the evidence of another sleepless night.

"You sound sad, sir. Would you like me to keep you warm?"

When he raised his eyes to the 90-inch LED screen at the far end of the room, he saw the image of a hazel-eyed woman in a tight black dress, her long blond hair held up in a ponytail. The room's lights had dimmed automatically to adjust to the intimate ambience set by the lounge music now playing quietly in the background.

"I really have to readjust your programming, don't I?" he mumbled, once again fumbling with the pile of papers. "You have been asking that question too often, and at very inappropriate times..."

"I am unable to compute that response," the woman responded. "Is that a yes or a no?"

When he looked at the screen again, he noticed she had already let one of the straps of her dress slide sensually down her shoulder.

"It's a 'no', Melissa, for crying out loud. Enter sleep mode."

At those words, the lights went back to normal, the music stopped and the screen was dark again. The secretary put down the folders he was holding and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Goodness, what was I thinking when I decided to give Artificial Intelligence a try?" he whispered, after yet another disheartened sigh. "And what was I thinking when I showed it to Asami-sama..."

Oh, he had a lot of reprogramming to do indeed indeed. He now realized what a huge mistake it had been to leave his boss alone in his apartment for a few hours after he was released from the hospital. Not only had his virtual assistant's appearance been changed to look an awful lot like a feminine version of Takaba Akihito, but after said visit she had also started to demand Kirishima's attention multiple times a day.

_ Never again. _

He cleared his throat, and shook off those thoughts to focus on the problem at hand.

Or, as it was,  _ problems _ .

One of his laptops was still working on breaking the encryption that protected the financial transactions of Omi Alliance's officer Sengoku Hiroshi, and the other data that he had already been able to decode showed a series of contracts and emails that made it clear that the man was acting against the syndicate's interest. Money pouring into his personal bank account from prostitution, illegal gambling, drug trafficking and extortion were just some of the highlights of his scheme, but the most concerning data involved him harassing suppliers and officials that had always been loyal to Asami Ryuichi and that had always ensured his most profitable routes remained safe.

That included multiple attempts to approach and bribe the Korean mafia in Osaka... A bid for the Dotonbori warehouse... Had it not been for Liu Fei Long covering all his offers and defusing any potential conflicts in the area, he might as well have succeeded in his plans...

As a result, his boss's domain in Osaka remained unaltered, at least for now. Well, that explained the Baishe's involvement in that mess, although with Liu Fei Long, no help of any kind ever came without a price and after the shootout incident, Kirishima was quite sure that price had gone up tenfold....

He took off his glasses and frowned, his knuckles resting against his lips.

It was clear Sengoku was out for Asami Ryuichi, but a part of that imbroglio did not make any sense.

If it had been him pulling the strings all along, why send the Tojo the information stolen from Sion in the first cyber attack a month ago? Maya had sworn she had not shared the data with anyone, so how had Sengoku gotten his hands on it in the first place?

True, the idea of the Tojo meddling in his business would ensure Asami Ryuichi pointed his guns at the wrong enemy, but that was a risky choice of distraction. With the information about the Chinese routes, the Tojo could have made a move on their own and strengthened their position as a syndicate...which would be of no benefit to the Omi at all...

And then there was the second cyber attack, the blueprints stolen from Sion,Taiga Saejima's murder, Mirai's death as a result of their attempt to retaliate... 

It was clear the Omi was either using someone as a mole to pull all those stunts, or they were the pawns... Either way, there was a missing piece somewhere...one he would have to find to solve that puzzle, because taking down Sengoku would not be enough if there were more players in that game.

If only the surveillance recordings at Sion had not been damaged during the power outage that had preceded Saejima's assassination... At least he would have a clue as to whom he should be looking for.

The secretary stole a glance at the clock hanging on top of the refrigerator. 4:55. 

It was time to get ready for work.

He stood up, stretched, and walked towards the treadmill in the adjacent room as he unbuttoned his pajamas.  When he was about to move past the TV screen, however, he stopped on his tracks.

Now that it was time to unwind, he might as well give his assistant some of his time.

"Melissa, restart program," he said, after hanging the flannel shirt on the coat rack.

"Yes, sir."

"Sorry if I was rude to you," the secretary continued, taking a seat on the couch and crossing his legs as he spoke. "Are you upset?"

"No, sir," the blond-haired woman behind the screen replied. "Emotions are nothing but an inconvenience."

"And of course he had to feed you that line..." he whispered, after another deep sigh. "I wonder if there is anything else he changed?"

"I was given an... _ attachment _ ."

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. He had already noticed her chest was flatter than usual, but he truly hoped the  _ attachment _ was not the modification he was thinking.

"Attachment?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," the woman replied. "I now have a pe-"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake..."

The secretary grimaced. If he had arrived home later that day, his boss would have probably altered his virtual assistant to such an extent he would be forced to live with a Takaba Akihito's doppelgänger. 

That thought made Kirishima jump from the couch as if he had been propelled by an invisible giant spring.

"Wait a minute," he said, eyes wide as he rushed to his desk to look at the list of events that had taken place in the past month. "Wait...a...minute..."

There was one thing he had overlooked, one event that he should have considered.

Speaking of the devil, Takaba Akihito had been on an investigation the day he was caught in the middle of a shootout at the Tojo's headquarters, only a few days before Saejima's assassination. Mirai had told him she had not deleted the pictures the photographer took that day, so he probably still had them. 

The young man had always been very talented in capturing people in his viewfinder... Surely those photos were worth checking.

Kirishima put down his notes, ignored his virtual assistant's sensual pleas, and decided to skip his usual workout as he headed to the shower.

He had places to be.

++++

“Takaba-san, it's time.”

Akihito took off his earbuds when Li Jiao patted him on the shoulder, and looked around just in time to see the other kitchen staff whispering excitedly to each other.

Morning meditations were quite an event at that place, and after two weeks taking part in them, he had come to understand why.

He put away the last dishes he had to wash, took off his apron, and followed two small Korean ladies into the backyard. Apparently, they had been the last ones to join the crowd, because the area was already filled with Majima Makoto’s employees - from the drivers in their impeccable suits, to the gardeners with their funky straw hats and kitchen hands holding saucepans and butcher knives.

Not the usual equipment for group meditation, but nothing was usual in that place, anyway.

Standing on top of a plateau, Li Jiao raised an arm, and the silence was absolute.

One by one, all the employes sat down on their little mats, and Akihito let his eyes rest upon the small teapot and the leaves and flowers in a small dish in front of him. The tea ritual had to be one of his favourite parts, not only because he got to try a different tea every day, but because he had gotten really good at clearing his mind of all thoughts as he prepared his drink.

Well, not _ all  _ thoughts, but most of them.

He took his time sipping the hot beverage, enjoying its warmth and fragrance, thanking silently for his recovery and for the comfort he had been enjoying in the past few days…

Before he knew, the Chinese woman was standing up again, and everyone else followed her lead.

The tai-chi was good, the chanting was nice, but what he really looked forward to only came many minutes later.

_ The fighting. _

As the staff’s enthusiasm grew, with people of all ages and kinds stretching and rehearsing their kung fu, Akihito approached the person in charge.

“Can I join?” he asked, full of hope that that day, her answer would be different. “My shoulder doesn't hurt anymore, I'm not even wearing the sling.”

Li Jiao barely bothered to look at him when she replied.

“Yeah, but your back hasn't healed yet.”

“Well, then just don't go too hard on me...”

The glare he got in response could sour milk.

“That's not how it works.”

“Come on, just-”

“No. Not yet,” the assistant’s tone was final. “Your time will come. Today, you just watch.”

With a grumpy frown, he dragged his feet to the back of the patio, and sat on a lounge chair after crossing his arms.

He knew that the woman was right, though. He had seen her fight and it was clear she didn't pull any punches with anyone - the last thing he needed was to end up in a hospital again.

After leaning back on his chair, he noticed that everyone was already standing in front of their respective sparring partner, knees slightly bent as they grabbed their utensil of choice. The idea was simple: if the household was ever under attack, each of them would have to fight with what they had.

That was why, instead of spears, nunchakus and broadswords, the crew trained with pitchforks, ladles, broomsticks and other similar paraphernalia.

When sparring began, the noise and confusion couldn't be more overwhelming, and Li Jiao’s loud voice ordering people around only made things even more fun to watch.

Akihito was always stunned to see how fierce and skilled some of the most introverted employees were, especially the tiny women that worked with him in the kitchen, always so quiet when cooking but screaming as if there was no tomorrow as they attacked their opponents with quick, powerful kicks and precise moves of their cleavers.

_ Dangerous little beasts, _ that's what they were.

His gaze shifted to the Chinese woman back on the plateau, hands on her hips as she studied the action unravelling before her eyes, as if choosing who she would challenge for a fight.

Nobody, apparently.

With a disappointed sigh, Akihito watched her climb down the small stage and walk past the crowd, nodding quietly. 

“No ninja today, then…” he whispered, getting up to gather the teapots scattered around the patio as he remembered how impressed he had been the first time he had seen Li Jiao fight one of the drivers, who was at least twice her size. “Too bad…”

He cast a final look towards the crowd when the training session was brought to an end. Some of them had cuts on their faces, others grimaced while rubbing their bruised arms, all of them seemed positively  _ euphoric _ .

He felt sorry for anyone that ever dared to break into the house - those people looked like killers in training.

“What have I gotten myself into…” he muttered, before Li Jiao materialized by his side and he almost dropped the tray he was carrying.

“Come with me,” she said. “I will show you what your chores are today.”

“I thought I would be in the kitchen this week?”

“Yeah, that was the plan…” he heard the woman whisper in response. “But it looks like you have been a.. _.distraction. _ ”

“What?” he asked, with a frown. “A distraction?”

Li Jiao smirked in response as she opened the door leading to a small infirmary.

“I hear you have stolen the hearts of our female cooks.”

Akihito’s eyes went wide.

“The Korean sisters?” his voice was loaded with surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah...I'm afraid they will challenge each other for a duel one of these days to see who gets to do your dishes…” the woman chuckled,  “...or wash your underwear, in case I assign them to a shift in the laundry room.”

“Please do not assign them to the laundry room,” Akihito was quick to plead, making a face.

When they entered a smaller room to the left, the photographer found himself gasping.

“Wow…”

From the ceiling to the floor, the walls were covered with shelves containing books and jars filled to the brim with leaves and dried flowers, all of them carefully labelled with names he had never heard in his life. 

His eyes fell upon one of many that had little drawings of hearts next to the scientific name of their contents.

“What does that one do?” he asked.

Li Jiao, who was busy looking at another shelf, cast a quick glance towards the jar he was pointing at, and then resumed her own search.

“It's an aphrodisiac,” she said, without much emotion.

“Can I have some?”

She slowly averted her eyes to his face, and her look was of obvious mockery.

“I only prepare the teas that Majima-san prescribes,” she replied, tilting her chin upwards as she looked away. “And from the sounds I hear coming from your room every night I don't think your libido needs any boost.”

Akihito felt his face was on fire. Had he been that loud? And come on, it was not as if he masturbated that often. Maybe once or twice a week…

_ ‘Liar…More like once or twice a day...’ _ his mind whispered.

He blushed even harder.

“Did she give him any of that?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his solo performances.

“Him who?”

“Asami.”

Again, he saw the woman steal a quick glance in his direction.

“I can't talk about those things.”

“Oh, come on. It's just tea, it's not as if you're revealing a big secret or anything,” he insisted. “Did she?”

Li Jiao took a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder before replying.

“Yes.”

“Bullshit!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with amusement as he grabbed the ladder the woman was climbing. “What happened?”

“What do you think happened?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

By the time the woman came down with a couple of jars tucked in her arms, Akihito was rocking back and forth on his heels in anticipation.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“He was... _ aroused, _ ” Li Jiao finally answered, raising both eyebrows as she spoke.

“Aroused?” the photographer unconsciously licked his lips, until another kind of realization made enthusiasm vanish from his face. “Wait, how do _you_ know that he was aroused?”

With a suspicious frown, he watched as the woman once again looked over her shoulder.

“You have to promise you will keep it a secret,” she whispered, getting closer to him, and he found himself nodding quickly in response.

“They found him sleeping at the beach,” she explained, her voice low and barely audible even though her lips were an inch away from his ear, “...having... _ dreams _ .”

Akihito gulped, his heart beating faster inside his chest.

“Dreams? Like, wet dreams?” he asked, jaw slacking slightly as he tried to imagine the almighty Asami Ryuichi moaning and writhing in his sleep. “What about?”

“How am I supposed to know?” the woman replied, frowning. “But they had to take him a robe and all, because he had made a real mess of himself…”

The photographer gasped, blinking slowly to prevent his mind from sending the wrong impulses to the wrong parts of his body at what would definitely be a wrong occasion. 

He should save those thoughts for later, when he was alone in the comfort of his own room, instead of making the counsellor’s assistant witness him getting an erection.

“Here.”

Li Jiao was the one to break the silence, before passing him the jars she was holding.

“What is this for?” he asked.

“To boost your immune system. It's green tea and ginseng,” she answered, picking up other two jars. “The chamomile and the poppy heads are for the poultice.”

“The _what_?”

“It's a kind of compress. It will help the wounds in your back heal better.”

She gestured for him to take off his T-shirt.

He knew the drill. She would prepare the compress, he would lie on the bed and they would talk until she was done treating his wounds. He had already found out that she used to be a nurse, that she was born and raised in Genzhou, that she had come to Japan to get married when she was 20… What he still didn't know was how she had ended up in her current line of business - whichever _ that _ was.

“How long have you worked for Majima-san?” he asked.

“I started working for her a week after I arrived in Japan,” he heard the woman answer, a few moments before the smell of chamomile filled his nostrils. “One year before my son was born.”

“Oh, you have a son?” the photographer asked. That explained why she had always been so patient with him, she was a mother… “What's his name?”

“Hideki.”

“How old is he?”

He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, and turned his head to the side in an attempt to look at her face.

“He would turn 15 next month,” she whispered.

“Oh…”

“He passed away when he was six,” Li Jiao explained. “Car accident.”

Akihito noticed that her voice was still calm, but there was a note of sadness in her words that made his stomach sink.

“I'm sorry for your loss…” he said, his voice quiet and apologetic.

After that, the room was silent for a long minute, until a knock on the door made them both snap out of their thoughts.

_“Li,”_ said someone on the other side of the door. _“Your presence is being requested in the main hall.”_

She heard the woman answer in Chinese, and not much later, she was patting the back of his thigh.

“You’re good to go,” she said, before getting up. “Some of the rooms on this floor need some dusting, I believe it is the kind of activity that will not demand much from the muscles in your back.”

He nodded in agreement, and followed her to the door.

“Start from the pantry, near the kitchen, and you will be finished when you reach the library, which happens to be just next door.”

_Well…_ He could think of better ways to spend his day but given his current state, dusting it was.

He missed his friends.

Kou, Takato, Maya… As he dragged his feet across the hall, he felt bad for lying to them about his circumstances, but he really didn't want them to worry, or worse, to pity him. He didn't want his injuries to become a matter of public attention, even though he knew they meant well…

He let out a sigh, wondering when the stitches on his back would heal enough for him to go home without having to give any explanations…

"Home..." he found himself whispering. "What home, you idiot?"

When he reached the door leading to the library, he stopped on his tracks.

“Wait,” he muttered, scratching his chin. “Am I supposed to start here or do this last?”

With a careless shrug, he entered the room, and started working.

It was not as if it mattered, anyway.

He was still thinking of his friends and his current lack of living arrangements when the silhouettes of people rushing to the garden caught his attention.

He squinted, trying to identify who were the two individuals leaning against the wall that separated the garden from the backyard patio. He was quick to realize that one of them was a very angry Li Jiao, who was pointing an accusatory finger at someone’s nose. Given the considerable distance, he could not make out what she was saying, and he didn’t need to. Judging by the sharp angle of her eyebrows and the pursed lips, it was very obvious the woman was far from happy.  

"Uh-oh…” he whispered. “Looks like someone pissed off the ninja..."

He stood on his toes, trying to look past the small bush blocking the other person from view.

"Move a bit to the left, unruly stranger, let me see your f-oh!"

His jaw dropped slightly when the face of the other person finally came into view.

_ "Suoh?" _

He frowned, wondering what the hell Asami's bodyguard and the counsellor's assistant were fighting about, but his concerns were quick replaced by mild entertainment when he saw Li Jiao bitch-slapping the man so hard that he staggered backwards.

"Oho, looks like someone is about to get their ass kicked..." Akihito muttered, snickering at Suoh's confused expression as he rubbed his cheek.

He saw Li Jiao grab the man by the jacket, but her next move was definitely not what he had been expecting.

“Whoa…” he exclaimed, eyes going wide when he saw the two of them exchanging a kiss that was nothing short of passionate. “Whoa!”

He knew he was not supposed to stare, but how could he not? He was well acquainted with the delights of a good kiss, and shivered at the mere thought of all the times Asami had kissed him like that.

“Shit... “ the photographer whimpered, when he realized a certain throb below his waistline. “Now I am getting aroused, what kind of pervert am I?”

His short-lived embarrassment was quickly replaced by another wave of arousal when he saw Suoh press the woman’s body against the wall, turning her around to kiss the back of her neck and fumble with her pants.

When the wind made the bush sway and once again obstruct his view, Akihito cursed in every language he knew. 

"Oh, come on!" he complained, stretching his neck as far up as he could before finally resorting to climbing on a chair to get a better view. "Get out of the way, you stupid plant!"

He gasped loudly when he finally managed to spot the two individuals getting busy on the other side of the garden. The movement of Suoh’s hips and the expression on Li Jiao’s face as she scraped her nails along the surface of the wall left no room for doubts...

"They're doing it..." Akihito whispered, his nose glued to the cold surface of the window. "They're really doing it!"

_ 'And you are watching it! Stop!' _ his mind screamed in response.

"Yeah..." ignoring the silent protests, his eyes remained fixated on the couple. "Well, if they didn't want an audience, they should have gotten a room..."

Slowly but steadily, he felt his heart pound harder, and the image ahead of him was coming in and out of focus as he saw himself against that wall, with a golden-eyed man entering him from behind, thrusting into him, making him pant, making him-

"Hmmm..." he moaned, his fingers wrapping around his erection as he imagined other fingers touching him, exploring other parts of his body, teasing him, filling him up... "Fuck..."

He felt the muscles in his belly coil as his hand moved faster, his breath coming in short pants, his heart about to burst out of his c-

"Akihito?"

The soft knock on the door made him stagger backwards, forcing him to grab the curtains not to fall along with the chair that had just tumbled to the ground.

_ "Shit!" _

That was all he managed to say before one by one, the clips holding the curtain in place gave away, and he landed on the floor with a loud thud, the heavy fabric covering his body as an oversized velvet cape.

"Akihito?"

He had no time to say he was alright - when he lifted his eyes to the door, he saw the counsellor was already entering the room, with a very concerned Kirishima Kei right behind.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I-I..." he stuttered, pulling the curtains closer to his body to hide his raging hard-on from the scrutinizing gaze of the secretary. "I was cleaning the curtains when I lost my balance and...fell."

"Cleaning the curtains?” the woman sounded astonished. “Oh, for Heaven's sake, my boy, I told you not to outdo yourself. You don't want your stitches to break, do you?" she asked, as he clumsily tried to get back on his feet while still hiding under the curtains.  "Are you sure you are okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I landed on my side, I'm good."

"Kirishima-san would like to talk to you."

The two men exchanged a slightly hostile look, and the counsellor took their less than amiable silence as her cue to leave.

+++

“What exactly are we looking for?”

Kirishima heard the photographer ask many minutes later, after he had retrieved a memory card from one of his cases and inserted it into his laptop to browse through the pictures of his last stakeout.

“I am not sure…” he answered.

“That’s not very helpful, you know,” the young man replied, raising an eyebrow as he stared at the computer screen.

For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the clicks of the mouse as Akihito opened folders and folders of images.

“How is he?” the question came out clipped, and the secretary was absolutely sure it had only been asked after a considerable amount of deliberation.

“Do you really want to know?” Kirishima asked, raising an eyebrow. “You might not like the answer.”

He was startled when the photographer punched the desk, his lips pursed in the most absolute anger.

“Fine!” he heard the young man scream, his hazel eyes gleaming with irritation. “Don’t tell me, you’re right, I don’t want to kn-”

“He’s terrible.”

The secretary watched  Akihito’s nostrils flare, his jaw still clenched as he stared at his own hands.

“You suck, do you know that?” he whispered at last. “Can’t you give me a break, not even now that I am no longer with your boss?”

Kirishima, however, was too busy staring at the woman in the pictures to pay him any mind.

As if noticing the reason for his sudden silence, the photographer spoke again.

“I can give you a copy, if you want…” he whispered.

“I would appreciate that,” the secretary replied, his voice amiable and low as he kept studying images of Hayashi Mirai in battle. “Those are very good photos, you are really talented.”

He saw Akihito slowly turn his head around, his eyes filled with the most absolute surprise.

“You, praising me?” Kirishima heard him scoff. “Should I call a doctor?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Jerk…”

“Wait,” the secretary said, moving closer to the computer screen. “Go back to the last one.”

In a far corner of the picture, standing on a balcony that overlooked the area where the fight was taking place, he could see the blurry shape of a blond man wearing a light grey suit.

“Can you zoom in?”

Akihito nodded, and in a matter of seconds, Kirishima was narrowing his eyes to stare at a familiar face that he disliked with every fiber of his being.

“Do you know him?” the photographer asked.

“Yes,” Kirishima replied, his forehead wrinkled with concern. “It’s Maya’s stepfather.”

“Oh!” Akihito gasped. “Is he with the Tojo too?”

“No, he’s not with the Tojo… I have no idea what he was doing there…”

“Do you...do you think he has anything to do with the shootout?”

“I don’t know,” Kirishima replied. He had his own personal reasons to dislike that man, but to accuse him of anything at that point, when there was nothing connecting him to the facts other than his uncalled for presence in the scene, would be useless. “And until I know for sure, you shouldn’t tell Maya about it.”

He saw the photographer rub his neck, his face showing his very obvious discomfort.

“You know, I feel bad about hiding that kind of stuff from her, especially if it is about her fam-”

“She withdrew,” the secretary replied.

“From what?”

“From the investigation. Maya handed me the information she had, and decided to stay out of it.”

It was Akihito’s turn to look concerned.

“She has been through a lot,” Kirishima added. “I guess we can both agree she deserves a break.”

“But...she was so determined to find out who's behind it all...” he heard the photographer say.. “What made her change her mind?”

Kirishima pushed his glasses farther up his nose, studying the blond man next to him for a second. What had happened between the girl and her father was something he felt he was not entitled to tell.

“I believe the two of you will have a lot to talk about when you see each other again...” he finally replied.

The secretary was about to leave when his eyes landed, once again, on Takaba Akihito’s face. Even though there was a faint shadow of sadness in his eyes, it was obvious the young man had been well cared for. His skin looked healthy and smooth, he didn’t seem to have lost any weight and according to Majima’s reports, his wounds were healing faster than expected. 

“Takaba-san…” he said, pulling a chair to sit next to the younger man. “Now that we are here, there are a few things I would like to say to...clear the air between us.”

He took a long, deep breath.

“I know you and I never got along. You were always... too chaotic, too disruptive, too...loud. Always refusing to do as you're told, always getting into trouble, I don't have words to explain how draining it was to handle you,” he continued, just to find the photographer looking at him with expectant eyes.

“But...?” 

“No _‘but’_ ” the secretary replied, clenching his jaw. “That's all.”

He saw Akihito narrow his eyes in response, tilting his chin upwards before crossing his arms.

“Oh, well…” the photographer scoffed. “I never liked you either.”

“The things I had to endure because of you…” Kirishima continued, his voice amiable and calm despite the words leaving his mouth. “From working as a waiter in a resort to lighting up fireworks during summer festival, you have no idea of how you turned my life upside down,” he whispered. “You see, before you showed up, I would plan Asami-sama's day in meticulous detail. From what he would have for breakfast, until the last report he would have to sign, everything was carefully organized and neat. No surprises. No...sudden changes.” 

_The good old days…_ The secretary snorted before speaking again.

“And then, in the past three years, ask me how many weeks have gone according to plan?”

The photographer’s eyes remained narrowed, so he continued.

“None. Zero. Because something would always come up, namely... _ you _ ,” he explained, stretching his arms in an exasperated gesture. “Whether it was to save your life or to have dinner with you, he never hesitated. He would just drop whatever he was doing to be with you.”

He noticed that the younger man had dropped his gaze to the floor, his shoulders drooping slightly although he seemed determined to remain indifferent to his words.

“I was stunned. Not even the master plan of all master plans would be able to stop him from going to where you were,” the secretary found himself saying as he revisited all the occasions in which his remarkably stoic boss had thrown caution - and reason - to the winds just to be with the man he was currently talking to. “The amount of times I had to juggle with appointments... with gala dinners he suddenly chose not to attend because he had _something better to do._.. I even lost track of his diet, because you,  _ always you _ , would cook for him.” 

Akihito chuckled quietly, and Kirishima knew they were both aware of the true cause of the animosity between them.

Neither of them would ever admit it aloud, but it was a clear case of chronic, mutual jealousy.

“Anyway…” he continued, after letting out a sigh. “I saw my routine changing so dramatically that I started praying to all gods for the two of you to break up, I even promised I would quit smoking if that happened.”

“Looks like someone got their wish granted...” the photographer whispered.

“Well, let's just say the terms of that promise were renegotiated not long ago.”

“It's not a good idea to haggle with the gods, Kirishima.”

“I am sure they understand my reasons,” the secretary replied, after a dismissive wave of his hand. “They know better than anyone else how foolish humans can be.”

In his defense, the relationship between those two had been nothing but convoluted since the very beginning. He had never imagined that his boss’s connection to that kid would eventually become something much stronger than physical attraction…

“So... To cut a long story short, today, after three years, I can say that he has finally stuck to my plans for an entire week. Everything, from the breakfast to the last meeting of the day, was followed and unchanged, everything done by the book and in the most timely of manners,” Kirishima said, his voice void of enthusiasm.

He paused again, this time to take off his glasses and clean their lenses.

“And I've never seen him so unhappy,” he concluded.

When he realized the hazel eyes looking at him were glistening with unshed tears, he cleared his throat, and made sure to get to the part he had really been meaning to say.

“I had thought, for the longest time, that the chaos you represented would drive him mad, would ruin his reputation, would lead to unimaginable damages to his business, and his business was his life,” the secretary continued, letting his own gaze drop to his hands as he spoke.  “Or, it _ used to be _ his life. It is very obvious, at least to me, that's not the case anymore.”

When he lifted his gaze back to Akihito’s face, he found the young man trying to wipe away his tears as discreetly as he could, so he averted his eyes again to give him some privacy.

“With you, he had found something else, something that mattered more than sticking to schedules and business affairs, and I didn't realize that. I didn't realize that you...You would never be his doom. If anything, you had brought him back from the dead.”

He saw the photographer purse his lips, eyebrows raised as he clutched his jeans.

“What... am I supposed to do with that information?” the photographer asked, his voice low and throaty.

“I believe there's nothing to be done,” he whispered back, fully aware of the complexity of their current circumstances. “But, I just wanted to apologize. I underestimated you,” he added. “You are a good man. A little bit too much on the bratty side, but alas...whatever happened between you two that day, you didn't deserve it.”

He was relieved to find out the young man was no longer crying, his eyes shining with the usual fearlessness.

“I know that now, and he knows it too,” Kirishima concluded, standing up and stealing a quick glance towards the computer to check the time. “He knows that he made a mistake.”

He showed no intention of leaving until his words sank in and the photographer raised his head to look at him again.

“I will not be seeing you again, will I?” Kirishima heard him say after a sad chuckle. “That's why you are telling me all that, you know I would hold it against you.”

He returned Akihito’s little laugh with a smirk of his own.

“Not for some time, no,” he replied. “Things are a bit too chaotic, not to mention Asami-sama does not even know I'm here.”

“Are you sure he doesn't?” Akihito asked, raising an eyebrow as he stood up as well, and joined him as he walked towards the door. “He might have shoved a gps tracker up one of your nostrils while you were asleep…”

“Hmm. That would explain why I feel bit congested,” the secretary replied, rubbing the tip of his nose. “Well, one more reason for me to get going, I might have a lot of explanations to give. Where is Suoh?”

Once again, he looked at the computer, and realized they were about to run late.

“The two of us missing, Asami-sama will be suspicious,” he whispered. “I don't even know why he insisted on coming with me…”

When the photographer gasped, a fierce blush spreading across his face, Kirishima raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing…” Akihito replied, but the expression on his face told a different story.

Too bad he wouldn’t have the time to find out.

He was about to walk out of the door when the photographer spoke again.

“Hey, Kirishima?”

“Hmm?”

“I've always thought you were kind of a doormat.”

The secretary raised an eyebrow.

“And...?”

Akihito merely shrugged in response.

“That's all,” he said, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

Kirishima allowed a little smile of his own to be his only response. 

_ He would miss that brat. _

“Take care, Takaba-san.”

And with that, he left.

 


	32. Window of opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pervert Extraordinaire returns, and Asami finally decides to read the message Akihito sent Fei Long...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know that Akihito has been crying an awful lot in this story, and in this chapter...oh well, he cries again. He resisted as much as he could, I think he even tried to shove the tears back into his eyes, lol, but alas... It is what it is! I suppose it is a gradual recovery for him, after all... The good news? You won't be seeing him cry anytime soon - he is ready to move on with his life. Which, of course, is terrible news for Asami… Expect our beloved seme to go through all sorts of trials from now on. As the tag says, this is going to be a LONG journey...

 

“Say, ‘aaahhh’.”

Asami Ryuichi stared coldly at the old man standing in front of him.

“Or…don’t,” the doctor whispered, after a sigh. “Just open your mouth, will you?”

Asami let his eyes shift to the ceiling, and waited for his private physician to finish his examination.

“Well...yes, you do seem to have a sore throat, it might be causing the fever,” he heard the old man say as he moved away and took his seat behind the desk. “But that might also be your body reacting to other stressors.”

“What stressors?” Asami asked, while buttoning up his shirt and climbing out of the hospital bed.

He watched as the doctor pushed his glasses farther up his nose, eyebrows raised as he scribbled down new annotations on his medical file.

“Take a seat,” the bespectacled man said, without raising his eyes from the papers.

Asami let out an annoyed sigh as he pulled a chair, frowning.

He knew Kimura-sensei long enough to recognize the signs of an impending lecture.

“How is business going?” he heard the physician ask.

“As usual,” Asami responded, crossing his legs after a long sigh.

“I hear you’ve acquired Poppo’s retail chain. Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Impressive…” the man continued to take notes, his voice low despite the obvious tone of amazement. “Is there anything in Tokyo that you don’t own?”

Asami looked at his own hands, and the smallest of smirks curled the corners of his mouth.

“Not much, no…”

When he raised his eyes to the man sitting across from him, he found him rubbing his temples, frowning, as if he was fighting a headache.

“These are your clinical tests,” the doctor said, before pushing a thick folder towards him. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Asami averted his gaze to the bunch of papers. Not that he was remotely interested in what they said, but at that point, all he wanted was to avoid the prying eyes peering at him over the horn-rimmed glasses.

“When I looked at them, I thought I was looking at the file of a 90 year old,” Asami heard the old man continue. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say your number is up. Your immune system is debilitated, your cholesterol levels are horrible, your blood pressure is so high I’m impressed you haven’t had a stroke yet…”

Asami’s expression was of the most absolute indifference.

Sure, he had seen better days but it was evident his private physician was exaggerating. He was not  _ that  _ bad. He had to admit he was still struggling to adapt to living alone again after almost three years of his ins and outs with Takaba Akihito, but nothing that dramatic. ‘High blood pressure’, ‘debilitated’, ‘stroke’…

He scoffed.

His private physician truly had a flair for melodrama.

“Is there anything I should know?” the doctor asked, after the long pause.

“Business has been very demanding,” Asami replied, lacing his slender fingers and letting them rest on top of his thighs.

“Is that so?”

After another pause, the doctor cleared his throat.

_ “Kirishima!” _

The old man’s unexpected scream made Asami jump on his seat. In a matter of seconds, his first assistant was entering the room, with a frown so deep it looked like it had been tattooed on his forehead.

“Kimura-sensei,” Kirishima was quick to say, his voice mirroring the concern on his face as he looked from the patient to the doctor, and then back to the patient. “What happened?”

“When was the last time this man had a decent meal?”

Asami slowly averted his eyes to the secretary's face, raising an eyebrow. Now he was doomed. If there was someone that had been keeping track of his every step, from his meals to the number of hours he had been sleeping, that had to be Kirishima Kei.

His faithful secretary probably had even his bathroom breaks registered on a spreadsheet… And if his smug expression was anything to go by, Kirishima seemed to be more than willing to report everything to his private physician.

“Why...I made him breakfast a few hours ago, poached eggs with sautéed  _ chanterelles _ , fava beans, toasted hazeln-”

“Congratulations for being such a gifted cook,” the doctor interrupted, and Asami couldn't help but smirk when Kirishima pursed his lips at the sarcastic comment. “But did he  _ eat it _ ?”

As discreetly as he could, Asami cast a sideways glare towards his secretary, but was thoroughly ignored.

“Barely,” he heard Kirishima reply.

He let out a sigh when the doctor’s nostrils flared. Now he was in for the lecture of a lifetime.

“Well, your boss is anemic, Kirishima! Have you seen what is under that shirt?” the old man ranted, pointing a wrinkled, shaky finger towards Asami’s chest. “Because I have. This man has lost four pounds of muscle in the past month! His body is...eating itself,” he huffed, the small eyes behind the thick glasses going wide with every word. “What is going on here?”

Asami looked at his first assistant, who returned the gaze with the same blank expression. Neither of them spoke, so the doctor continued.

“You listen to me, young man,” the physician said, the shaky, accusatory finger now targeting Asami’s face. “I have known you for almost two decades. Yes…” he paused, chuckling as he allowed his gaze to drop to the surface of his desk for the fraction of a second before it was once again averted to Asami’s face.“Two decades. I know you don’t like to talk, and I will not force you to. But you should. If not to me, then to somebody else.”

“I don’t need counselling, if that's what you are suggesting,” Asami replied, the palms of his hands growing slightly damp as he remembered the days he had spent in Majima Makoto’s island.

“Well, you should consi-”

“I tried it,” he interrupted, his voice low and void of emotion although his heart seemed to be beating slightly faster, “and it did not help at all.”

“May I look at your arm again?”

Unconsciously, Asami found himself backing away, as if trying to escape the grasp of the little old man on the other side of the desk.

“Why?” he asked.

_ “May I?” _

Trying to keep his face as impassive as possible, Asami unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, and rolled up the sleeve until it was over his elbow.

When his private physician gently pulled aside the bandages, he could literally hear Kirishima’s silent scream of horror, even though the man had remained absolutely quiet after the hideous, swollen cuts in his arm came into view.

“Why is this not healing, Ryuichi?”

Asami slowly raised his eyes from his injured arm to the man’s face. In those two decades, that tone, and his first name, had only been used in very rare, very extreme circumstances.

His private physician knew him too well.

“You are the doctor, you tell me,” Asami scoffed, but his voice lacked the intended humour. It was grave and melancholic, and for the first time that day he felt he was falling into the spiral of sadness he had been able to avoid for over a month now.

“Yes, I  _ am _ the doctor, and I  _ will _ tell you,” the old man whispered back, putting the bandages back in place and rolling down his sleeve carefully. “It is not healing because you are not letting it heal.”

Asami found himself fumbling in his pockets, looking for a distraction. His eyes once again drifted to Kirishima, and he felt like punching the man for the bleak expression on his face.

He was  _ fine _ .

He just needed more time, that's all, until he figured out what to do, until he came up with a plan to get his life back on track - which obviously involved getting Akihito back somehow.

Yes. He just needed  _ more time. _

“There is very little point in changing bandages and applying all the ointments I recommended if you are starving yourself, for starters.”

The doctor’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Two weeks from now, that's when I am scheduling your next appointment for,” the doctor added, finally putting down his pen and passing him a piece of paper. “Here is a prescription for an iron supplement, a potassium-sparing diuretic, a mild painkiller and an antidepressant.”

That word made the air in the room grow thick. By his side, he felt Kirishima shift on his feet, but when he averted his gaze to the man’s face, he noticed the secretary couldn't possibly look more unfazed.

It was up to him to defend himself from such perjury.

“I am not depres-” he started to hiss, just to be interrupted by the old man who had just gotten to his feet and headed to the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know,” he heard the man reply, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just follow the instructions and drink plenty of water.”

Asami was about to tear the prescription in half when his first assistant, as if sensing his intentions, snatched the piece of paper from his hands.

He felt one of his eyes twitch.

At that point, he was convinced his body was radiating so much anger that he might set the entire clinic on fire.

“Have a wonderful day, you two,” he faintly heard the doctor say as he held the door open for him to storm out of the room, with Kirishima right behind.

++++

Not much later, Asami was back in his office at Sion, looking at the reports Kirishima had brought him.

“It’s begun,” he heard the secretary say.

“What has?”

“A guesthouse in Kabukicho was blown up last night,” Kirishima explained.

“Casualties?”

Asami asked, raising his eyes from the reports to grab the newspaper his assistant was passing him.

_ ‘Tragedy in Kabukicho: 8 dead,’ _ read the headline.

“8 people dead, 14 seriously injured,” the secretary continued. “All of them were civilians, but the place was under Tojo’s protection.”

“Has the Omi taken responsibility?”

“No, but witnesses that saw the car that left the premises when the bomb went off said its license plate was from Osaka.”

Asami leaned back on his chair, eyes narrowed, a frown creasing his forehead as he tapped his lower lip with the bottom of his custom made  _ Caran d'Ache _ fountain pen.

“Our sources in the field have reported Dojima is planning to retaliate.”

“Against whom?” the CEO of Sion asked, after a mirthless chuckle. “Does he even know what family orchestrated the attack? If he chooses a target randomly his organization will get crushed... But then again, it’s not as if syndicates are known for strategic planning, are they?”

After an annoyed sigh, Asami stood up, and walked towards the window.

“Brainless idiots…” he whispered, looking at the city below. “If a war breaks, as it might have already, the body count will rise… media will talk, politicians will start to worry and pass some senseless law to reassure the ordinary citizen everything's under control… the police will pretend to be working hard…” he continued, reaching for the Dunhills in the inside pocket of his jacket with a raised eyebrow.  “More money I will have to spend on bribes, more fragile egos I will have to stroke, more events I will have to attend…” he complained, with a cigarette now dangling from his lips. “Syndicates are the bane of my existence, Kirishima.”

That was why, since the very early days of his career, he had always been very cautious with the alliances he made. Some people were predictable - they had power but just lacked vision, and he had always been very successful in manipulating them until they outlived their purpose. Syndicates, on the other hand, tended to be erratic and to stick to their greatly obsolete code of honour even if that meant the demise of their own businesses.

In short, they were a tough crowd to manage.

“When they are not doing something as stupid as picking fights with each other, they are trying to steal my money and my routes… getting in the middle of my business, hacking my corporation…” Asami continued to vent, talking more to himself than to the bespectacled man standing next to his desk. “This war is of benefit to no one. All of us lose. The Tojo is likely to be crushed, the Omi will suffer their own share of losses, my business will be affected… Who started this?”

It was obvious, at that point, that there was _someone else_ hiding in the shadows, pulling the strings.

Now he only had to figure out _who._

“This idea did not come from Sengoku Hiroshi, though I was more than glad to knock him out of business when you found out his affairs with the Korean Mafia…” he continued, walking back to his desk as he sorted out his own thoughts and suspicions. “The Poppo retail chain was one of his most profitable investments, I am sure his organization will suffer major losses from now on.”

“About that…sir…”

When the secretary spoke, Asami was quick to detect the tone of bad news on his voice.

“What?” he asked quietly, noticing the usually impassive face of his assistant was now clouded with concern and guilt.

“It wasn’t me who found out,” Kirishima replied, squaring his shoulders after clearing his throat. “It was… your daughter.”

The annoying throb of an impending migraine made Asami close his eyes for a moment. He led the cigarette to his lips, took another long puff, and waited until the nicotine hit gave him some kind of comfort.

So that was what Kirishima had been trying to say when he reported his findings, while he was still at the hospital. He should have known there was something wrong, but he had been careless. His entanglement with Fei Long had made him lose the remaining focus he had at the occasion; his grumpy mood in the days that followed were of no help either.

“I assisted her, but…it was her initiative,” the secretary added. “As you sure are aware, when she decides to pursue something, he can be extremely determined in her efforts.”

Asami let out a small smile as he rubbed his temples.

“Yes, I know that…” he whispered in response. One did not get accepted to the University of Tokyo by accident, after all. “And I know she would have hacked the Omi anyway after what happened to her mother, so I appreciate you keeping track of her reckless moves.”

That girl and her ability to get into all kinds of trouble would be the end of him someday.

“Where is she living now?” he asked, averting his gaze back to the reports in an effort to hide his concerned face from view. Sengoku was one of the filthiest, most sordid criminals he had ever encountered in his line of business, and the idea of that man crossing paths with  _ his daughter _ was nothing short of ghastly.

“Our latest report shows she is still living with Takaba Akihito’s friend,” Kirishima replied.

“When is that report from?”

“One week ago.”

Asami nodded, once again focusing on the contents of the report even though his mind was still overflowing with all kinds of concerns.

“Schedule a meeting with our security personnel for tomorrow morning,” he said, signing his name at the bottom of a page before moving on to another folder. “I want her under surveillance again. I should have found a replacement for Watanabe ages ago…”

“Yes, sir.”

“And call Shinada back from Warehouse 11, I have new directives for him as well.”

When he heard what sounded an awful lot like a  _ gasp _ , Asami raised his eyes to look at his first assistant again.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing, sir.”

Asami scoffed, and cast a sideways glare at his assistant before averting his gaze back to the report. Not for the first time that day, Kirishima Kei was looking far too smug for his own sake.

“Any news about Kazuki?”

“We haven’t been able to locate him yet, sir.”

“I still don’t see how he fits into any of this…” Asami whispered, trying to understand how Mirai’s husband had gotten caught in that mess. From what he remembered, Mirai once mentioned Kazuki  hated syndicates with all his heart, and he simply could not imagine the man being associated with any of them, let alone with a rapist like Sengoku Hiroshi.

“Contact Kuroda and check if he has left the country,” he said, finally pushing away the report he was trying to read when the staggering headache got the best out of him.

“Yes, sir.”

“How are we doing in the Sakazaki front?”

“Nothing new after that last call from Osaka,” Kirishima replied.

“Someone asking for twice as much money as I offered. Yes… I remember,” he muttered in response, once again reaching for his cigarettes as he stood up and tried not to wince at the crippling pain squeezing both sides of his head. “Do it,” he hissed, picking up his suitcase. “Transfer the 2 billion. Let’s get it over with.”

He barely registered his assistant’s shocked reaction to his hasty decision - he doubted he would be able to make much sense of it anyway, now that his mind had basically shut down of its own accord.

“Reschedule my meetings,” Asami said, his words slightly slurred as he walked towards the door. “I am taking the rest of the day off.”

++++

_ 'What a long day...' _ Asami pondered, sitting at the edge of the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist.

With a disheartened sigh, he looked at the four pills next to a glass of water on the bedside table. Of course, Kirishima had made sure to stop at the penthouse when it was time for dinner, pestered him to eat an entire bowl of rice porridge and dropped four bottles of medicine without labels at the kitchen counter.

As it was, there was no way to know which one was the antidepressant he had no intentions whatsoever of taking, unless he consulted one of the pharmacists that worked for him.

What an insufferable pain in the ass his secretary was turning out to be.

Still muttering a complaint, Asami ignored the medication and gulped down his water, putting down the glass and opening one of the drawers on the nightstand to look for his sleeping pills instead.

His slender fingers moved around pieces of paper, a comb, a small tin of mints, until his fingertips found something that made his heart flutter.

_ ‘Asami Ryuichi, Pervert Extraordinaire’ _

A small smile curved his lips when his eyes fell upon the tiny, golden nameplate.

_ “You, giving me a gift? I am flattered.” _

_ “D-Don’t look so full of yourself… It was a 2 for 1 offer and I had already gotten mine and didn’t want the other one to go to waste.” _

It felt like it had been so long ago… Akihito’s blushing face as he handed him the small gift, the two of them making out in that jewelry studio…

The amount of times he had run his fingertips over that little treasure of a nameplate in the days that followed, when he was alone at his hotel room in Macao… But at least back then he knew he would return home to find the young man waiting for him, even though at the occasion their reunion had not gone as expected.

_ Many things had not gone as expected, _ it turned out.

His gaze dropped to the injuries on his arm, the marks of the _qilinbian_ still deep and dark, stitches threatening to break once again because of his carelessness when changing his bandages.

His private physician was right, after all. He _did not want them to heal_.

They were a reminder of his lover’s pain, one that he felt he should bear as well as punishment for his stupidity.

_ “What does yours say?” _

He heard his own voice at the back of his head, and searched the drawer for the other part of that 2 for 1 deal.

In time, he was holding another nameplate on his hand.

_ ‘Takaba Akihito, The Astute’ _

The low buzzing of his phone was a diversion for his morose eyes, and he ignored Kirishima’s email to look for something else in his inbox.

He blinked, gathering the courage to finally read the email he had been avoiding for more than a month now. It was not as if there was anything, at that point, that would make him feel worse than he already felt.

After a quick tap on the phone’s screen, he set off to read the sequence of messages Akihito and Fei Long had exchanged.

**\---------- Forwarded message ----------**  
  


**From: Takaba Akihito**

**Date: May 6, 1:59 AM**

**Subject: RE: Question**

**To: LFL <flyingdragon@wechat.com>**  
  


_ Why do you keep asking me that question? FYI: no, Asami never told me he loved me. There, now fuck off. Just so you know, I don't really care. _

 

“Fei Long and his ridiculous obsession with _‘love’_ …” he whispered, frowning as he re-read Akihito’s response before moving on to the next message.  “What does he know about love, anyway…”

 

**_At 2:05 am, LFL wrote-_ **

_But do_ _you_ _love_ _him_ _?_

 

Asami’s eyes drifted back to the first message, his frown turning into a confused grimace. What was Fei Long trying to accomplish?

 

**_At 2:06, Takaba Akihito wrote-_ **

_ Fuck this. Fei Long, stop being a dick. What do you want me to say? _

 

A relieved smirk curled the corners of his mouth. His foul-mouthed, spunky little lover had managed to avoid that trap. Whatever they felt for each other was none of Fei Long’s business, anyway...

And then, his eyes moved to a lengthier response just below, and his heart skipped a beat.

 

**_At 2:58, Takaba Akihito wrote-_ **

_ I am having a shitty day. and I am writing to you, so now I feel even worse. I need to have my head checkeD. But it's not as if I can talk about Asami with Kou or Takato, so just now I am not writing to you out of CHOICE. It's just that I really have no choice. Yes, ok? I love him. I love the BAstard. I love Asami fucking Ryuichi. Ha! How ‘bout that? Thought I would never say that in the open? Danm right I won't, not to him anyway but to you? You already knew it anyway. And its not as if you can use that to harm me or humiliate me because I already know what I signed up for. Whatever. I don't wanna talk about it, Iactually feel like deleting this stupid email, when I emailed you I was meaning to ask if you knew were ASAmi went to school and now this shit... I'm so drunk. Bye. _

 

“Oh, Akihito…” he found himself whispering, his fingers clutching the phone harder as his eyebrows arched up, the golden orbs once again melancholic as they scanned the contents of that message one more time. “How drunk were you to write something like that?”

And still… even though he knew the photographer was anything but sober when he sent that message, his heart kept its staccato against his ribcage.

The horror he had grown used to feeling every time he remembered how the two of them had parted ways took that moment to make a triumphant comeback.

He jumped from the bed, and got dressed in record time.

No more running, not that night.

It was time to face the consequences of his actions, and beg for the photographer to come back home, if he had to.

He stopped on his tracks after putting on his shoes.

Well, maybe not  _ beg _ , but…

“Whatever,” he groaned, dismissing his own thoughts with a wave of his hand before grabbing the keys of his BMW and slamming the door behind him.

He would think of something on his way to Majima Makoto’s residence.

++++

The sour glare he got when Makoto’s assistant laid eyes on him was an obvious indication the woman was probably spending a lot of time with Takaba Akihito.

He didn’t blame her, though. As long as her hostility aimed to protect Akihito from harm, he would take no offense.

“Asami-san.”

The counsellor’s voice made him square his shoulders, and he was quick to grab her hands for a respectful greeting before she led him into her house.

“I have been waiting for you,” she said.

“I’m sure you have.”

“What’s the emergency?” she asked, as soon as the two of them reached the main hall and took their seats.

“I need to talk to Akihito.”

He watched the woman’s lips curl into a saddened smile.

“That you do, indeed,” she replied, and he shifted on his seat, unable to remain still as all kinds of scenarios crossed his mind. Would Akihito even agree to see him? Would he be mad? Sad?  _ Both? _

“Sadly, he is not here anymore.”

The woman’s words made his stomach sink.

“Excuse me?” he whispered, feeling his mouth go dry at the unexpected turn of events.

“He left three days ago.”

He was sure his jaw had slacked, even if for the fraction of a second.

“What took you so long?” he heard the counsellor ask, her voice amiable and low as she laced her fingers on top of her lap.

He blinked, and waited until his heartbeat slowed down to give her a proper answer.

“Would you like some water?” she asked. “You sound out of breath.”

“I’m fine,” he responded, but the strange modulation of his voice was far from convincing.

After another long pause, he finally managed to put his words together.

“I... have spent the past month and a half thinking of what I would say when I met him again, but then I remember…that day. And I know that there is nothing to be said,” he said, searching for his cigarettes in the pockets of his pants, just to find out he had left them at home in his hurry. “But I want him to come back. I have…I have come to this place so many times. And I was ready to come in and take him by force if I needed to.”

When Li Jiao materialized by his side with a glass of water, eyeing him with the same menacing scowl, he suspected her true intention was to splash its contents on his face.

Before she did so, he picked up the glass and nodded quietly, drinking half of it in one go.

“It is not in my nature to hesitate. I always claim what I want,” he continued. “And I always succeed. But regarding this particular matter… Regarding Takaba Akihito…” he snorted, feeling one of his eyes twitch with the accumulated stress and awkwardness of his current situation. “This…sense of incompetence had always been unknown to me.”

After a moment of silence, the woman finally replied.

“When are you planning to hire my services again?”

“Counselling is not for me, Makoto,” he answered, after an unhappy chuckle.

“Well, I disagree, but.... How about a drink, then?”

“A drink?”

“Tell you what, let me treat you to dinner,” she added, apparently unaware of his utter confusion. “It must be hard to live alone again after spending almost three years with another person.”

_Ah, that explained._ Probably, she also thought he was lonely and depressed.

“I am used to being alone,” he said, his voice firm and confident, although he had never stopped to think much about that particular topic. “I like it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I just happened to like it better when he lived with me,” he replied, before looking at his glass of water and wishing it was a tumbler of whisky instead. “But I am usually very good company to myself, I am just going through a bad moment.”

“You should talk to him.”

“I know…” he whispered, one second of sanity away from actually asking the woman for the most potent spirit she kept in the house. “That’s why I’m here, although… It looks like I was late.”

“Just because he is not here, it doesn’t mean it is too late…”

“What did he tell you?”

His tone of voice was so far from his usual assertiveness that he almost cringed.

“You know I can’t answer that. But I can offer you advice based on…how can I say… _ empirical observations _ ?” Makoto responded, her voice still calm and friendly. “In every separation, there is a window of opportunity in which peace talks tend to be very successful,” she said. “Three days ago, I would say that window was still open.”

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was not sure he knew what to make of that information, or how he was supposed to fix the trainwreck their lives had become.

“Don’t overthink,” the counsellor said, after reaching for his hand and patting it with a smile on her lips. “Don’t try to plan it. Just go and do what you have to do.”

Five minutes later, as Asami walked past the gates and re-entered his car, he felt he was sweating profusely, as if he had just run a marathon.

Overthinking, planning, calculating... that was his style. Acting on the spur of the moment? Following unstable indicators such as  _ emotions  _ to make decisions?

That was completely out of his comfort zone.

But, as it was, he didn't have much of a choice.  His BMW hummed smoothly after he started the engine, and in no time he was heading to Kou’s apartment, knowing beforehand he was about to come across a very complicated obstacle the moment he got to his destination.

His own daughter. 

++++

**Three days earlier...**

“Ok… Are you ready to see it?”

Akihito took another long, deep breath to soothe his nerves. He was so nervous he felt he was about to throw up, the last time he had seen his back was almost one month earlier, when he had had his stitches removed.

“How bad is it?” he asked, staring at his own face in the mirror.

After a full minute of silence, he shifted on his feet, and frowned.

“Li?” he asked, finally turning around. “How b-“

He lost his train of thought when his eyes fell upon the assistant on the other side of the room, the other mirror nearly falling from her hands as she leaned against the wall, half bent, half standing.

“Li!” Akihito exclaimed, grabbing the woman by the arms to prevent her from falling. “What happened?”

“N…Nothing,” he heard her reply, a deep frown wrinkling her forehead as colour made its way back to her lips. “My blood pressure must have dropped, that’s all.”

“You sure you ain’t got food poisoning or something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as she steadied herself to lift the mirror. “You’ve been looking kinda queasy for a while now...”

“It’s nothing,” she replied, her usual intimidating expression back on her face as she held up the mirror. “Come on now, take a look.”

It was his turn to look queasy. For a while, he kept staring at his own feet, not daring to look up.

He really wanted to look at the mirror and find out his back was not completely ruined, that he would finally be able to go home without having his friends worry much… His days at that huge house had been great but he wanted them to be over, he wanted to go back to his own life, far from those walls.

“Kid, I ain’t got all day.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and finally lifted his gaze to the mirror, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Oh, thank goodness,” he whispered, relief washing over him as he glanced at his equally sized shoulder blades, and then lower, just to find his wounds had closed beautifully, leaving nothing behind but a couple of thin white scars “I-I thought…Oh...Wow...”

Before he knew, he was laughing so hard that tears were falling from the corners of his eyes. All the stress, all the apprehension of the past two months now felt like a distant, unreal memory, as he studied his back in the mirror, his fingertips touching as far as he could reach, his arms wrapped around himself in a clumsy, insistent hug.

He had always been proud of his body, he had never had problems showing it, and the idea that he would be deformed for the rest of his life had haunted him for days on end.

Now he could go back to thinking about going to the beach, about not wearing a T-shirt in front of his friends, and all those small things he had thought would never be able to do again… Of course, there were scars so there would always be questions, but he would figure something out…

“I guess you can get some kind of laser treatment to make those disappear, if you want,” he vaguely heard Li Jiao say.

He nodded in response, before putting his T-shirt back on with a wide, scintillating smile on his lips.

“My, oh my, does that mean someone is going to leave us?”

Akihito wiped his tears on his sleeve before turning around to look at the counsellor, who had just entered the room.

“Yeah…” he replied, still beaming. “I guess it’s about time.”

“What a bittersweet feeling…” she responded, and Akihito held her hand between his own when she reached out to touch him. “I am happy for you but I am not happy to let go of my most popular handyman. And valuable client, of course.”

The photographer chuckled as the two of them walked towards the balcony, leaving Li Jiao behind.

“How are you feeling, Akihito?” he heard the counsellor ask, her voice serene and amiable.

Akihito let his gaze drop to the garden below as he remembered everything the two of them had talked about in the almost two months he had been in that place. From his career problems, to how he missed his parents that were still living abroad, to the time he had visited his grandmother and the old lady had pestered him endlessly about the “handsome dark man” she had seen with him the other day, to the “handsome dark man” himself…

“Better,” he replied, his eyes mindlessly drifting to the clouds scattered across the deep blue sky.. “Thanks for keeping me sane.”

“You did all the hard work.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Akihito pondered if he should finally address the issue they had carefully avoided in their conversations.

“You... You never asked me why I didn't press charges,” he whispered at last, looking at his own hands as he spoke.

He raised his eyes to the woman’s face just in time to see a small smile curve her lips.

“No, I did not,” she said. “Do you want to tell me?”

The photographer reached for the phone in his pocket, and tapped its screen until he found the contact he was looking for.

“You can't see it, but...the photo that shows up when Asami calls me is of him sleeping holding a costume head,” he said, his eyes taking in the image of his sleepy, and now _ former, _ lover. “It was...from a couple of years back, early in the beginning. Bastard set me up at this resort Kou and I were working at,” he chuckled. “ I...was wearing this stupid costume to spy on him, but then I got dehydrated and, well. To cut a long story short, I ended up seeing the fireworks in his bed while we... You know.”

He cleared his throat when the tip of his ears felt incredibly hot - he was positive he was blushing, and he knew he would blush even harder if he allowed his mind to retrieve the details of that adventure.

“And then we fell asleep, and when I woke up, he had his arm draped over me,” he continued. “And he looked so...harmless, I...I had never seen him like that.”

In time, he would come to see that peaceful expression, and many others, on Asami’s face, in the many mornings they shared after that.

Mornings that he already missed.

“S-So,” he cleared his throat when his voice faltered. “I took the costume head and wrapped his arm around it... And then I took this picture to piss him off…” he chuckled. “But the truth is that I really like his face here…”

His smile gradually disappeared as he allowed other thoughts to fill his mind.

“I know he does a lot of bad stuff in his line of business. You don't become Japan's most powerful man by being nice. I know he has...killed people and who knows what else,” he whispered. “But he is not a monster, you know? I mean, at least I never saw him like one. Well, maybe in the beginning, but even… even back then, even after all the shit that went down, there was something human in him, something...that drew me in.”

By his side, the counsellor nodded, her distant gaze far ahead as she listened.

“And that is how I want to remember him,” he said. “Not as my aggressor.”

He sniffled, pinching his nose as he blinked back the tears that were quickly filling his eyes.

“That's why I didn't press charges,” he continued. “I mean, back then I didn't know why I chose not to, I just knew that if I did, there would be no turning back. A-And I didn't want... that... to be what I would remember him for, what he would remember _me_ for.”

He leaned against the railing, his chest so tight that each word felt like a razor cutting his throat, but he knew that unless he said it aloud, unless someone witnessed him closing that chapter of his life, he would keep on waiting, he would keep on hoping…

“I know he is not gonna...show up and apologise, it's been almost two months already,” he sobbed, tears finally falling from his eyes. “I know it's over, I'm not dumb. He...probably already moved on and maybe...maybe it's time I do the same.”

When the woman by his side passed him a small pack of tissues, he took one and blew his nose so loudly people on the other side of the city could probably hear it.

His mother would probably be embarrassed by his bad manners but he had never given a damn to etiquette anyway.

“See,” he continued, his voice nasal and throaty but much firmer than before. “I am getting out of this relationship with nothing. And I don't want anything from him, I don't want his money, I don't want his pity,” when he paused again, his eyes were dry. “But I want our _memories._ The good ones.”

His gaze dropped to his cell phone one last time, the screen once again showing the image of Asami and the costume head.

“At this point they are the only thing that makes me think the past three years were not a waste…” he whispered.

“They were not a waste,” he heard the counsellor say. She had been so quiet the entire time he had nearly forgotten she was there - perhaps that was the intention? ”Nothing that happens to us, good or bad, is a waste.”

He spent a good minute looking at the woman’s face, wondering what stories she had to tell about herself.

“Oh!” he gasped. “You never told me the story of how you met your husband, either!”

“That's true,” she replied, after a low, quiet chuckle. “I did it on purpose, so that you would come visit.”

“Oh, I will. Li Jiao promised she would teach me how to fight when my back healed, remember?” he asked, his excitement about his upcoming training evident in his voice. “So yeah...there is that.”

“There is that...” the counsellor whispered in response, before turning around and heading back into the room. “Well, when you finish packing, let me know, I can ask Li Jiao to drive you to your friends’ pla-”

“Thanks, but... I want to go back to doing things my way, if you don't mind,” he explained. “You know...walking, taking the train, using my scooter…”

He knew, however, that there was at least one small problem in declining a ride in one of the many luxury cars the counsellor possessed.

“I might have to make several trips to take all my stuff, though…” he whispered, and a quick calculation made him realize that, perhaps, he should have chosen another day to go back to doing things his way...

The bigger, new apartment Maya and Kou had rented in Yokohama now that the three of them had decided to live together was, after all, far as fuck from Shinjuku.  
  



	33. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He will not go back to you, not if I can stop him."
> 
> _Hayashi Maya, Chapter 28_
> 
> Kou finally spills the beans about his secret affair with Maya, Asami realizes his window of opportunity is closing, and Maya decides to take care of a 'problematic situation'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know, _I know_ I said this chapter would be entitled "Tanimura Masayoshi", but the whole thing turned out to be over 10.000 words long so I made an executive decision and broke this part of the story in two chapters. Masa and Akihito will *finally* meet in part 2, even because I wanted to do that scene justice and it didn't feel right to just squeeze it here. Part 1 explains the *circumstances* leading to that encounter, with a certain "secret" Kou and Maya choose to keep from Akihito at the end of this chapter...

Asami checked the cartridge in his Beretta, made sure the safety was on, and tucked it back under his belt.

_His belt._

How vulgar. He felt he was eighteen again, an amateur, working on the street with the butt of his first gun showing from under his jeans.

But then again, it had been far too many years since he last went out of his home without carrying a gun, and by now his pistols had become an extension of himself, even if he had been in too much of a hurry to wear his shoulder holsters…

He stole another quick glance at the window of Kou’s apartment, just to see the lights were still off. It had been at least half an hour since he parked his BMW on the other side of the street, waiting for either Akihito or his friend to show up.

The apartment, however, seemed just as quiet as when he had gotten there.

After letting out an annoyed sigh, he realized he would have no choice but to knock at the young man’s door and subject himself to having it slammed on his face. That is, after getting yelled at by either Akihito or his daughter, probably both.   

He was positive the two of them hated him by now, and they had cause. He had made sure to give them both enough cause to hate him for the rest of their lives.

Before his good sense demanded that he spared himself from such unnecessary humiliation, he got out of the car and made his way to the staircase leading to Kou’s apartment, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists.

He had not yet thought of what exactly he would do in the event of a _rejection._

After two firm knocks, he waited, and pressed his ear against the door to detect any sounds of movement.

There was no response of any kind, so he knocked on the door again, and waited for another minute before reaching for his pistol and blasting the locks with two precise shots.

His heart sank when the door finally opened to reveal a completely empty apartment.

++++

**_At the same time, somewhere in Yokohama..._ **

“Whew!” Akihito exclaimed, after putting away the last bowl cluttering the tiny kitchen sink. “How many bowls do three people need for a meal, anyway…”

After adjusting the bandana tied around his head, he wiped out a bead of sweat dripping down his temple, his eyes slowly scanning the small dining area behind him.

Kou’s fancy designer couch was squeezed in a corner; Maya’s hair styling equipment stuffed in a box strategically placed in the middle of the room so that it could also be their center table. 42 square meters for three people… Their new living arrangements were better than all of them cramming Kou’s studio, but still...

“Without air conditioning…” Akihito whispered, lost in his own thoughts as he reached for the tap to close it. “In plain summer…”

The water, however, wouldn’t stop running, not even after he turned the handle many more times than necessary.

Eventually, the old, decrepit tap capitulated, the handle falling limply on the sink, jets of water flying everywhere - including, but not limited to, his face.

“Oh, you gotta be shitting me!” he managed to hiss while trying to dodge the water that now sprayed a quarter of their minuscule kitchen. “Kou! Help!”

The loud thumping of the designer’s footsteps echoed around the small apartment as he entered the kitchen, holding his phone against his ear.

“Yeah, man, yeah!” Kou said, his eyes going wide when he spotted the puddles of water quickly covering half of the kitchen floor. “For sure! What time you picking us up?”

“The stop valve, get the stop valve,” Akihito urged, ignoring the dishcloth the other man was passing im.

“Uh huh… Great!”

When Kou bent down to reach the valve under the sink, his enthusiastic voice was drowned by the squeaking whistle of water travelling across the rusty pipes. With a relieved sigh, Akihito let go of the tap when the jets finally lost power, and looked down at his soaked tank top.

“No wonder the rent is cheap…” he complained, taking off the bandana and running his fingers through his damp hair. “This place is falling apart…”

The cooling effect of his drenched clothes against his skin, however, was more than welcome, and within seconds he found himself leaning against the counter with a smile on his lips.

“Who was that?” he asked, watching Kou open the fridge to get two cans of soda after putting his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

“Takato,” the dark-haired man answered, and the photographer was quick to notice the spark of excitement in his friend’s eyes. “He is having a baby!”

Akihito nearly choked on his Coke.

 _Takato?_ His friend, _Takato? Takato,_ who had gotten married what...less than a year ago?

_Having a baby?_

“I mean, his wife is, but… A baby!”

“No way!” the photographer exclaimed, half amused, half horrified.

He had gone to school with Takato. Not that long ago, the two of them plus Kou were hitting on girls wearing bikinis during summer festival, getting drunk together on New Year’s Eve…

And now, that same Takato was about to become a _father._

“Holy shit…” Akihito whispered.

“I know, right?”

When he glanced at Kou’s face, he noticed his grin was so wide and genuine he couldn't help but smile as well.

“He said he is stopping by in a couple of hours to celebrate!” Kou announced, barely able to contain his enthusiasm.

“Celebrate?”

The two of them averted their gaze to the hall at the same time, and saw Maya leaning against the doorframe with her arms closed, a frown wrinkling her forehead as she looked at the kitchen floor.

“The tap broke,” Akihito quickly explained.

“Takato is having a baby!”

“Oh,” the girl responded with half a shrug, half a sneer. “Good for him.”

Akihito had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself for laughing. Being the baby enthusiast he was, Kou looked like a deflated balloon after Maya’s dismissive response, taking a timid sip from his soda as he tried to regain his composure.

“I told him he could join us for karaoke tonight, I hope you don’t mind?” he heard his friend ask, quietly.

Akihito stole a quick glance at the clock above the fridge. He had been so caught up in his chores he had completely forgotten the three of them had agreed to go out that night.

“Not at all, the more the merrier,” Maya replied, snatching the can from Kou’s hands to take a sip of soda herself. “I will just call the bar to make sure we have a table that is big enough for all of us, is his wife coming along as well?”

“Yeah…” slowly, the designer seemed to be drifting back into his hyper-enthusiastic mode. “Say, Aki… In a few months you might get a job on the side, huh? Those two are so busy all the time, they might need a babysitter every now and then!”

“Sure…” Akihito replied, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. “That is, if you don't beat me to it.”

“So you're good with babies?” Maya asked, once again crossing her arms as she stood between the two of them.

“Nah...babies are Kou’s department.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It's nothing like that…” Kou said, after shaking his head. “I come from a big family, my cousins all have kids and I just...looked after them when they were little.”

“Yeah, sure,” Akihito chuckled in response. “You _asked_ to look after them.”

“I didn't.”

“Kou, come on.”

“I...Okay, maybe once or twice,” Kou scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“You like babies so much I remember when Takato got married you said something like…” Akihito put down his soda, and pressed his index finger against his lips with a thoughtful expression. “What was that again? Oh yeah, _‘I hope one day I will get married too and have five little ones’_.”

“Five?” Maya asked, her eyebrows arched up and eyes bulging a little. “That's…a lot.”

“I-I said that?” Kou stuttered, after a nervous chuckle. “I don't think so…”

Finding his friend’s embarrassment far too entertaining, Akihito continued, biting the tip of his tongue with a mischievous smile before speaking again.

“Kou likes babies so much he gets two little lactation stains on his shirt every time he sees one.”

He had expected Maya to burst out laughing at the joke, but he imagined the quiet snicker he got in response was as much as he would get from someone who was half an Asami, after all.

By her side, Kou continued to chuckle nervously.

“Aki...okay… That's enough.”

Akihito, however, was far too caught up in his own amusement to realize his friend’s panic-stricken eyes.

“No, seriously, _haha_...he...he,” at that point, the photographer was openly laughing, “...he's the kind of guy that would... _haha_...that would,” he paused to catch his breath, “.. _.puncture_ his condoms, _haha_ , t-to have a..a baby of his own!”

When all blood drained from Maya’s face, and Kou blushed all shades of red known to humankind, it finally hit him.

“Oh,” the girl whispered.

“No, I wouldn't!” Akihito heard his friend exclaim, shaking his head and his arms, his panic obvious in his voice. “I wouldn't, I swear I wouldn't!”

“I didn't know you wanted kids that bad…” Maya added, raising an eyebrow.

Akihito’s amused laughter slowly died down as he observed his two friends, realisation dawning on him as awkward silence filled the room.

_He should have known._

He had suspected, the first time the three of them had dinner together after his nearly two months of absence, that there was something different. The stolen glances, the little smiles… But he had dismissed the signs as figments of his imagination. After all, Kou had always been into Maya so his constant drooling over her was to be expected…

What he hadn't expected was Maya to reciprocate his feelings.

“Kou…” he said. “I-”

“Dude, seriously, _shut up_ ,” Kou snarled, and every line of his face seemed to be so full of uncontained fury that Akihito immediately did as he was told, taking another gulp of his soda as quietly as he could.

For the longest minute in history, the three of them said nothing, and merely stared at the floor.

“Well… I'm gonna take a shower.”

It was Maya who finally broke the silence, after patting her own thighs and walking out of the kitchen with the familiar arrogant smirk curling the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, yeah…” Kou replied, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “We all should start...getting ready, Takato will be here soon.”

Akihito waited until the door to the girl’s room closed to put his drink down and take a step closer to the designer.

“Ok, what was that?” he asked.

“What?”

“Kou. You and Maya, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” the dark-haired man replied, his eyes darting around madly as if he was a small animal caught in a trap, desperately looking for a way to escape. “Nothing!”

Akihito crossed his arms, and tilted his head to the side.

“Kou, I-”

“ _We've been sleeping together!_ ” Kou blurted out, once again blushing a fierce shade of pink. “We’ve been sleeping together, OK?”

“Since when?”

The photographer watched his friend cover his have with both hands, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“For almost two months,” he replied, his voice coming out a bit stifled due to the fingers that were still covering his mouth.

“Two months?!” Akihito exclaimed, his mouth gaping slightly. “ _Kou!_ ”

“I'm sorry!”

“When were you planning to tell me?”

“I didn't want you to be mad at me…” Kou muttered in response, running his fingers through his hair as he paced he minuscule room. “You told me not to do anything stupid...And I'm quite sure that qualifies as stupid.”

“Because she's Asami's daughter?”

“That too,” the designer shrugged. “But also because I know she's not into me, she said she wants nothing serious...”

“But _you_ do.”

When Kou nodded his response, his eyes suddenly displaying a melancholic admission of guilt, Akihito couldn't help but feel bad for his friend.

He knew exactly what it felt like to take a plunge into a relationship with someone that was not interested in committing.

And then, another realisation hit him, and it was his turn to blush like a ripe tomato.

“Aw shit, the...the jokes I made about you and babies!” Akihito whispered, covering his mouth. “Aw man! I'm so sorry, when I said those things, I had not noticed yet...the two of you…”

“That's okay,” Kou replied, a little smile curving his lips as he waved a hand dismissively. “I will just have to reassure her that I have not _punctured_ any condoms,” he snorted. “Gee, Aki, of all the things you could have said…”

Akihito felt a burden had been lifted off his shoulders when Kou chuckled, all the fury from moments ago long forgotten.

“Good…” he whispered, after letting out a little smile of his own. “You haven't, have you?”

“What?”

“Poked holes in your condoms?”

He had to cover his head to protect himself from the punches his friend started throwing at him, the insults and curses coming out of Kou’s mouth making him laugh so hard his sides started aching.

“Stop punching me, goddammit!” he panted, wiping away happy tears. “I’m just kidding! Stop!”

When Kou finally ceased his assault, Akihito realized he was laughing as well, although his eyes still carried a certain glint of concern.

“Aren't you mad?” the designer asked, his voice low and serious after he cleared his throat.

“No…” Akihito responded, after taking a deep breath himself.

Truth was, he was unsure as to what he was feeling at the moment. Out of all the girls Kou could have fallen for… he had to pick Asami’s daughter?

“Well…” he said, rubbing his neck as he spoke. “Maybe a bit, when I left you in charge I didn't think you would jump her bones like that!” he added, frowning.

“Just a correction,” Kou replied, raising a finger. “ _She_ jumped _my_ bones.”

Akihito shook his head. That was yet another thing he should have known.

“He totally called it…” the photographer whispered.

“Who? Called what?”

“Asami,” Akihito replied, his chest filling with the strange combination of warmth and sorrow as he remembered one of the very few times the man had talked to him about his daughter. “The day… she invited you to that hotel, he told me she would put the moves on you. He knew it.”

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to take that journey down memory lane, and remember those golden eyes looking at him as he spoke… the quiet understanding of that moment, the trust…

“Hah!” he chuckled quietly when he remembered his own reaction to the idea of Kou and Maya getting together back then. “Damn, and I said you were harmless…”

“I guess _I am_ harmless, but she…” Kou whispered in response, his voice low and distant, as if he was lost in his own thoughts. “Not so much, no…”

“You are dying to tell me the details, huh?” Akihito asked, with a mischievous smile on his lips. “Wait, did you tell Takato?”

The guilty look on his friend’s eyes was enough of an answer.

“You did!” the photographer exclaimed. “You told Takato before you told me?”

“You were gone for ages, I needed advice!” was Kou’s exasperated response.

“Advice? What kind of advice?”

When Kou started mumbling quietly, his eyes quickly drifting to the floor, Akihito insisted.

“What kind of ad-”

“Sex advice, Akihito! Okay?” the designer finally hissed, looking over his shoulder to make sure they were not within Maya’s hearing range. “Out of the three of us, I have always been the one to get the least action, you know that. Takato is married, I assumed he would have something useful to tell me!”

For some reason, the fact Kou had searched for Takato for sex advice, and not him, made Akihito feel particularly offended.

“Oh yeah?” he squeaked. “Just so you know, I spent three years having sex with her father, so if she is anything like him, it's me you should have consulted, OK?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized they sounded much better in his own head.

“Ok, that was weird,” he quickly added.

The last thing he needed was Kou picturing him and _his girlfriend’s father_ having sex, for crying out loud, especially with all that bondage stuff… And all the times they had surrendered to their urges, never mind if it was in a pool, in the limo, in his office… The adrenaline, the pain, the pleasure that only that bastard could make him feel…

“Do you miss him?” he heard his friend ask, quietly.

His body was obviously the first one to reply - his heart was beating ten times faster, the palms of his hands were clammy and his throat was tight…

_Of course he missed him._

“I'll get used to it,” Akihito replied, forcing himself to smile despite the urge to just close his eyes and get lost in memories. “Yo, Kou, seriously. Don't feel like you need to hide things from me, ok? We're friends.”

He gave the designer a friendly punch in the shoulder.

“Sorry if I kept you in the dark about Asami in the beginning, but things have always been very complicated between us…”

“It's alright,” Kou replied, giving his arm an equally amiable jab. “I understand.”

The clicks of doors opening and closing made both of them look at the bathroom, which was vacant now that Maya had headed to her room to get dressed.

“You can go next,” Akihito said, scratching his elbow as he walked into his room. “I still have to look for my clothes…”

He waited until his friend had gone into the bathroom to close the door behind him. He still had to look for his clothes, alright, but he had other reasons to want to be the last one to shower…

He kneeled next to one of the last boxes he had not yet emptied, and reached for the carefully folded item buried in the middle of his jeans.

If Asami’s shirt had ended up in the middle of his clothes by accident, or if it was just that man’s way of torturing him, he didn’t really care.

He stood up, locked the door, and took off his clothes.

He was wearing nothing but his boxers by the time he lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling as the shirt covered his chest like a warm, thin blanket…

“I’m actually glad you’re not here, you know…” he whispered, the faint smell of cologne and nicotine filling his nostrils and making his heart flutter. “If you were, I would fucking kick you.”

He brought the collar closer to his nose, his other hand slowly sliding under the elastic band of his underwear.

“Asshole…” he hissed, eyes closed so tightly he could actually see stars behind his eyelids.

++++

“Kirishima, I need you to retrieve Kou’s personal file.”

He didn't even wait for his first assistant’s usual greeting.

_“Kou’s?”_

“Yes, Kirishima, Kou’s, Akihito’s friend.”

_“Certainly, sir. What are we looking for?”_

Asami brought the car to a smooth stop when the traffic lights in Kabukicho turned red, running his fingers through his hair as he looked out of the window.

“He moved away,” he explained, his secretary’s loud gasp echoing inside the BMW through the Bluetooth system connecting his phone to the car. “They...moved away, all three of them, apparently.”

 _“The_ three _of them?”_

“Takaba is no longer staying at Majima’s place.”

When Kirishima spoke again, his voice was a mix of confusion and concern.

_“When did that happen?”_

“Three days ago,” Asami replied, stepping on the gas pedal and trying not to let his frustration show in his voice. It was unusual for him to feel that restless, but for some reason, his intuition was telling him his window of opportunity was closing, and he needed to find the photographer before it was too late.

“I need you to check if his employer has his new address,” he muttered, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he brought the car to a halt when he reached the apartment building Maya used to live with her stepfather.

_“Y-Yes, sir.”_

“Call me as soon as you find out,” he said, before ending the call and getting out of the car.

Chances were that apartment would be just as empty as Kou’s, but at the point, he was willing to look for Takaba Akihito in every corner of Tokyo if he had to.

++++

Maya had just finished drying the kitchen when the soft buzz of a vibrating phone drew her attention to their improvised centre table.

“Akihito?” she said, after knocking softly on his bedroom’s door, which happened to be the closest to their small dining/living area. “Your phone’s ringing.”

After a long minute of silence, she opened the door, just to find the room empty.

“Oh yeah…” she whispered. “You're in the shower, I forgot.”

When she returned to the dining room, the phone was still buzzing angrily on top of the table, demanding someone pick it up.

And so, she did.

“Gee, who is the desperate pr-”

Her eyes turned into golden slits of pure anger when she saw the image of her father, sleeping, holding a costume head, his name lit up on the screen like a billboard.

She spent a long minute looking at the photo, ignoring the insistent buzz as she studied the man’s face. He looked _content._ Tired, even.

“Yeah, I guess we all can guess why…” she muttered, her nostrils flaring.

That photo had been taken _after sex_.

Maya bit her lower lip when her hand automatically closed into a fist, and she had to use all of her self control not to smash the phone right then and there.

Instead, she merely swiped the screen to decline the call.

The shower was still running, so that gave her time to do what she knew had to be done, since apparently Akihito hadn't yet gathered the nerve to let go.

In a matter of seconds, Asami Ryuichi’s number was added to the list of blocked contacts; the latest call logs, deleted.

She had just put the phone down when the door to Kou’s room opened.

“Wow, look who decided to dress to impress…” she whispered, after thoroughly checking out the young man wearing skinny dark jeans, a tight, V-cut neck white T-shirt and a sleek brown blazer. “Are you planning to put the moves on the ladies tonight, Kou?”

“Maybe…” he replied, and she found the light blush on his cheeks endearing.

“It looks like I will have to watch out, then…” she whispered into his ear, after pressing her chest against his back.

“So will I, I don't think there is a single human being who won't be ogling you tonight,” he replied, his head slightly turned to look at the long slits at the sides of the red Chinese dress she was wearing with her knee-high combat boots.

She chuckled quietly when he turned around to face her, and their lips were about to touch when her phone started buzzing inside one of the pockets of her shorts.

With a sigh, she looked at the screen, and her eyebrows shot up.

“Who's that?” Kou asked.

“My f-...Asami,” she quickly corrected, brow furrowed as she swiped the screen to decline the call.

“Aren't you gonna answer it?” she heard the young man ask, looking slightly confused when she slid her hands up his chest to pick up from where they had left off.

“No.”

They were about to kiss when her phone started buzzing again.

“What the fuck is wrong with this man?” she snarled, after seeing her father’s name once again on the screen.

“It must be important…”

“For him, yeah,” Maya snorted. “It's not as if he ever thinks of anyone else, anyway...” she added, as her fingers deftly moved to the buckle of Kou’s belt. “So...where were we?”

“Maya, Takato will be here in a few minutes…”

Despite his brave attempt to resist, the strain in his voice and the violent throbbing of the veins in his neck were the signs she needed to keep going.

“A few minutes is all we need…” she whispered, biting his earlobe before pushing him down onto the couch.

The two of them were already kissing, Kou's fingers clumsily trying to undo the buttons in her collar to gain access to her neck as she straddled him, her hands just as busy unzipping his jeans, when _his_ phone started ringing.

“What, _haha_ ,” he chuckled nervously. “My phone now? That’s… _unusual_.”

“Just let it ring.”

“Uhhh…”

The loud ringtone, however, was a deal breaker.

“Whatever, just answer it,” she said, getting off his lap with a frown.

“Helloooo, Kou speaking,” Maya heard the young man say, his high, playful pitch replaced a second later by the sound of a gasp. “Oh! Asami-san…!”

Whatever Kou planned on saying, he didn't have time to finish.

“What do you want?” Maya spat out, after snatching the phone from his hand.

_“Maya, is Akihito with you?”_

“Yes.”

_“Let me talk to him.”_

The man’s audacity to sound so full of himself made her huff.

“No,” she replied, eyes narrowed as she spoke.”He doesn't want to talk to you, he doesn't need to talk to you.”

_“Let me... talk... to him.”_

This time, each word was uttered with emphasis, and a distinct note of threat.

“He’s doing great without you, so stop calling already.”

_“Where are you?”_

“As if I would ever tell you.”

_“Maya-”_

“Have a good night.”

She ended the call, and slammed Kou’s phone on the table with enough strength to make it shake.

“What are you doing?” she heard the designer ask.

“Taking care of a problematic situation, that's what I'm doing.”

“You told Asami Akihito doesn't want to talk to him, but what if he does?”

“He doesn't,” she replied.

“That's not your decision to make.”

Maya pursed her lips, and buttoned up the collar of her dress with a frown deep enough to make it clear that their little makeout session had come to an end.

“Kou, do you seriously think the relationship they had was good for him?” she asked, her voice stern but low as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Akihito was still in the bathroom.

“I...I don't know,” Kou replied, in an equally low whisper. “All I know is that whether that relationship should continue or not...Akihito should be the one making that call, not us.”

“You don't understand…”

“Oh, I do. Trust me,” the designer said, shifting uncomfortably on the couch as he zipped up his jeans. “I… I just think you are mixing things up here.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know you don't have a good relationship with your father…”

“Get to the point, Kou.”

She had almost forgotten to keep her voice down. The shower was still running, but the walls in that apartment were paper thin…

Once again, Kou shifted on the seat, rubbing his neck and looking terribly uncomfortable.

“Just say it, Kou!” Maya hissed.

“I just think you are using this situation to get back at Asami, to…” he paused to let out a sigh, “...to make him pay for the problems that the two of you have.”

“What do you know…”

“I know enough, Maya,” Kou replied, sounding slightly exasperated. “This is wrong, we should not be getting in the middle of this, we have no right to interfere like that.”

Maya let out a mirthless chuckle.

She had _every right_ to interfere.

“You have seen the scars on Akihito’s back, haven't you?” she asked, after stealing another glance towards the bathroom door.  “When he got out of the shower, that first night, three days ago?”

“Yeah,” Kou replied, raising an eyebrow. “He had an accident during a stakeout, so what?”

“Kou, it was not an accident,” she whispered. “It was him. Asami.”

“What?”

“I went to Sion, I...confronted him about it,” Maya explained, clutching her hands on top of her lap as she remembered how that conversation had gone down. “That man doesn't care, Kou, he doesn't… feel.”

“How did you find out?”

“The hospital called the police.”

“The police?” Kou’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean…?”

“Masa.”

“Shit…” she watched Kou leaned back on the couch, covering his forehead with the back of his arm.

“I think Aki wants to keep it a secret because he knows we would be upset,” Maya whispered. “He is still trying to protect the bastard,” she paused, and took a deep breath before speaking again, in an even lower, more serious tone. “So if you want to tell Asami where we are, if you want to tell Aki he's called, you go ahead. But if anything happens to him, it’s _on you_.”

When the door to the bathroom opened to reveal a smiling Akihito, with a towel wrapped around his waist, and another one covering his head, the two of them pressed their backs against the couch, holding their breath.

“What's with the long faces?” the photographer asked, as he dried his hair and walked towards the living room.

“Nothing,” they both replied, at the same time.

Maya saw Akihito raise an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from her face to Kou’s and then back to hers.

“Oooh, I see...” he said, with a malicious smirk. “I'll give you two some privacy...”

Before the door to Akihito’s bedroom closed, they heard him speak again, his voice playful and casual.

“By the way, Kou, you have lipstick on your chin...”

The designer, however, looked so concerned and guilty that the cheeky remark went completely unnoticed. 


	34. Tanimura Masayoshi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami's wild goose chase continues in Tokyo, while in Yokohama, Takaba Akihito finally meets a certain cop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And he's here, at last! It is time to explore that other relationship tag, the one that *does not* involve Asami, so a couple of chapters from now on might sting a little - sorry! This is actually the last "preparation" chapter, now all the players have taken their position and chapter 35 will show some of them making their moves, which will ultimately lead to a gigantic, messy war.

“Kirishima.”

He didn't even bother to hide the tiredness in his voice the next time he called his first assistant.

“What is the name of the other friend?” Asami asked, leaning against the railing in front of Maya’s apartment as he held his phone close to his ear.

As expected, the place was empty as well, although the fact that there was still furniture and personal items in most rooms indicated that at least Kazuki continued living there.

“ _Takato_.”

“Text me his phone number,” he said, his voice low and strained. “And his address.”

After hanging up, he reached for his pack of cigarettes, his eyes shifting to the sky above.

_‘He's doing great without you.’_

He shook his head when Maya’s words echoed in his mind once again. What exactly was she retaliating against? Two decades of poor parenting on his part? Their most recent argument? Was she just upset about everything else going on in her life and taking it out on him?

He frowned, looking at the cigarette between his fingers.

How far was she willing to go to keep him away from Akihito?

How far was _he_ willing to go to get him back?

“I really slacked as a father, didn't I?” he asked quietly, his voice dripping with cold, calculated fury. “I should have at least taught you to respect your elders…”

She was saved by the fact she was his daughter.

 _Anyone else_ that dared to stand between him and Takaba Akihito at that point would would have a fate much worse than death.

When the soft beep indicated the arrival of a new message, he smashed what was left of his cigarette on the railing, and took a deep breath before going down the stairs.

After finding out Kou’s employer still hadn't been informed of the young man’s change of address, he knew he was running out of options. Takato was probably his last resource.

He led his phone to his ear after tapping the young man’s number, and waited for the call to connect before entering the BMW.

 _Voicemail_.

++++

Akihito checked his reflection on the side mirror of Takato’s car, smoothed his vintage jeans and gave his jacket a final tug before joining his friends inside the small lounge of the karaoke bar.

Kou was rolling back on forth on his heels, staring at the floor with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans; Takato had his arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders, and they both looked so happy that Akihito couldn't help but smile as well, despite his nervousness.

“She’s gonna try to hook me up with someone, isn’t she?” he asked Kou, tilting his head towards the girl in the red dress talking excitedly to the staff at the front desk.

His friendly merely nodded in response.

The photographer let out a sigh, and wiped his clammy hands on his denim-clad hips. He was not sure he was ready to go on a date, let alone _a blind date_ , of all things...

“I think you’re gonna like him…” he heard Kou say.

“You know the guy?”

“Not exactly,” the designer replied, shrugging. “But that day, the whole… hacking thing? He was there too.”

“So he’s a hacker.”

“And a cop,” Kou added.

“A _cop?_ ”

Akihito’s eyebrows shot up.

A hacker _and_ a cop? As if he hadn’t had enough of guys with a double life...

“Well, if he is some nasty old fart I will be sorely disappointed…” he muttered, kind of wishing that he was, actually. That way, that “date” would end pretty fast, and that was all he was looking forward to.

“He’s not,” Kou replied. “He’s… He’s…”

“What?” Akihito asked, frowning at his friend as he rubbed his neck, as if trying to find the right words to say whatever it was he wanted to say. “He’s what?”

“ _Hot._ ”

He jumped when Maya materialised behind him.

“What Kou means is, he’s hot,” she said, crossing her arms with a smirk on her lips.

“Nah, I was not going to say that,” Kou replied, with an annoyed frown.

“He’s the guy all girls want to nail, and that all guys want to be friends with,” she continued. “Which is a bit unfortunate for him, given his preferences.”

“ _‘All’_ girls?” Akihito watched Kou ask, a note of very obvious jealousy in his voice. “You included?”

“Maybe…” the girl responded, after stealing a quick glance towards the photographer and winking playfully.

“ _‘Maybe?’_ ” the designer asked, and Akihito couldn't help but snicker at his friend’s reaction.

“Come on, let’s go,” she said, leading the group down one of the halls that led to the private rooms on the second floor.

“No, hold on… let’s talk about that,” Kou insisted, and by that time, even Takato was laughing at his expense.

“Idiot!” Maya chuckled. “Of course I don’t want to nail Masa, he’s gay!”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other…”

Akihito watched the girl shake her head, still laughing quietly.

“Okay, when I was younger, I _might_ have had a crush on him…” she said.

“Ha!” Kou exclaimed. “So at some point, you _did_ want to nail him.”

“So what?” Maya replied. “Everyone _‘at some point’_ did, even you.”

Those words elicited a collective gasp, and soon enough all the eyes were on Kou’s blushing face.

“ _Eeeh?_ What are you talking about, I never…!”

“You totally checked his ass that day at the hotel,” the girl continued, and everyone, except Kou, broke into a fit of giggles, whistles and exclamations.

“I did not!” the designer spluttered.

“Kou, you little sleaze…” Takato whispered, with a mischievous smirk.

“I just… I _did not_ , I was looking at his gun!” Kou replied, getting more and more flustered by the minute.

Akihito, of course, couldn't let that one pass up.

“His gun, huh?”

“Oh _shut up_ , you both,” Kou muttered, crossing his arm with a frown.

They were only a few steps away from the door when the sound of a male voice singing finally reached their ears.

_“I fought the law and...the law won...I fought the law and...the law won…”_

They all cringed at the high pitched scream that followed, the screeching sound of the microphone feedback piercing their ears with disturbing intensity.

“Dude, what is this noise?” Takato asked, chuckling. “Are they trying to drown a cat or something?”

Akihito felt laughter rattling inside his chest, but by his side, Maya’s face was the opposite of amused.

“There's something wrong,” she whispered, before sliding the door open.

“Yeah,” Akihito replied, giggling. “His voice.”

The fierce glare he got in return made him swallow his laughter.

When he finally shifted his gaze to the interior of the room, he couldn't hold back a surprised gasp.

On top of the table, stood a man not much taller than him, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, bangs of light brown hair falling in front of his eyes as he moved his hips to the song, holding the microphone close to his lips in a weird angle.

_“Robbin' people with a six-gun...eeeeeeehhhhh…”_

Again, they all winced at the shaky, loud falsetto.

“Please, someone make him stop,” said Kou, covering his ears.

“Ando-san,” Maya said, approaching a bespectacled man Akihito hadn't even noticed sitting at a far corner of the room. “What happened?”

“He's having a shitty day, that's all,” the man said, after taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Eight people under his protection were killed in an explosion today,” the man explained, and both Akihito and Maya gasped. “Four of them were children. The other four were prostitutes brought to Japan through a human trafficking network. He had been working on their case for almost two years, and was really close to finally getting them all back to their countries, but…” the man shrugged, taking a large gulp of his beer. “...I guess it was not meant to be.”

“Shit…”Akihito heard Maya whisper, his eyes on the man wearing dark pants and a light blue jacket, still dancing on top of the table.

“Shit indeed,” the man continued, and his voice was loaded with defeat and resignation. “We got here an hour ago, and he started drinking… I didn't really feel I should stop him, figured he needed to let it all out, so there you go,” he said, before finishing his beer. “And now that he is not alone anymore, I should probably get going.”

“Thanks for keeping an eye on him,” Maya replied, bowing politely when the man stood up, picked up his jacket, and walked to the door.

“Who was he?” Akihito asked.

“Ando-san? He is a cop too,” the girl answered. “He works with Masa.”

“Oh…”

He took that moment to glance over his shoulder. Kou, Takato and his wife were chatting casually at the other side of the room, and he realized that he had been so nervous about his date he had nearly forgotten they were supposed to be celebrating that night. Takato was going to be a father, after all...

“Akihito, can you...give me a hand here?”

Maya’s voice made him turn around, and when he did, he realized the man on the table was no longer dancing or singing, the microphone hanging limply by his side. His slick, brown hair was falling in front of his eyes, but Akihito could tell he was being stared at.

“Ah,” the photographer heard him say, before he took a wobbly step towards the edge of the table. “So _you_ are Takaba Akihito…”

Akihito saw it all unfold with blinding clarity much before it happened.

The beer bottle was strategically placed right where the man's foot would land as soon as he climbed down the table, but drunk as he was, of course he didn't notice.

Among _“oooh”s_ and _“aaaah”s_ coming from the rest of the group, that uselessly tried to warn the man to watch his step, Tanimura Masayoshi’s foot went up in the air as soon as it touched the ground - or rather, the bottle - sending him flying backwards until he crashed down on the table with a loud thud.

“Holy crap, is he ok?” Kou asked as he ran to the rescue, with Takato and his wife closely behind. “Whoa, he totally broke the table, did he pass out?”

“Masa?” Maya was already kneeling next to the unconscious figure sprawled on the floor, gently shaking his arm. “ _Masa?_ ”

“Hmmmm…” the man moaned in response.

“At least he's conscious…” Takato whispered.

Out of sheer nervousness, Akihito felt an uncontrollable need to laugh, but he knew he should not. He stole a quick glance at the young cop’s face, his forehead slightly wrinkled as he uttered something unintelligible, a small red circle staining the spot on the table where his head was resting. The poor guy was having a pretty shitty day already, last thing he needed was to be laughed at after landing on his ass in the middle of a group of strangers.

“Kou, give me a napkin, I think his head is bleeding.”

After dipping the napkin inside a half empty glass of beer, Akihito carefully raised the man’s head and located the spot where his hair was matted with blood.

When the alcohol covered the cut, the cop’s frown intensified, and they heard him mumble angrily.

“What language is he speaking?” Akihito asked, raising his eyes to Maya.

“Sounded like Thai…” Kou replied.

“Fi-Filipino…”

When the photographer lowered his eyes to the man’s face, he realized his light brown eyes were once again staring at him.

“Oh, you speak Filipino?” Akihito whispered, smirking when the cop hissed after he pressed the napkin harder against the cut. “Good for you.”

“Hmpf…”

He saw the man wincing again, and then his eyes were closed.

In a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep in Akihito’s arms.

By their side, Kou was snickering, which ended up eliciting giggles from Takato and his wife as well. The photographer would have laughed too, if only he didn’t know the reason why the man was in such a deplorable state.

Still, the fact his “date” had passed out within less than a minute of the two of them meeting for the first time was something he would come to laugh about later on...

“Pretty sure... you… envisioned me...holding him close...at some point, huh?” Akihito asked, his voice coming out in small puffs as he dragged the cop to the couch with Maya’s and Kou’s help.

“Well…” the girl replied, a slight blush rising to her neck and cheeks. “This is not exactly what I had in mind.”

After making sure the man’s head was safely supported by a couple of pillows, the three of them joined Takato and his wife on the other side of the room, and took the first sips of the drinks that had just been brought in by the waiting staff.

“To Takato and his wife!” Akihito heard Kou exclaim, raising his glass of beer with a wide grin on his face.

The photographer smiled, hugging his friends after the toast. From the corner of his eye, however, Akihito found himself watching the pained expression on the face of the sleeping figure on the couch, his smile fading a little as he remembered that, for one of the people in that room, there was no reason to celebrate.

++++

“Suoh?”

_“Kirishima?”_

“Be very discreet, I don't want the boss to notice.”

_“What are you talking about?”_

“I was on the phone with him a few minutes ago, I couldn't help but notice he sounded distraught.”

_“Kirishima…”_

“Just answer yes or no. Have you two found-”

 _“Kei,”_ the bodyguard interrupted. _“I am not with the boss.”_

“Eehh?!”

_“He told me to take the rest of the day off, the last time I saw him was at Si-”_

The secretary ended the call, his living room going silent again now that Suoh’s voice was no longer coming out of the Bluetooth speakers.

He had been careless. He should have known his boss was not in his right mind. The urgency in his voice when he called him that first time should have clued him in.

To be wandering around Tokyo this late at night, on his own… the man either refused to acknowledge the risks or didn't care enough about his own life…

What was the reason for that wild goose chase? Couldn't he simply wait until tomorrow morning? He was already scanning registers in multiple databases, he would end up pinpointing the photographer’s location at some point. Sure, it would take a while since nothing had come up in Tokyo so he had to expand his search to other prefectures, but for someone who had waited for nearly two months before engaging in that kind of pursuit, one night _couldn't possibly_ make much of a difference…

He dialled his boss’s number, and waited.

No answer.

He dialled again.

_Nothing._

“Oh, for crying out loud, answer the damn phone…”

The eyes behind the glasses went wide with a sudden realisation.

What if something had happened? What if the reason the man was not answering the phone was because he had gotten shot, or stabbed, or-

The secretary retrieved his Glock 17 from one of his drawers, shoved it under the waistband of his pyjama pants, and picked his jacket from the coat rack.

“Boss!” he muttered. “I'm on my way!”

++++

**_Meanwhile, in Yokohama..._ **

Many hours later, they were all ready to go home.

There was, however, a minor problem: Tanimura Masayoshi remained unconscious on the couch.

“I can't just leave him here!” Maya snarled, when Kou suggested they caught a ride back home with Takato and his wife.

“Well, he won't fit in the car!” the designer replied. “So what is your plan?”

“Let’s take him home.”

“Where does he live?”

“Little Asia.”

“Have you ever been to his place?” Kou asked. “Because Little Asia is a damn labyrinth, and we don't want to get lost there this late at night, trust me.”

“I was talking about _our_ home,” Maya replied.

“Oh. _Oh!_ ”

“Plus the taxi ride back to Tokyo would cost an arm and a leg,” the girl explained. “And then back to Yokohama, that's just stupid. Let's just let him sleep on the couch or something.”

“Aki?”

Kou’s voice made the photographer finally avert his gaze from the cop.

“What?” Akihito asked.

“You look worried.”

“No, I’m not...No.”

But the truth was, he couldn't stop thinking about the explosion that had killed those eight people. Children, women...What kind of person would be that coward? Given the current tension between the Omi and the Tojo, chances were one of the clans had something to do with the attack…

He pursed his lips, lost in his own thoughts.

That was why he disliked syndicates so much. Innocent people always ended up paying.

“Are you okay with us taking him home?” he heard his friend ask, quietly.

“Yeah,” Akihito replied, shrugging. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Okay, so you guys give me a hand here,” said Maya, throwing one of Masa’s arms over her shoulders, just for Kou to step forward and pass his arm over his shoulder instead.

On the other side, Akihito did the same, and the two of them agreed to stand up on the count of three.

When they did, the photographer felt his knees would falter.

“Holy crap,” Kou hissed through gritted teeth. “Is this guy made of steel?”

“He's strong, yeah,” Maya replied, with a smirk. “Lean, but very strong.”

“He sure is ripped…” Akihito added, stealing a quick glance at the man’s toned stomach muscles when his shirt rode up.

“Yeah, and soon he'll be sleeping two feet away from your bedroom,” the girl replied, when they finally made it to the exit to say their goodbyes to Takato and catch their taxi. “Aren't you lucky?”

“I am lucky my bedroom has a lock, that's what…” he muttered, ignoring the sudden heat in his blushing face and letting out a sigh of relief when he and Kou managed to dump the cop on the backseat of the taxi.

++++

Kirishima Kei had already been to all the places where he thought his boss would be. Takato's apartment. Maya’s apartment… Even the old studio where Takaba Akihito used to live.

His last stop had been at his office in Sion.

_Nothing._

_‘Sir, where are you?’_

At that point, he was ready to accept his text would be ignored just like his calls had been.

Much to his surprise, however, the response came less than five seconds later.

 

_‘At the rooftop.’_

 

“The rooftop?” the secretary muttered, with a frown. “What rooft-”

_Oh._

_That_ rooftop.

In a matter of minutes, he was climbing the last few steps leading to the rooftop that had changed everything.

 _‘I'm telling you, the boss was impressed,’_ Suoh’s words back in the day echoed in his mind. _‘When that kid stuck his tongue out...I don't know, Kirishima, but I get the feeling we will be seeing that guy very often from now on.’_

The bodyguard had called it. He had noticed the sparks flying much before he, Kirishima, even began considering the possibility of those two ever getting together.

He pushed the door open, and was greeted by a blow of cool nightly breeze.  His eyes were quick to locate his boss looking up at the sky, his arms folded over the railing with a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

Above them, the full moon was surrounded by a bright ring, the sign that a warm front was near.

“That's quite the halo,” the secretary said, to announce his presence.

“Yes…” he heard his boss reply, without turning around. “It’s going to be a drizzly morning.”

Kirishima picked a cigarette when the man offered him his pack of Dunhills, lighting it up in silence and taking that chance to study his boss’s face.

As usual, his expression was hard to read, but after so many years by his side, the secretary had learnt to read the small, almost undetectable signs that something was wrong.

The sighs, the tension in his shoulders, the jaw clenching in silence...

“I spent a great part of my childhood in the mountains of Hokkaido,” he heard the man say at last, his gaze still distant and bleak. “I guess...That's why I like summers better than winters.”

He paused, and took a long drag off his cigarette.

“Winters bring back...memories,” he continued. “The people of the mountains took all those things very seriously. Lunar halos, eclipses, constellations. My mother used to spend hours looking at the stars, dreaming, finding omens in the colours of the sky,” he said, his voice lower and more grave than usual. “I myself disliked those superstitions. Scientific explanations always sat better with me than...fantasy.”

Kirishima respectfully lowered his gaze to the city below, listening intently. Even after knowing each other for so many years, their childhood or teenage years were topics that hardly ever were addressed in casual chatter.

“Objectivity...Reason… Those are the things that keep us grounded,” he heard his boss say, before letting out a very unhappy chuckle. “Everything else is a waste of time.”

Judging by the melancholy in the golden irises, the secretary suspected he knew exactly what the _‘everything else’_ referred to.

“With all due respect, sir, you have very good instincts,” he said, taking off his glasses and throwing his boss a sideways glance to gauge his reaction. “I am not sure they qualify as ‘objective’, but I am positive they were never a waste of time.”

“I am not talking about my instincts…”

_Of course he wasn't._

Kirishima put his glasses back on, smirking slightly at the concerned frown on the other man’s forehead.

“About _that,_ I am already running a search on utilities providers’ databases,” he whispered, hoping that his initiative would improve his boss’s mood. “One of them must have signed up for gas, or electricity… I will have their location within a few hours.”

However, the disheartened nod he got in response was far from what he expected.

“Is there anything else troubling you?” the secretary asked, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

“I just have a bad feeling…” he heard the man reply, his gaze once again vacant as he stared at the moon. “Instincts,” he shrugged, finally turning around and pushing himself away from the railing, an even bigger frown creasing his brow as he looked at his secretary’s current outfit. “What kind of pants are those?”

The first assistant gasped when he looked at his own legs, and felt he was blushing all shades of red.

He had been in such a hurry to find his boss that he had left his apartment wearing pyjamas!

“What, did you think I was going to jump off the roof?” the man asked, his eyes glowing with a hint of amusement as he chuckled. “Kirishima, you are taking Kimura’s diagnostic much too seriously...”

“I...M-My apologies, sir!” he managed to stutter in response.

“Come on,” his boss replied, putting out his cigarette before walking towards the door. “Let’s get out of here, it's late and we have a long day tomorrow.”

“ _Hai._ ”

Kirishima bowed to show his agreement, still embarrassed at his fashion mishap but greatly relieved that at least _that_ had brought a small smile to his boss’s face.

++++

It was way past two in the morning when Akihito’s eyes shot open, the familiar squeaking whistle of the kitchen pipes piercing his ears.

“The tap!” he whispered, jumping from the bed with one of his eyes still closed.

When he finally managed to stumble out of his bedroom, trying not to trip on his own feet, the first thing he saw was their _guest_ struggling with the jets of water flying in every possible direction.

“Shit,” he heard the young man mutter, his shirt already soaked as he tried to contain the impending flood.

“I forgot to tell you about the tap,” Akihito replied, still half asleep as he reached for the stop valve under the sink. “But wait, did you not notice that the handle was broken?”

The cop merely shrugged in response, water dripping from the tip of his nose.

“No,” he whispered. “I was thirsty.”

“Ah, I see,” Akihito replied, as he stood up and scratched his elbow after a particularly long yawn. “Here,” he said, opening the fridge and passing the man a bottle of cherry flavoured water. “There is more, if you want.”

The photographer watched the other man down his drink in long gulps, still clearly inebriated, and his eyes dropped to his soaked clothes. Of course, by the rules of hospitality he should offer to dry them in the laundry room, but he figured that asking a drunk stranger to undress while they were standing two feet away from his bedroom would send out the wrong idea.

“You should dry yourself,” he said instead, handing him a dish cloth.

The cop nodded, and rubbed the cloth on his face before patting his chest half-heartedly. Akihito took that chance to steal a glance at his almond-shaped light brown eyes and high cheekbones - his face was young and delicate, but his demeanour indicated he was probably older than he appeared to be.

“Name’s Tanimura Masayoshi,” the young man said, after turning around and leaning against the small kitchen counter. “I’m a detective.”

“Takaba Akihito, photographer.”

Akihito saw him nod silently, his saddened eyes dropping to the floor as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I heard what happened to… those people,” he whispered, and the detective turned his head to look at him. “The explosion.”

“Ah.”

“I am truly sorry.”

“Tokyo’s underbelly…” the man snorted. “Not a nice thing to see, nope.”

Again, his light brown eyes were vacant and lifeless as he stared at the ground, and Akihito realized he had no conversational topics that would be appropriate for those circumstances. He pondered that the best thing to do was to go back to his bedroom and let the man sleep his sorrow away, but before he did so, Tanimura spoke again.

“Say, Takaba-san…” he said, and his voice was slightly more energetic. “What do you like to do in your free time?”

Akihito blinked several times, the unexpected question making him frown slightly.

“Uhh…” he began. “Hang out with friends, play games…Karaoke…”

 _'Masturbate,'_ his mind added, and he nearly choked on his tongue.

“Camping…” he muttered, before another long yawn. “Sleep. You?”

“Me?” the detective asked, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. “I gamble.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Hacker, cop, gambler…

Apparently Tanimura Masayoshi was the kind of man that wore many hats.

“You see, I used to tell myself that I gambled to make money to help the kids in little Asia,” he said, his smooth voice much more pleasant to hear than the awful singing from hours prior. “And it is true, but you know what else is true? I gamble because _I like it_.”

When Akihito raised his gaze to the man’s face, he realized the light brown eyes were fierce, shining with defiance.

“One day, this...creep...offered me 10 million yen to play Russian roulette,” the detective explained. “ And I did. Because I _like it_.”

Without realising, the photographer found himself swallowing a knot in his throat.

“I like the adrenaline,” the cop whispered, and the expression on his face was so intense that Akihito had to avert his gaze when their eyes locked. “I like the _thrill_.”

_That was bad._

They should probably find something else to talk about, that whole talk about thrill, and adrenaline, and danger, was taking him to places he really did not want to go...

“You see, the police… the prosecutor...It’s all about appearances…”

Akihito let out a relieved sigh when the detective finally changed the subject, mumbling part of his sentence in a language that was definitely not Japanese.

And then, his eyes went wide. _The prosecutor?_ Was he talking about Kuroda?

“They all have their...skeletons...in the closet…” the man continued, waving a dismissive hand with an angry frown. “But they pretend they are fucking saints.”

He wondered, for a moment, if the cop knew of Kuroda’s connection with Asami. If he did, was he the only one? Did the entire police force know it as well?

Was it possible that Asami truly had everyone in Tokyo under his thumb?

“ _Eeeeveryone_ pretends...” Tanimura drawled on. “They get...badges… parties...publicity…”

He paused, and scoffed before speaking again.

“I don't play by the rules, and I don't pretend that I do. So there you go,” he said, after a careless shrug. “'The parasite of Kabukicho’. That's how they call me.”

Akihito noticed that the brown eyes were still defiant, but some of their spark had given way to a heavy shadow of bleakness.

“ _‘Parasite’_ , huh?” Akihito asked, raising an eyebrow as he opened the fridge and took two bottles of flavoured water. “Strong word.”

There was a moment of silence, in which the two of them merely sipped their drinks, lost in their own thoughts.

“You know, you’re very pretty.”

The words made Akihito cough, and he quickly wiped away the small string of drool that had escaped the corner of his mouth.

“And you’re very drunk,” the photographer replied.

“I… I can’t dispute that.”

“Yeah…”

When the man put down his bottle, and turned to stand in front of him, Akihito had a horrible feeling.

That would not end well.

“Can...Can I kiss you?” the detective asked, his body way too close for comfort.

“T-That's actually my cue to leave,” the photographer replied, trying to ignore the scorching gaze that was slowly dropping from his eyes to his lips, and from there to who knew where, he would not hang around to find ou-

His eyes nearly popped out of his head when Tanimura’s lips covered his.

Instinctively, he reached for the kettle sitting on the stove, and used it to hit the man’s head with all his might.

“ _Ouch!”_ the detective exclaimed, before taking both hands to his head.

“Oi! What part of ‘no’ don't you understand, _pisspot_?!”

Akihito was fully aware he was screaming loud enough to wake up the entire neighbourhood, but he really didn't care.

“You didn't say _‘no’_...” Tanimura muttered, rubbing his head with a pout.

The photographer gasped. As if the semantics mattered!

“Whatever, just go back to sleep,” he snarled.

“It was just a quick peck on the lips…”

“One that I did not authorise!” Akihito blurted out, getting even more flustered now that a small smile was curving the corners of the other man’s mouth.

“You're blushing.”

“Because I am mad!”

“You're very cute…”

Akihito gritted his teeth. He knew he should probably cut the man some slack for being far too drunk to make wise decisions, but to have the nerve to call him ‘cute’ with that stupid little smirk on his face...

 _“Shut up!”_ the photographer shrieked, his pitch high enough to shatter glass. “It was a dumb idea to let you sleep here anyway, you are clearly one of those drunk people that really don't know to behave, is that how you show your appreciation for our hospitality, by...harassing one of your hosts, what is wrong with you?!”

He paused to catch his breath, and only then did he notice Kou and Maya standing on the small hallway, their jaws dropping slightly.

“What are you two looking at?!” he snapped. “Go back to sleep!”

With that, he spun on his heels and marched into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him while mumbling another fair share of complaints.

After making sure the door was locked, he leaned against it, his heart pounding so hard inside his rib cage it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

It felt wrong to kiss another man that was not Asami but…

He gulped, and closed his eyes when his fingertips touched his lips.

To be kissed again…

It had felt…

…

…

... _good._


	35. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dangerous conversation involving Maya takes place many miles away from Tokyo, Tanimura and Akihito have to face each other and deal with the aftermath of their turbulent first encounter, and Suoh finally reveals a certain "affair" to Kirishima.

Somewhere very far from Tokyo, a tall blond man fished a Seven Star out of its pack, looking at the street below from the balcony of his fancy hotel room overlooking the Hermitage Museum.

It felt strange to be back after so many years, but given the circumstances… He really didn’t have much of a choice.

To think that one day that city had been his home…The people that had taken him there… given him shelter, food, work… At some point he had thought of them as a family, but he quickly realized there was no free meal, not there, not anywhere else in the world.

Soon enough, they started giving him other things as well.

Drugs. Clients. _Training._

It took him a while to understand he was _the merchandise_. Nothing else.

When his phone rang for the first time, he ignored it.

He ignored his phone other four times.

He knew, however, that man was not going to leave him alone, not now that Asami Ryuichi had pretty much depleted him of all his legal funding sources and meddled with at least half of his illegal businesses in Osaka.

“Hai,” he finally whispered, after swiping the screen of his phone and bringing it closer to his ear.

_“Ah...And so, he lives.”_

There was so much contempt in the other man's voice that he brought the scarf closer to his neck, and merely waited for the outburst of fury to begin.

_“After nearly a month without answering the phone...Where **the fuck** have you been?”_

“Not that this is any of your business but…” the blond man calmly replied. “I have had to sort out some personal issues.”

_“Personal issues... You were too busy riding the white tiger, that’s what, you stupid junkie!”_

“Sengoku-san,” when he spoke again, his voice was deep and dangerous. “You might want to mind your tone. I’m not one of your brainless subordinates.”

_“No, you’re not. And that is what worries me.”_

Sengoku Hiroshi’s response was just as cold and menacing, and the foreboding laughter that followed made his hair stand on end.

 _“You will not believe what I found out the other day,”_ he heard the man continue. _“My operatives were finally able to uncover the identity of the little shit that hacked into the Omi.”_

The blond man forced himself to swallow a lump in his throat.

 ** _“Hayashi Maya,”_** said the voice on the other side of the line, and his heart stopped for a very long second. _“Rings any bells?”_

“Stay away from her,” he responded, willing his voice to remain firm and emotionless despite the panic threatening to strangle him.

_“Ah, how rich of you to say that. But, no, I don’t feel like putting up with your temper tantrums today.”_

At that point, his heart was beating so fast that he feared Sengoku would be able to hear it through the phone.

 _“See, I have done some research about her, what a hot little thing she is, huh? Just started attending the University of Tokyo…”_ the Omi officer continued, his voice dripping with poison. _“Tell you what, why don’t you give me your new address? I will make sure to take pictures of me and my men raping the little bitch and send them to you in a fucking frame…”_

“Seng-”

 _“No. **Shut up!** ”_ the scream that followed was loud enough to make him wince. _“What is your angle? What do you want?”_

He had already opened his mouth to speak when the man started ranting again.

_“Did you leak Sakazaki’s pictures as well? Who the hell are you working for?”_

“No one,” the blond man replied, his mouth dry as he stared at the passersby below him, trying not to let that sickening fear take over, trying not to let himself be lured into that dangerous game. “I told you already. I’m on this for personal reasons.”

After long seconds of silence, the man on the other side of the line finally spoke again.

_“I don’t believe a single word coming out of your whorish mouth.”_

“Give me a week,” he replied.

_“Have a good day.”_

_“No!”_ the blond man found himself crying out, his shaky voice finally betraying him. “Wait.”

After steadying his trembling fingers and drawing in a long breath, he continued.

“Three days. Give me three days.”

_“What for? What’s the big plan this time?”_

“I need to make some calls…” the man replied, his eyes darting madly from the street to the museum as he tried to gather his thoughts, the dire need for something that would soothe his nerves making his entire body shake. “Just give me three days. I know what will bring Asami Ryuichi to his knees.”

He swallowed, even though his mouth was so dry that the mere motion made his throat hurt.

 _“This is your last chance,”_ said the other man. _“Consider yourself warned.”_

When the call ended, the blond man folded his arms on top of the railing, tears escaping the corners of his eyes as his chest swelled with the unexplainable desire to just jump off that balcony and end the mess that he had started…

++++

**Yokohama, 4:53 am**

Tanimura Masayoshi felt his head would explode the moment he opened his eyes, wincing at the rays of light shining past the flimsy kitchen blinds.

Kitchen blinds that he did not recognise.

“Shit…” he mumbled groggily, forcing himself to sit up as he rubbed his throbbing temples with the heels of his hands. He was still trying to ignore the nausea and pain when his fingertips reached a bump on the left side of his head, and then found the dried blood a bit above his nape.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. _What the hell had he done?_

As if it wasn't bad enough to wake up in someone else’s home… At least he had his clothes on, that had to be a good sign. Those injuries, however… Had he gotten into a fight? Last thing he had a clear recollection of was he and Ando-san drinking at the karaoke bar after their horrible day at work.

Two years of work going down the drain… All those people… Dead...

Now he understood why he had downed all that booze. Just thinking about the gruesome, burnt remains of that guesthouse made his stomach churn. Oh, and he had drunk plenty, apparently - with a disgusted frown, he coughed after sniffing his own shirt just to find out he was reeking of sake, sweat, cigarettes and beer.

When fragments of other memories from the previous night started flashing before his eyes, his headache intensified.

A blond man wearing jeans, his fierce hazel eyes hovering above his face, the smell of crisp apples and peaches filling his nostrils as gentle fingers held his head.

_‘Oh, you speak Filipino? Good for you…’_

And then, the same blond man, wearing nothing but shorts and a tank top, talking to him by the kitchen counter…

His own hands, holding his face, kissing him.

The shock in the hazel eyes.

_Kissing._

The detective whimpered, the heels of his hands trying to force his eyeballs deeper into their sockets as if to punish himself for his stupidity.

When Maya had invited him for that get together, saying she wanted to introduce a friend, he accepted out of sheer politeness.

His plan was to grab a drink, meet whomever it was she wanted him to meet, leave ten minutes later. He had work to do and no time to waste.

And then, she said his name.

_Takaba Akihito._

He knew that name. He had even caught a glimpse of the man’s hair that day in the hospital.

 _Takaba Akihito,_ photographer, 26 years old, single…

He remembered that file very well.

_Takaba Akihito._

When Maya texted him a picture, he found himself studying the photographer’s smiling face, trying to understand what was the story behind those fiery hazel eyes.

He was very pretty.

All of a sudden, he had found himself counting the minutes for that evening.

He was really pretty.

That was something he was almost sure he had also said the night before, in the height of his drunken torpor.

“Fucking idiot, what have you done?” he whispered, tugging at his hair and feeling his cheeks getting hot from all the embarrassment.

Talk about ruining his chances of ever getting closer to that man… If anything, he should have been extra careful, given the photographer’s convoluted past. He had ended up in a hospital, for fuck’s sake, probably because of someone close to him.

Last thing he needed was to be harassed by a complete stranger.

“Ugh…” he covered his mouth when bile rose in his throat, letting out a relieved sigh when he managed to control the nausea. He needed something to sober up, then a shower, then find a way to make up to his hosts for his ridiculous behaviour. He should probably start by drying up the kitchen… The reason why there was water everywhere was not exactly clear to him, but as it was, he was quite sure it had been his fault as well…

++++

The first thing Akihito noticed when he got off the bed, was that his mouth was watering. Apparently, his stomach had been the first part of his body to wake up, growling even louder now that the delicious smell of fried eggs and miso soup filled his nostrils.

He opened the door and stepped outside his bedroom room after putting on his slippers, still yawning and rubbing his eyes as he mentally prepared himself to clean up the mess that stupid cop had made in his kitchen after tampering with the broken tap.

Luckily, he would have left by now and he would never have to look at his face again.

“Good morning.”

The voice that greeted him made the photographer’s eyes shoot open.

“Y-You’re still here?!” Akihito asked, his voice a strangled, screeching noise that sounded a bit like a dying cat.

“You sound disappointed,” the cop replied, with a quiet, very sober chuckle, as he slid two fried eggs from the frying pan onto a plate.

“Well, I can't say I'm happy…” the photographer mumbled in response, walking towards the sink and scratching his elbow with a slight frown when his eyes fell upon the variety of small dishes spread on the small centre table.

“I made breakfast,” Tanimura explained.

“Yeah, I can see that. Look, if you-”

Before he had time to finish his sentence, though, the cop was bending at the waist, in a long, deep bow.

“Takaba-san, _moushiwake gozaimasen deshita!_ ” Akihito heard the man exclaim, hands pressed together in front of his head to give even more emphasis to his apology. “Please forgive my behaviour last night. I… I didn't mean to be disrespectful!”

The photographer tilted his chin upwards, arms crossed as he gazed at the detective with a raised eyebrow. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to feel as angry as he had felt the night before. Looking back, he had probably overreacted - or maybe he simply saw no point in arguing now that a mouthwatering breakfast was waiting for him.

“Whatever,” Akihito finally replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I guess everyone does stupid things when they're drunk.”

When the man finally straightened his back, the photographer turned on his heels and walked toward the small table.

He was already sitting on the floor and about to pick up his chopsticks, when the sound of water running made his eyes go wide.

 _Deja vu!_ The tap!

He whipped his head around, ready to once again see jets of water flying everywhere. Much to his surprise, however, nothing seemed out of the ordinary as the man rinsed the frying pan he had just finished washing.

“You fixed the tap?” Akihito asked, his jaw slacking slightly.

“It was the least I could do,” the cop responded, a small smile curving the corners of his lips as he wiped his hands on a dishcloth. “Mind if I join you for breakfast?”

The photographer blinked several times, startled by the recent developments. The night before, Tanimura had been so drunk that he had ended passing out in a karaoke bar, cut his head, kissed him and gotten another blow to the head in retribution, and not even four hours later the man looked like nothing had happened. Other than the slightly dark bags under his eyes, his movements were sharp and precise, he had just cooked a full-course breakfast, fixed that dreadful kitchen tap, and judging by the smell of laundry detergent and soap, he had showered and washed his own clothes as well.

“Go ahead, you're the one who cooked it, after all…” he whispered. “How come you're not hungover? You were pretty wasted last night.”

“Fermented watermelon and turmeric pills,” the cop replied, with a small smile curving the corners of his lips as he took his seat across from him. “That’s one of the first things they teach you when you join the police,” he added, grabbing his chopsticks after a long sigh. “Don’t get drunk, but if you do, make sure you recover fast.”

Akihito nodded in silence, his eyes travelling from the man’s face to the long, slender fingers reaching for a small dish of tofu next to him.

“Hmm, I thought we had run out of tofu,” he whispered, with a slight frown.

“I went to the convenience store earlier today and bought some,” Tanimura replied. “And everything else, didn't feel right to just loot your pantry.”

“It's not looting if I'm eating it as well, right?” Akihito said, before stuffing his mouth with a tuna rice ball and letting out a satisfied hum. It had been a very long time since he last had a breakfast that good - even back at the counsellor’s house, where food was plenty and available any time of the day, his meals had been light and moderate. “You must have spent a lot of money, this brand of natto is expensive,” he added, bringing the small dish closer to his nose before adding some of it to his miso soup.

The photographer raised his eyes to Tanimura’s face just in time to see him grinning. Perhaps that had been his plan all along? To lower his defenses by feeding him all sorts of delicious food?

After a brief frown, Akihito shrugged mentally and downed his soup with a content gulp.

_Well, if it was, it was working._

“I didn't know what kind you liked, so… I got the one that people say is the best,” the cop replied, his bright eyes looking intently at him. “I usually buy the cheapest one.”

“It is very good, thanks.”

Akihito watched when the other man took a sip of his soup, the tip of his tongue poking out to lick his lower lip as he put the bowl down to reach for a slice of ginger. And again, Akihito found his gaze shifting to the man’s mouth as he ate, a sudden heat crawling up his face when he realized he had been staring at the plump red lips for at least half a minute now.

After clearing his throat with a loud _‘ahem’,_ Akihito stretched and faked a yawn, his eyes travelling to the hallway where he knew Kou and Maya would eventually show up at any minute.

For some reason, though, he wished they would both take their time. Not that he and the other man were doing anything wrong - _‘And oi! Not that I am planning to!’_ his mind quickly added - but he really didn’t want his friends to be pestering the two of them about the night before.

“You only made breakfast for two, huh…” the photographer whispered, avoiding eye contact as he picked his chopsticks and helped himself to a piece of egg.

“I cooked more, but I don't know what time Kou and Maya will get up, so I made bentos,” the detective replied, pointing towards a neat pile of lunch boxes on the kitchen counter.

“Oh.”

“I figured you'd be the first one to get up because you are the closest to the kitchen.”

“Right.”

That time, Akihito didn’t even bother to hide his awe.

“That’s a lot of food, what time did you get up?” he asked.

“Five something. But I'm used to it, I get a lot of morning shifts at work,” the cop replied, his almond-shaped eyes even brighter than before. “And the food… Most of the times I have to prepare bulk meals, I help manage an orphanage in little Asia.”

Akihito’s eyebrows shot up.

Gambler, hacker, cop, orphanage manager, cook, plumber...

“Good thing you can’t sing, give the rest of us a chance to shine…” Akihito mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Akihito quickly replied, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth as he shook his head. “Say, how do you find the time? Sounds like you have quite a busy life...”

“I try to avoid distractions,” he heard the man reply, and with no little amount of embarrassment, Akihito realized it was his turn to be stared at. “I don't always succeed,” the cop added, his voice low and serious enough to make him shift on his seat.

“Eh…” the photographer tried to chuckle, but what came out of his throat instead sounded an awful lot like a grunt. “I guess it can't be helped.”

“I guess...”

And again, he realized he was staring at the man’s mouth. _What was wrong with him?_ Now _that_ would be a good time for either Kou or Maya to show up - if they didn’t, Akihito suspected he would end up doing something _really dumb._

“I...should probably get going.”

Before he had the chance to act on his impulses, though, the cop was on his feet, taking empty bowls and dishes to the sink without missing a beat.

“O-Ok,” the photographer stuttered, getting up as well after casting a quick glance towards his own crotch to make sure he hadn’t gotten carried away by his... enthusiasm.

“Thanks for your hospitality,” the detective said, taking quick steps towards the door.

“Wait, is this yours?” Akihito asked, after picking up a black wallet near the kitchen sink.

“Oh, thanks, I almost forgot.”

With a raised eyebrow, the photographer watched Tanimura shove the wallet in the pocket of his pants, frowning slightly and clearly avoiding his eyes.

“Heh,” he chuckled, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed against his chest. “I bet you were just trying to find an excuse to come back.”

Akihito saw the man stop on his tracks, with one of his hands already resting on the doorknob. When he finally turned around, his eyes were fierce enough to make him gulp.

“Do you want me to?” Tanimura asked, slowly walking back to where he was standing.

“What?” Akihito whispered in response, taking a step backwards when the man stopped mere inches away from him.

“Come back?”

_‘No.’_

_‘Yes!’_

_‘Bad idea.’_

_‘Sounds great to me.’_

Ignoring the conflicting voices inside his own head, Akihito snorted, looking away after wiping his clammy palms on his shorts.

“Heh, you're much too confident,” he finally replied, tilting his head upwards with his lips pursed. “What if I'm already seeing someone?”

The smirk he got in response made him frown, and he had to swallow a lump in his throat when the cop got even closer, his lips brushing against his ear as he spoke again.

“Well, if that was the case, you would definitely have to explain why you agreed to go on a blind date last night.”

_The man had a point._

However, Akihito was not one to capitulate that easily, not even when shivers going up and down his spine threatened to derail his train of thought.

“A blind date that you were very successful in ruining, if I might say,” he hissed.

“Let me make it up to you,” the cop whispered in response.

“Not interested.”

Akihito narrowed his eyes, and almost patted himself on the back for how cold and uninterested he had sounded. The glint on the other man’s eyes, however, seemed to indicate his performance had not been nearly as convincing as he imagined.

“Ok,” Tanimura replied, a little smirk back on his lips as he turned around and walked towards the door.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” the cop replied, raising a hand and looking at him one last time before exiting the apartment. “See you, Takaba-san.”

“Not sure about that,” Akihito replied, with a particularly exaggerated shrug.

“I left my contact on the kitchen counter, call me,” the voice grew distant as the door closed. “I’m sure you can get a few scoops if you join me at work sometime…”

“Yeah, right…”

The photographer huffed and puffed when the door finally clicked shut, and shook his head when his eyes fell upon a business card near the pile of bentos.

The name _‘Tanimura Masayoshi’_ had been crossed out, and replaced by a very neat _‘Masa’_ written in blue ink, followed by the words _‘to order bentos, please call…’_

“What a clown…” he whispered, staring at the card and wondering if he should toss it on the garbage or just leave it there in case Maya or Kou really wanted someone else to cook for them.

_Or…_

Truth was, he could do with some scoops. It was high time he got his career back on track.

And so, he decided to keep the man’s card in one of his drawers, if only for _professional reasons_.

++++

Suoh Kazumi pressed a bag of frozen peas to his shoulder, and let out a weak sigh when his eyes fluttered closed.

He reached blindly for the bottle of painkillers, unaware of the worried looks he was getting from the other staff members of Sion as he leaned against the wall in a booth tucked in a distant corner of the corporate dining hall, a bowl of soup  the only food he had been able to swallow after being thoroughly and mercilessly beaten to a pulp the night before, by no-one other than his own boss.

“You should wear sunglasses,” he heard Kirishima say, and opened one of his eyes to see the man sitting across from him with a plate of steamed vegetables and broiled lobster tail. “Your black eye is scaring the staff.”

Suoh was positive that it was not only his eye that was making people look at him as if he had grown a second head. Probably his swollen jaws, the cuts on his lips and a very visible limp as he walked were drawing just as much attention.

“The frame hurts my nose,” he mumbled. “Everything hurts.”

“That bad?”

He closed his eyes again, and just nodded in response.

“I feel...I was hit by a train...and then tossed into… a meat grinder.”

“I tried to warn you,” Kirishima replied.

And indeed, he had. Not five minutes after his boss had summoned him for a “sparring round” at Sion in the middle of the night, Kei had told him, in a short but very precise text message, that Asami-sama’s level of frustration was _‘9 out of 10’_.

In hindsight, he should be grateful that he had gotten away with nothing but a twisted ankle and all kinds of bruises and cuts scattered across his body. Last time he had had to deal with his boss’s _‘9 out of 10’_ frustration level, his arm was on a sling for almost two months and four of his teeth had been sent to kingdom come.

“Tell me again why he’s abstaining?” Suoh mumbled, straightening his shoulders and wincing when his joints protested.

“Abstaining?”

“Yes, Kirishima,” he hissed back, looking over his shoulder and lowering his voice so that no one around them would be able to hear what he was about to say. “When was the last time he had sex?”

“I am not exactly keeping track, but it’s been a while,” Kirishima replied, his voice still calm and collected.

“Please don’t say it was that day at the Sheraton…”

“As far as I know, that was it.”

At the secretary's words, Suoh let out another disheartened whimper. Unless his memory failed him, that day he had unceremoniously interrupted whatever action was taking place not even ten minutes after it had started - chances were the man hadn't even had time to consummate the act.

“I get the feeling that his...argument _with a certain girl_ might have somewhat dampened his enthusiasm for _professional lovers,_ I’m afraid,” Kirishima added, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

“You should hook him up with someone, _anyone_ ,” Suoh replied, once again letting his upper body droop towards the wall. He had spent enough years following Asami Ryuichi around to understand that his mood tended to deteriorate at alarming rates when he was unable to get his regular dose of _endorphins_. “If this keeps going, I’m not sure I’ll survive.”

“Yes, you will,” he heard the secretary reply, after wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin and pushing his empty plate to the side. “What you need,” he paused, and lowered his voice after making sure there was no one around, “... is to get some action yourself, I’m sure you will feel much better…”

The bodyguard blinked, memories of a distant day filling his mind.

_He had just finished buckling his belt, still mortified that he had done what he had done in the middle of someone’s garden, of all things!_

_But, what could he do...That woman made his brain malfunction, even when she was snapping at him for siding ‘with a man that is capable of injuring someone who is half his size’. Well, that was not exactly accurate, since Takaba Akihito was not that small, but he did understand Li Jiao’s fury. He admired her for it._

_And maybe that was why...in those circumstances… that impulse...the angry eyes...the angry voice… that slap…_

_Still, he should not be doing those things while on duty!_

_And definitely not in someone else’s garden!_

_He was still mentally yelling at himself when Takaba Akihito materialised in front of him, with a smirk so full of mischief he sensed trouble right away._

_“Hey Suoh,” he said cheerfully. “Why didn't you tell Kirishima you are banging Majima Makoto's assistant?”_

_The bodyguard was positive his eyes had bulged a little, but he somehow managed to keep a straight face while answering._

_"I don't know what you are talking about.”_

_“I saw you two in the garden,” the young man replied, biting the tip of his tongue as he moved  his index finger in and out of his other hand, which was curled into a fist._

_Suoh felt all blood had drained from his face, just to return to his cheeks remarkably fast. He was probably blushing some shade of purple already._

_That kid! Had he been watching? No wonder Kirishima was always complaining Takaba Akihito was trouble - what a cheeky, inconvenient young man!_

_“Ouch!” the photographer exclaimed, after Suoh grabbed his arm and dragged him to a corner. “Why didn't you tell him?_ _”_

 _“How is that any of your business?_ _” the bodyguard snarled._

 _“It's not,” the young man replied, with a shrug. “But Kirishima is your friend, right?_ _Friends tell each other._ _”_

 _“No, they don't._ _”_

 _“Yes, they do,_ _” Takaba Akihito replied, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow._

 _“No._ _”_

 _“Come on, you can't be serious!” the photographer insisted. “I bet Kirishima tells you about the ladies he's scored._ _”_

_Suoh felt his nostrils flare, and apparently that was all the confirmation the other man needed._

_“Ha! See?” he heard the photographer exclaim. “_ _Why didn't you tell him?_ _”_

_At that point, he had been caught red-handed and was being lectured by his boss’s former lover._

_No use trying to be proud._

_“I was not supposed to be doing... those things... while on duty,” Suoh explained, shoulders drooping in defeat._

_“So what? Kirishima is not supposed to be here, right now, and he is on duty,” the kid continued, his voice casual and friendly. “Look, I just think... He needs a break._ _He seems to be really stressed, maybe he needs to, you know... Get his mind off work a little._ _”_

_When he raised his gaze to the photographer’s face, he was surprised to see some sort of genuine concern in the hazel eyes. Had he missed something? Last time he had checked, that kid and Kei did not get along at all._

_“It doesn't have to be about Li Jiao. Just...talk to him for a while. About anything,” the young man continued, a saddened smile curling the corners of his mouth. “_ _He needs a friend._ _”_

_The bodyguard nodded, unsure of what to say next._

_“And Suoh, if I don't see you again…” he saw the photographer drop his gaze to his own feet, his voice lower as he spoke. “I want to thank you. For the times you...saved my ass,” he chuckled, finally looking up with a shaky smirk on his lips. “And Asami's._ _”_

_Again, he had no idea how to respond. He was not used to those demonstrations of affection._

_“And sorry for all the trouble,” Takaba Akihito concluded, his eyes once again fiery and mischievous as he prepared to walk back into the house. “_ _I am not **that** sorry but...yeah,” he shrugged, waving a hand before disappearing behind one of the door. “Bye bye.”_

“Suoh?”

“Hmm?” the bodyguard replied, after blinking several times and seeing Kirishima studying his face with a concerned frown..

“You spaced out for a while, did you suffer a concussion?”

“No...no...I… No,” Suoh repeated, unsure if that was a good time to address the issue.

“Why are you looking at me with that face?” he heard the secretary ask.

“What face?”

“Suoh, just spit it out,” Kirishima insisted, with his usual matter-of-factly tone. “What is it?”

The bodyguard, however, merely shook his head in response.

“Fine, whatever…” when the bespectacled man spoke again, Suoh couldn’t help but notice a faint hint of disappointment in his voice. “Don't say it, the-”

“I've been banging Majima Makoto's assistant.”

Kirishima, who had just taken his glass of iced tea to his lips, choked on his drink.

“I mean… I was,” Suoh explained. “Haven’t for nearly a month now. She stopped answering my calls.”

“Why...why are you telling me that?” the secretary asked, his usual stoic expression giving way to a half grin and multiple wrinkles of surprise.

“I...I don’t know,” the bodyguard muttered. “I thought it would...get your mind off work.”

When Kirishima threw his head back and burst into laughter, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet snicker. Anything more energetic than that would probably make his bruised ribs protest.

“So _that’s_ where you went on your days off…” the secretary said, before standing up and prompting Suoh to do the same.

In a matter of minutes, the bodyguard had filled the man in on his entanglements, and was relieved to see that for the first time in months, Kirishima Kei looked thoroughly engrossed in something that was not work.

Turns out Takaba Akihito was right, after all.

Which reminded him of the arrangements he’d had to make earlier that morning, when his boss had demanded Shinada went on an exploratory trip as soon as Kirishima was able to uncover Takaba’s new address...

“Kirishima…”

“Hmm?”

“Did you look at Shinada’s first report?” the bodyguard asked, stopping on his tracks and looking over his shoulder when they reached Sion’s main lounge.

“I glanced at it, why?” Kirishima replied, his voice and facial expression conveying the same lack of emotion towards the question.

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

“The man that he saw coming out of Takaba’s apartment earlier today,” Suoh continued, his voice low and serious as they entered the elevator. “Do you think…?”

“I would rather not make assumptions.”

“Right...”

“Hopefully it’s not what it seems, but you do have cause to worry,” the secretary added, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “The boss is bound to be disconcerted when I hand that report to him, and considering how he took last night’s frustration on you...” he saw the man study his multiple bruises for a moment, before speaking again. “Good luck.”

Suoh nodded when a soft beep indicated the elevator had reached the desired floor, and with a quick farewell, limped his way back to Sion’s security operations center, praying to gods known and unknown that he wouldn’t be summoned for another sparring round anytime soon.

 


	36. All ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  _Birds of a feather do not always flock together._   
> 
> 
> _Towards the end of a very long and complicated day of work, Asami Ryuichi finds out Sakazaki, Maya's stepfather Hayashi Kazuki and "some random cop" have something in common despite their very different lifestyles._
> 
> _In the meantime, Sakazaki attempts to plot his Great Escape, Maya is having a tough day at school, Shinada is granted permission to engage, and Takaba Akihito finds himself in the middle of a potentially lethal confrontation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know cliffhangers are evil, but don't hate me! I had to end this chapter at some point, or I would take another week to finish it. XD 
> 
> I promise another update is coming soon. ^_^

**Club Prime, Dotonbori, Osaka**

A tall, dark-haired host in his early twenties whimpered when the older man by his side pressed a bag of ice to the back of his head, pursing his lips.

“Ochida is an animal,” he hissed, biting back a cry of pain when he shifted on the couch and his injured backside protested.

“Sengoku’s lieutenant?” the other man asked, peering at the host over the rim of his half-moon glasses. “Yes, he is…”

“Fucking closeted homo… I can barely stand up!”

“I'm sorry about that,” the bespectacled man replied, scratching his nose after finishing bandaging the man’s arm and putting away a small pile of bloodied cloths. “Have you ever considered moving to Tokyo? You would no longer have to put up with this kind of thing…”

“You make it sound like all the creeps of Japan are in Osaka, Sakazaki-san,” the young host replied, with a halfhearted snort. “But we both know Tokyo is no paradise either.”

“That's true…” Sakazaki replied. “But at least you wouldn't have to put up with the Omi.”

The other man nodded thoughtfully, closing one of his bruised hands into a fist.

“Yeah…” he muttered. “They do say that the Tojo is much more... _tame._ ”

“I have contacts in clubs that can get you in,” Sakazaki continued, crossing his legs as he leaned back on the couch of his office and lit up a cigarette. “You would have better working conditions, protection…”

The host scoffed.

“You almost sound like you care.”

“But I _do_ care,” the older man replied, his prying eyes shifting from the boy’s eyes to his full, reddish lips. “You are a very pretty boy, I don't want to see you go to waste here.”

“What do you wanna know?” the host asked, after shaking his head.

“What do you think I _should_ know?”

“Are you really gonna find a place for me in Tokyo?”

The two men exchanged a long, silent look, before Sakazaki stood up and walked towards his desk.

“Here,” he said, passing the young man a card he had just retrieved from one of the drawers. “Just call this club when you get to Tokyo, look for the managers, tell them that I sent you in.”

When the host lifted his gaze from the card to the manager’s face, his eyes were clouded with a mixture of hope and suspicion.

“Call them today, if you want to,” Sakazaki continued. “It's not a hoax. They are old friends of mine.”

He looked up in time to see the young man’s lips curve into a relieved smile.

“Sakazaki-san… _Arigato gozaimasu!_ ” he whispered, bowing as far as he could before his body stiffened with another painful jolt.

“A deal is a deal, Yuki,” Sakazaki replied, before bringing the man’s lips to his. “I kept my side of the bargain, now it's your turn.”

The host winced when the manager’s teeth grazed a cut in his lower lip, but did not pull back.

“There is...someone funding the Omi,” he whispered. “Someone from outside.”

“Who?”

“I...still don't know, but I can find out,” the younger man said, his voice faltering when Sakazaki’s hands moved to his thigh. “B-But there is an agent who is based in Tokyo, an intermediary.”

“Name?”

“I don't know that either.”

“Calm down, I’m not going to do anything to you,” the manager whispered, noticing how stiff the boy’s body had gotten when his hand moved closer to his crotch. “Unless you want me to, of course.”

“Sakazaki-san…”

“Hmm?”

“They will turn you in.”

Those words were enough to dampen whatever mood had been building between them.

“To Asami Ryuichi,” the host added, his scared eyes darting back and forth as he looked at the older man by his side.

“When?”

“Today.”

After a long sigh, Sakazaki took off his glasses, and stood up to walk slowly towards the window.

Such a sunny, bright morning… _Looked like a terrible day to die._

If only he had managed to uncover some kind of secret, some intel that he could use in exchange for a chance to live…

“Oh, well,” he whispered, before putting his glasses back on and helping himself to a glass of the Courvoisier resting on one of his book shelves. “All great stories must come to an end, I guess.”

“T-There’s something else.”

The glass has just touched his lips when he froze, a dim sparkle of hope making him stare at the host expectantly.

“Two days from now, there is going to be a hit,” the young man explained.

“A hit?”

“In Tokyo. In one of Asami’s clubs.”

Sakazaki put down the glass, the corners of his mouth curling into a nearly maniacal smirk. _What were the odds?_ How lucky could a man be?

“The Sengoku family is sending men to help,” the host continued, a small smile curling his lips as well. “Ochida thought I was unconscious, but I heard everything.”

When the young man bit his lower lip, his feverish eyes never leaving his as he spoke, Sakazaki knew he would end up fucking that pretty boy into oblivion despite his multiple injuries - he was way too attractive to pass up. Plus, the circumstances called for a celebration...

But that would have to wait, at least until he knew exactly _what_ would happen to _whom_ , and _when_ , so that he could use that as his bargaining chip when he and Asami Ryuichi finally came face to face.

“I'm listening,” he said, grabbing the bottle of cognac before sitting on the couch again.

++++

Oblivious to the hustle and bustle on the floor below him, Asami Ryuichi led his glass of whisky to his lips, and stared blankly at the folders scattered on the table of his VIP room at Club Sion.

Eight in the morning.

Behind the tinted glass panels, he watched as the cleaning staff ensured the dance floor would be spotless and pristine as usual for the next night; bartenders who were about to clock out replenished spirits and soft drinks and wiped counters one last time.

He had seen the same things the morning before, having stayed in the club for more than 24 hours to meet with politicians, police officers, dealers, his own managers… All of them with different requests, excuses and problems that he was expected to solve, as usual.

Those past hours had been so chaotic he had barely found the strength to object when Kirishima brought him something to eat religiously every three hours, along with his fair share of pills, replenishing fluids and reports to sign.

His secretary was probably under the same amount of stress he was, if not more. After all, he was the one in charge of all routine business operations plus the added responsibilities of recruiting new security personnel for his daughter, handling phone calls from everyone trying to get a minute of his boss’s time- from the Prime Minister to the Chairman of the Tojo Clan- and last but not least, keeping track of Shinada and the man he was supposed to protect while he, Asami Ryuichi, endured the less entertaining task of keeping the flimsy pieces of Japan’s power structures glued together now that the country's two biggest syndicates had decided to engage in a war.

It was high time his first assistant got another raise. As it was, soon enough Kirishima Kei would enter the list of Japan’s richest men.

From experience, though, Asami knew that would mean very little.

“Perhaps we should go hunting one of these days…” he whispered to himself, letting his imagination run away with him. He couldn't even remember the last time the two of them had taken time off to have a drink together, let alone to go on a trip.

Perhaps it was his tiredness filling his mind with silly ideas.

Either that, or he was really getting old.

After taking a final sip from his glass, he dropped his gaze to the table again, and took a moment to study the cover of the one report he had not yet read, the one he was saving for last because he really had no idea as to what awaited him.

_“Tatsuo Shinada - August 1- Takaba Akihito report - Yokohama/ day 1”_

He only had one more meeting to go. One more meeting, and he would be able to focus on what had been at the back of his mind for the past 24 hours.

After drawing in a long breath, he reached for another folder, and found himself staring at the picture of a blond man smiling profusely despite his glassy eyes, surrounded by his staff and clients in one of the busiest hostess clubs in Tokyo.

Still no news regarding Hayasi Kazuki’s whereabouts. Kuroda had just confirmed the man had not left Japan, unless he had used a fake passport, in which case he would remain untraceable until Asami found out something, _anything,_ about his connections.

“Asami-sama.”

His secretary’s voice brought him back to reality. When he looked up, his eyes fell upon a tray with a glass of water and two pills.

“I should ask what those are but I imagine my next appointment is already here and I have to time to waste,” he said, swallowing the medication without further complaints.

“That is correct, sir,” he heard Kirishima reply. “Sachi is here.”

“Let him in,” Asami replied, after pinching his temples and letting out another sigh.

He couldn't wait to go home.

In a matter of seconds, an impossibly tall man wearing a haute couture black mermaid dress had joined him in the room, his long, straight red hair cascading down his muscular shoulders.

“Take a seat, Sachi,” he said, acknowledging Club Sion’s Master of Ceremonies with a discreet nod as he pointed to a chair.

“Oh, hello, hello,” the man replied, batting his extremely long eyelids with a broad smile. “What an honour to be finally called to Sion’s VIP room after all these years.”

“Isn't it too early for you to dress up?” Asami asked, his eyes shifting from the long golden nails resting upon the elegantly crossed legs to the nude Italian stilettos with a small, sparkling “S” carved in each heel.

“A meeting with you is always a special occasion, sir,” the man whispered, his thick, masculine voice a stark contrast to his feminine figure. “What is the emergency? I haven't heard from Kirishima-san for a while now, are you not attending gala events anymore?”

“I have been busy with other business commitments.”

“I see. But it's been a while since you hired an escort, unless you are using someone else’s services?”

“You are my only supplier, Sachi,” he replied, his voice calm and emotionless as he hid his exhaustion under his usual stoic stance. “It just so happens that these days, I only need escorts to entertain my clients, not myself.”

“So it is as they say.”

The man’s comment made him raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You're off the market,” the procurer responded, with a malicious smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “Someone has stolen legendary Asami Ryuichi’s heart.”

“Don't rush to conclusions, that is not what I said,” he replied, an annoyed frown wrinkling his forehead. _‘They say’?_ Had he been that careless? Since when had his romantic entanglement with Takaba Akihito been a part of the turbulent Tokyo’s gossip circles?

“I'm very good at reading between the lines,” Sachi responded.

“That's not what I called you here for,” he was quick to add, before that conversation took a turn he would not appreciate. “I am looking for a man I am sure you are acquainted with, since he is in the same line of business as you.”

“Which one would that be? Fashion designer? Master of Ceremonies? Executive Man-”

“He is a _procurer_ ,” Asami interrupted, just to be met with a sour look from his counterpart.

“Oh, I see,” the other man whispered, tucking a strand of red hair behind his ear. “You mean, a _second-tier_ procurer, because I am the only one running the show for the VIPs, as you know very well yourself,” he added, smoothing the fabric of his dress with a quick gesture before raising his eyes and speaking again. “What's the name of the lucky target?”

“Hayashi Kazuki.”

“Ah...Kazzy-chan, the pretty blonde with sad eyes, smooth voice…” Sachi replied, with a bitter smirk. “So he is a procurer, that is new to me.”

“He manages at least half a dozen clubs across Japan, we know that is part of the job description.”

“Yes, yes… What do you need to know?”

Asami took that chance to stand up and grab another tumbler from one of the shelves behind his desk.

“He has gone missing, and I need to find him,” he explained. “Ice and water?”

“Ice, no water,” the procurer replied, before taking the glass and waiting for the other man to take his seat. “Have you tried talking to his employees?”

“I doubt that will work, we did not part in very good terms and I am quite sure he has let his staff know that.”

“Former lover?” Sachi asked, raising an eyebrow as he took the glass to his heavily painted lips.

“No.”

“No need to keep secrets from me…”

“We all know what happens to secrets that happen to fall in your hands,” Asami replied, once again frowning at the man’s repeated attempts to extract some sort of personal information from him.

“How mean…” the procurer replied, his lips turning upwards in a tight smile. “A piece of advice before I go on, boss. Be kind to your prostitutes, _always._ I have seen men lose empires because they took their hired lover for granted. Yes…” he paused, and took another sip of his scotch. “The low ranks are not my turf, but they are the treasure cove of informants. Invisible, irrelevant, clients think they are nothing but furniture. Most of those girls and boys are illegal aliens who don't even speak Japanese. But, they _understand_ Japanese,” he added, his blue eyes glowing with a hidden threat. “They hear... _things_. And when they are having a bad day, there is always someone willing to listen.”

After another pause, the procurer continued.

“Sakazaki has made a lot of money, and a lot of fame, from handling sex workers with extreme intelligence, as y-”

“Yes, I know,” Asami quickly interrupted. “Who else?”

“The powerful patron saints of prostitutes?” the other man asked, before letting out a small chuckle. “A few, but I will speak of those that I have met personally,” he said. “Tanimura Masayoshi. Detective from the Community Safety division, I think. His mother was a prostitute herself, suffered a most violent death, the poor thing. Very pretty girl from Thailand, I hear...”

Asami refilled his glass with an annoyed sigh. If there was any point to all that storytelling, he was failing to see it.

“Anyway…” Sachi, as if sensing that his patience was wearing thin, shifted on his seat, and his voice was more serious and grave when he spoke again. “Young man made his mission in life to save other illegal aliens from the same fate. I doubt there is a single hooker in this town, male or female, that hasn't opened up to him at some point.”

“How selfless of him…” Asami scoffed.

If there was one thing he had learnt after so many years liaising with informants, was that there was no such a thing as compassion in that business. Everything, _and everyone_ , had an interest and a price, and in the case of sex workers, he knew very well what the currency was.

“Cold!” the procurer exclaimed, with another irritating smirk. “Surprisingly enough, rumor has it he has never taken advantage of the circumstances. The man is said to live for his job and nothing else.”

“Even men that live for their jobs find time to pursue _certain desires_ ,” Asami replied, with an unforgiving sneer.

“True. But I met him once and he does seem to be the monogamous type. Vanilla. Edgy, but very vanilla…” the other man explained, shrugging at the detective’s allegedly exemplary behaviour. “Perhaps he is just waiting for The One, like one of those birds that mate for life, like... penguins?”

“Swans,” Asami corrected.

“You sure?” the procurer asked.

“Yes.”

“Nah, it wasn't swans…” Sachi whispered, narrowing his eyes before clasping his hands together enthusiastically. “Vultures! Yeah. Vultures mate for life, did you know that?"

“If you say so,” Asami finally conceded, pinching his temples and looking away in a brave attempt to stifle a yawn. “It's not as if I'm interested in some random cop’s love life, anyway.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry…” the procurer chuckled, “but I was trying to make a point here.”

“Which was…”

“There are niches in the sex industry in which Tanimura does not operate, mainly due to linguistic barriers. He speaks every Asian language under the sun, but that doesn't help much with… _Eastern European staff_ , for example,” the man explained, his expression serious despite the casual tone of his voice. “Fluent Russian usually helps a lot in that case. That's where _your man_ comes in.”

Unconsciously, Asami straightened his back and squared his shoulders, his sleepy, hazy mind shifting to a sudden state of alert.

“Kazuki is fluent in Russian?” he asked, and a nod of confirmation was all he needed to mentally draw all kinds of scenarios, each and every one of them worse than the other. “What else do you know?”

“Enough,” the procurer replied calmly, leaning back on his seat, arms elegantly folded on top of his lap.

From the looks of it, that conversation would be longer than he had anticipated.

“I'm listening,” Asami whispered, his fingers gently touching the cover of Shinada’s report.

His curiosity would have to wait, again.

++++

The main library of the University of Tokyo was unusually quiet for that time of the day, but Hayashi Maya had no reason to complain.

She was not a fan of crowds, to begin with.

She read the same page in her textbook for the tenth time, her mind still refusing to make sense of the information her eyes were scanning mindlessly.

_Why was she feeling so restless?_

With a frown, she closed the textbook, leaned back on her chair, and took a gulp of her now lukewarm soda.

Was it because Kou had barely looked at her in the face the day before?

Was she worried that the designer was getting tired of her?

Was she feeling... _guilty_ for preventing her own father from getting in touch with Akihito?

“Hell no…” she muttered to herself, although a knot in her throat seemed to be giving a different answer.

It was probably just anxiety.

New routine, new places, new people. A schedule of assignments and exams that would take most of her time from then on…

_It was just anxiety._

She cracked her knuckles, and looked around after drawing in a long breath.

Not for the first time that day, she had the clear impression someone was watching her.

“Great,” she whispered to herself, collecting her belongings and stuffing them on her backpack before flinging it over her shoulder. “Anxiety and paranoia, most excellent…”

By the time she reached her locker on the third floor of the building, the music blasting from her earbuds had done the job of distracting her from the voice in her head that insisted she was being followed. She reached for a key in her pocket, and proceeded to put away her books, notepads and folders.

That had not been a productive day at all but she would cut herself some slack - she still had a month before the semester officially began. If anything, those extra classes should be seen as a blessing, and not as a curse. She just needed to chill and save her nervousness for when her course began for real.

With a nod, she averted her gaze to the picture of a dark-haired woman covered in tattoos, her wide smile adding some warmth to the fierce brown eyes.

“Day 5. I still feel like I don't belong here, is that normal?” she asked quietly, her eyes strangely void as her fingertips reached for her mother’s picture taped to the locker door. “I think there is something wrong with me…”

The woman would probably be so disappointed at her at that point.

If anything, she had done the _exact opposite_ of what her mother would have wanted her to do. Hacking the Omi, getting into a personal battle against her own father, getting between the man and Akihito… One bad decision after the other… She really was on a roll.

“I wish you were here,” she whispered, barely noticing the eventual student walking past her and casting a very discreet glance in her direction. “If only to tell me off… I miss you so much.”

She noticed her voice was cold and lifeless, as if she had just uttered a lie without even bothering to make it sound convincing. Maybe she had forced herself not to cry or show her emotions so many times in the past two months that she no longer knew how to do it, after all…

She was about to close the locker door when a small, brown envelope tucked in a corner drew her attention.

Inside it, she found a stack of photographs showing her walking around the University of Tokyo. Leaving a classroom. Having a meal at the food court. Sitting on a bench by a tree. Getting money from an ATM. She gasped when her eyes fell upon the last one.

_Drinking soda while staring mindlessly at a textbook._

That picture had been taken only a few minutes earlier. Whoever had slipped that envelope into her locker, had to be close...

Her heart was beating so fast she could literally hear it pounding inside her chest, her fingers trembling slightly as she looked around, searching for her stalker. Her mouth was dry when her eyes dropped to the pictures again. Judging by the different outfits she was wearing in those photos, someone had been following her for at least four days.

When her phone buzzed inside one of the pockets of her jeans, she had to cover her mouth not to scream.

“H-Hello?”

_“Maya?”_

“Kirishima?” she asked, sounding slightly too hysterical to her own ears.

“ _Are you okay?”_ the man on the other side of the line asked, and she winced. _“You sound nervous.”_

“N-No. I'm… I’m fine,” she lied, trying to steady her voice so that there would be no further questions asked.

 _“I am calling to let you know your father hired a new bodyguard,”_ Kirishima continued. _“He will approach you tomorrow morning, which is when his assignment begins. His name is Mine Kyohei.”_

“Is he the one who has been taking pictures?”

There was a long pause, in which her heart once again started racing.

_“What pictures?”_

She was positive her disgruntled gasp had not gone unnoticed.

_“Maya, talk to me. What is g-”_

“Never mind,” she quickly said, a droplet of sweat sliding down her temple as she once again looked over her shoulder. “I...I have to go.”

Without wasting another minute of her time, the girl slammed the locker door closed, flung her backpack over her shoulder, and ran to the place where her motorcycle was parked.

Luckily, she would be able to lose whomever was following her on her way to Yokohama.

++++

When Asami Ryuichi finally reached the lounge in Sion’s main administrative building, he looked like a man ready to kill. His golden eyes were lit up with threat, and his confident stroll emanated the unspoken promise of annihilating whomever dared to approach him with more than a mere “good morning”.

The silent journey from there to the elevator, and from the elevator to his office, was marked by murderous glares that targeted his employees randomly, if only to make it clear he would take no one’s bullshit, not that morning.

“Asami-sa-”

“Whatever it is, it will have to wait,” he snarled as soon as his secretary approached him. “I won't be taking any calls either.”

And with that, he closed the door to his office behind him, and threw Shinada’s report on his desk with no little amount of irritation.

First, all those details about Kazuki and his covert affairs… And then, when he thought his day could not get any worse, he had finally managed to read the account of Akihito’s activities the day before, just to be greeted with photos of a man leaving the photographer’s apartment in the first hours of the day.

After letting out an unhappy sigh, he reached for the Dunhills in the inside pocket of his jacket, and lit up a cigarette as he walked towards the window. He wished he had found it in him to leave that report for another day. He had been working for more than 24 hours straight, his body was tired, his mind even more so. What he needed was a moment of respite, of comfort, of peace.

Peace, however, was a luxury he was not entitled to have, understandably so.

It was beginning to dawn on him that perhaps his window of opportunity had closed for good. That he, perhaps, had no longer anything to gain from that situation, that Akihito would not want him back no matter what.

Part of him was willing to go to every imaginable extent to prevent that from happening, even if that meant locking the young man away so that he would never leave his side.

But another part of him, one that he wished he could silence, was telling him he had not been able to do so back then, and would not be able to do so now. The idea of seeing the photographer broken and subdued was never his idea of happiness. He liked the chase, true. At some point in the past, he would not deny it, going after Takaba Akihito had been his favourite game.

The exact moment that game had turned into _something else_ , he could not tell for sure.

Either way, there were things he needed to say, and that the photographer needed to hear.

And in order to make that conversation happen, he would spare no effort.

++++

It was way past lunchtime when Takaba Akihito arrived in Tokyo. After a quick glance at his watch, he let out a disheartened whimper. He had clearly miscalculated how long the commute would take, and if he stopped at a convenience store to get something to eat, he would be late for his appointment at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

Ignoring his grumbling stomach, he comforted himself with the thought that maybe Tanimura hadn't had lunch either, and the two of them would be able to grab a bite to eat before hitting the streets.

He stopped dead on his tracks.

Hopefully, the detective would not get the wrong idea.

Just to double check, the photographer reached for the phone inside the pocket of his jeans, and re-read the text he had sent the day before.

_‘Were you serious about the scoops?’_

He shrugged, satisfied with his objectivity and showing no concern about the fact he had barely waited a full 24 hours to contact the cop.

_‘I'm always serious. Stop by the TMPD tomorrow at 2.’_

The man’s response had been very straight to the point as well.

Another shrug.

 _‘There, there,’_ he mentally told himself. _‘Nothing to worry about.’_

“Takaba-san.”

The voice coming from behind him, however, made the photographer stop on his tracks again - this time, with a very obvious expression of surprise on his face.

He knew that voice very well.

“Sh-Shinada?!” Akihito’s eyes were as round as two saucers when he addressed his former bodyguard. “What are you doing here?”

His surprise was quickly replaced by suspicion.

“Have you been following me?” he asked, with a confused frown.

“Asami-sama would like to talk to you,” was the man’s simple and self explanatory response. “He assigned me to drive you to his office.”

The photographer felt his heart jump awkwardly inside his chest. He had waited a very long time for those words, but now that they had finally been uttered, he realized they sounded much nicer inside his own head.

In real life, Asami’s presumptuous methods of “handling business” by sending a subordinate to take care of his personal affairs - namely, _him_ \- did not sit well with him, not after everything he had been put through.

“Oh,” he finally replied, crossing his arms and tilting his chin upwards before continuing. “Well, then tell him to wait, I have an appointment with someone else.”

The small frown on Shinada’s face made the photographer smile.

_Back to the good old days._

With a courteous bow, he excused himself, and kept walking towards the alley that led to the police station.

“Takaba-san, I will have to insist,” the bodyguard said, his voice still calm and collected except for a minor strain every now and then. “Asami-sama assigned me to take you to him.”

“I get it. I just can't right now,” Akihito replied, still walking with his head held up high. “Come back in, I don't know, an hour or so.”

 _‘That will give me enough time to escape,’_ he added mentally.

“Tak-”

 _“What?”_ the photographer snapped, whipping his head around and casting a fierce glare towards his former bodyguard. “He waited two months to look for me, I am sure he can wait another 60 minutes.”

Taking one step closer to the taller man, Akihito showed no signs of being willing to negotiate.

“Call your boss and say he will have to _wait_ ,” he hissed, giving his last word a reasonable amount of emphasis.

He crossed his arms, and smiled internally when Shinada picked up his phone with an unhappy sigh.

“Asami-sama… Sir, he...he says he has an appointment,” he heard the man whisper. “He didn't say. He just told me to wait an hour,” Shinada continued, casting a glance towards him every now and then. “Sure.”

When the bodyguard passed him the phone, it took him a moment to understand what was going on.

“He wants to talk to you,” Shinada explained.

He picked up the phone and led it to his ear, feeling his fingers grow as cold as ice. That was it. His afternoon was officially ruined. He had not prepared himself for that - the many imaginary conversations he had had with Asami in those past two months certainly did not count, given the fact he could barely remember the lines he had rehearsed so fervently.

“W-What?” he stuttered quietly.

“ _Why are you running from me?”_

The man’s voice made his heart once again do strange things inside his chest, but somehow that question was not how he had expected to be greeted.

“Running?” he asked, frowning. “What the hell are you talking about, I have an app-”

_“What's his name?”_

“Oi? H-His name…?” the photographer stuttered again.

_“Your appointment.”_

His frown suddenly gave way to an intense, bitter glare.

Was that what Asami was planning to do? To grill him, after two months of silence?

“That is none of your business,” he replied, trying his best to sound cold and unaffected.

_“You sound nervous.”_

“Oi! I am nervous because you are making me waste my time!”

_“Can Shinada join you in that...appointment of yours?”_

“Eeeh??” the photographer shrieked in response. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

_“He is your bodyguard.”_

“ _Was_ my bodyguard, Asami, he works for you and…” Akihito paused when the next words got stuck in his throat for the fraction of a second. “And you and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.”

His breathing pattern was terribly irregular - no wonder Asami had detected his nervousness right away.

_“We need to talk.”_

Akihito noticed that the man’s voice had gone quieter, its usual coldness and arrogance replaced by a somewhat pleading note.

_“I'll be waiting for you at Sion.”_

“Ok,” the photographer replied, trying to ignore the waves of panic washing over him. Truth was, he had envisioned that moment many times in those past two months, and they all somehow ended with the two of them tangled in each other’s arms. Now that it was all so close to happening, though, his mind was yelling at him to turn back and run. “B-But now someone else is waiting for me, and I don't want to be late. Tell Shinada to come back later.”

_“Later? So that you can find a way to lose him and run?”_

_That man knew him too well._

_“I am not taking that chance, Akihito.”_

“Fine, then, just say it over the phone, you have five minutes,” the photographer replied, feeling that his confidence was beginning to falter. "I'm listening."

There were all kinds of feelings clashing inside his chest, and he was fully aware that the two of them would have to scratch the surface of their unresolved businesses at some point.

Only, he felt he was _really not prepared_ for that.

 _“Why do you have to make things so complicated…”_ he heard Asami reply, after a long, aggravated sigh.

“Excuse me, _**I** _ make things complicated?!” Akihito finally snapped, his voice hitting a crescendo of pure anger with each word. “Is that a fucking _joke?_ Do I have to remind you what happened the last time we “talked”?”

_“Akihito…”_

“No. No! You know what, I don't even know why I am bothering to have this conversation…”

_“Don't make me go down that road.”_

“What road?” the photographer asked, his voice slightly shaky despite his best efforts to remain in control of his emotions. “Are you gonna tell Shinada to.. to shove me in the car and take me to Sion against my will?”

_“I hope I won't have to.”_

“You are out of your fucking mind.”

With a final string of curses, he finished the call, and returned the phone to his former bodyguard.

_Enough of those shenanigans._

“Yes, sir,” he heard Shinada say behind him, after the phone buzzed again.

Not even a second later, the man was picking him up from the ground and flinging him over his shoulder, his feet dangling in the air as if he were some oversized rag doll.

“Oi! _Shinada!_ ” the photographer screamed. “Let go of me!”

After a decent amount of wriggling, snarling, punching and kicking, he saw the man open the door to a familiar BMW.

“Let... _go!_ ” he yelled again, punching the man’s muscular back with renewed strength.

“Takaba-san, please calm down.”

“What are you saying? Let me go!”

He landed with a thud on the backseat of the car, the top of his head hitting the roof when he tried to move away.

“He's in, sir.”

_“Good.”_

When Asami’s smooth voice echoed through the Bluetooth speakers inside the car, Akihito closed his hands into fists.

“Asami, _you bastard_!” he yelled, loud enough to be heard from miles away. “I am not your property, tell Shinada to let me out of this car _right now!_ “

_“You don't want to let him join you, you don’t return my calls…”_

Akihito frowned.

“Calls?” he asked. “What calls?”

 _“...you don't want to come talk to me, it's not as if you are giving me another choice,”_ the man continued, ignoring his question, his voice still low although there was a very clear note of distress permeating his words.

“You are insane!” Akihito blurted out. “So yeah, I don't want to see you again, so what? You should be relieved!”

Those words made his eyes glisten with unshed tears, but he was quick to blink them back.

_“Akihito…”_

“Let me out of this car, Asami, don't make me hate you.”

He was no longer screaming. That had been a request, an honest, heartfelt request that seemed to have given Asami pause.

_“After you hear what I have to say, I promise to stay out of your life, if you ask me to.”_

Akihito closed his eyes when the baritone voice pierced his ears again. Like music.. That voice that he had missed so much...

 _“But I need to see you,”_ he heard Asami add, and he knew, at that moment, there would be no point running. _“Please come to Sion.”_

It was time to settle things between them, for once and for all.

“Fine,” he muttered, taking a deep breath before leaning against his seat with his arms crossed. “Whatever.”

What he had failed to realize during that conversation was that _someone else_ had approached the car, and was currently pointing his 9mm revolver to Shinada’s head through the open window on the driver’s side.

“Get out of the car, put your hands where I can see them.”

Akihito’s eyes went wide.

_He knew that voice._

When he looked out of the window, he saw the familiar snakeskin belt, the blue jacket, the sleek hair partially covering light brown eyes that seemed to be shining with fierce murderous intent.

“T-Tanimura?!” the photographer stuttered.

The man didn't even blink.

Neither did Shinada, for that matter, although Akihito could see his left hand moving dangerously close to the pistol concealed under his seat.

Well... _shit._


	37. Filling the gaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanimura and Shinada’s confrontation ends up with two rivals acknowledging each other’s existence, Maya is ready to tell Akihito the truth about certain phone calls but Akihito has other plans…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies! This chapter was supposed to be called “Greater Good”, and was composed by a set of scenes that contain key information about the upcoming battles that Asami will fight. Everything is already written except one part - I even had the summary and the author’s notes ready, haha. XD Then, when I started editing, I realized that another set of scenes needed to come first, so that the future events would make sense… Bottom line, it took me much longer to finish this than I thought! =O Sorry!
> 
> A warning: Asami and Aki’s reunion will happen very soon but we still have 16 chapters to go, so… Hold tight, because there is still plenty of angst/misunderstandings/fights to come!

 

“Don't even think about it,” Tanimura hissed, as soon as the other man’s hand moved towards what was obviously some kind of weapon hidden under his seat. “Hands on the wheel or I’ll shoot.”

“I didn't know cops had permission to shoot civilians,” the man interjected, neither his face nor his voice showing emotion of any sort.

Suit, tie, aviator sunglasses, driving a BMW, and from what he had heard, following orders. That man had obviously been trained to deal with that kind of situation, or worse. All things considered, the detective didn’t need to be told what exactly was going on, not after the photographer’s rather energetic screams.

“They don't,” Tanimura finally replied, nostrils flared as his finger rested on the trigger. “But I will if I have to.”

After very long five seconds, the man finally opened the door, and exited the vehicle with his hands raised at chest height.

“Tanimura-san.”

Akihito’s quiet voice finally caught his attention, and he stole a glance towards the backseat.

“It's not what-”

He didn't get to hear the end of the photographer’s sentence.

With a swift move, the man next to him had twisted his wrist and pushed his body against the car in a painful armlock that he took a second too long to escape from. His gaze shifted from his gun, now on the ground somewhere between the open door and the gutter, to the photographer on the backseat, and he managed to catch a glimpse of the wide hazel eyes before his head was unceremoniously slammed against the window. 

“Shinada!”

It was the other man’s turn to be distracted by Akihito’s voice.

Taking advantage of the very quick moment of hesitation in which his opponent’s grip seemed to slacken a little, Tanimura elbowed the man on the ribs with enough strength to send him staggering backwards.

Two jabs and one round kick later, the two of them finally seemed to have caught up on the injuries - the detective’s eyebrow was sporting a rather ugly cut, but so was the other man’s upper lip.

Round two, however, started with Tanimura’s face once again being pressed against the BMW’s door.  

“Son of a-” he managed to splutter, his nose bending in a strange angle and filling his eyes with tears. “Takaba-san, run!” he screamed, before the man behind him grabbed the collar of his shirt. “Go!”

He had time to steal a final glance at the photographer before his opponent’s fist connected with his lower back, and he had to bite his lip not to throw up. That one had hurt like a motherfucker, but it would take much more than that to put him out of commission.

The other man seemed to think otherwise, though, and was about to set off after the blond man that had just exited the vehicle when Tanimura reminded him the fight was not over by knocking him off his feet with a sweeping kick.

Which, apparently, had not been the right move. 

In a matter of seconds, he was immobilised again, this time at the receiving end of a neck crank that was likely to end with him dead or crippled for life.

He could barely breathe.

Under any other circumstances, he would not resort to hitting another man below the waistline, but drastic times called for drastic measures.

He himself winced when his elbow connected to the man’s crotch, knowing from experience that was bound to make any grown man cry like a little girl. 

His opponent, however, was taking it like a champion - his only reaction to that low blow being a pained grunt and a frown as his grip slackened enough for the detective to escape and get back on his feet.

Or, at least, try to.

His knees faltered when the lack of oxygen in his brain charged its price, making him stagger towards a dumpster while the other man recovered fast enough to get back into the car, slamming the door in his wake.

A mere two seconds later, the BMW was already speeding away.

“Shit,” the detective muttered, after picking up his 9-mm revolver from the ground and squinting at the car’s license plate.

After wiping some of the blood running down his face on the sleeve of his jacket, Tanimura cleared his throat and spoke into the the small remote speaker microphone attached to his shoulder **.**

“Central, inform vehicle registration for Tokyo Adachi-301-mi-18-41,” he said. “It's a black BMW, probably a corporate car.”

_“Copy that,”_ the metallic voice of a woman on the other side of the line responded. _“Checking database, stay on channel, Unit 5.”_

After a brief beep and a few seconds of radio static, the operator spoke again.

_“Undisclosed status,”_ she said. _“Sorry, detective, you need special permission to access this registration.”_

He felt like a bucket of icy water had just been dumped on his head.

“Permission from whom?” he asked, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. “Over.”

If his suspicions were right, though, he already knew the answer to that question.  

_ “Prosecutor Kuroda.” _

He closed his eyes, and let out a contemptuous snort.

_ Of course.  _

So the rumours about Takaba Akihito were true, after all. No wonder Kuroda had been in the hospital that day - he had long suspected the prosecutor had been covering up for the CEO of Sion Corporation but back then he had not connected the dots…

Now it all made sense.

The unhinged, jealous ex that was apparently planning to get Takaba back by force was him… It had to be.

“Fucking Asami Ryuichi,” he whispered, tucking his gun back into its holster before glaring at the spot where the car had been minutes before. 

++++

Three blocks away, Takaba Akihito finally slowed down and rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

At that point, he didn’t even know who, or what, he was running from anymore.

It finally occurred to him that maybe it had not been a good idea to leave Shinada and Tanimura to settle their differences when guns were involved in the mix, but what was he supposed to do? To tell the cop the truth, that he was actually being escorted to an encounter with his ex- _...something?_ The man was a detective, for crying out loud, of course he would ask questions, and knowing himself, Akihito knew he would have to resort to some sort of crazy lie to preserve Asami’s identity and he sucked at that.

And what the hell was Shinada doing there, for starters? Had Asami assigned him to follow him around? 

_ Asami… _

“He's gonna be so pissed when he finds out I ran away…” he whispered to himself, raking his fingers through his hair after a concerned sigh. “But well, he had called it… He won't be that surprised, I guess…”

That brought him to problem number 2.

“Shit, what now?” he muttered, an unhappy frown wrinkling his forehead as he turned around and started walking back to the police station, slowing down until he came to a complete stop.

Should he be going to Sion instead?

But Tanimura was also waiting for him…

What if something had happened to either him or Shinada…? What if his bodyguard had been arrested? Would he make things worse by showing up and speaking in his behalf? Would Asami give the man orders to off the detective after that unexpected showdown?

“I should go to Sion,” he told himself after a weak nod, turning on his heels and walking away from the police station.

“But…”

He stopped again.

What if Asami had heard Tanimura scream his name?

_ What if he had gotten the wrong idea? _

“He's gonna flip his lid…” he muttered, trying to swallow an uncomfortable knot in his throat, “... _again_.”

His stomach took that precise moment to grumble loudly, and he noticed a few passers-by turning around to stare at him.

With an impatient wave of his hand, he dismissed his concerns as if they were an insistent bug flying in front of his face. As it was, his next destination would be neither Sion, nor the police station.

With no hesitation, he crossed the street and entered a Thai restaurant.

_Everything else_ would have to wait. 

++++

Asami Ryuichi was a millisecond away from ending the call when an unknown male voice entered the conversation.

_ “Get out of the car, put your hands where I can see them.” _

He leaned forward, a frown wrinkling his forehead as he stared at the the LED screen of his commander office business phone.

_ A police officer? _

_ “Tanimura?” _

He raised an eyebrow. Had he missed something in Shinada’s report? Was Akihito working with the police now?

_ “Don't even think about it. Hands on the wheel or I’ll shoot.” _

He remained silent when the man spoke again, and was soon followed by the bodyguard.

_ “I didn't know cops had permission to shoot civilians.” _

_ “They don't. But I will if I have to.” _

_ “Tanimura-san...” _

Again, Akihito’s voice. Asami’s jaw clenched as one of his hands closed into a fist, the other reaching for one of the folders on his desk. After snatching a piece of paper with notes from his last meeting, he circled the name Tanimura Masayoshi multiple times, and added a question mark next to it.

_ “Shinada!” _

What followed then was a series of thuds and grunts, which Asami assumed could only be coming from Shinada and the man as they engaged in combat. Luckily, at least there were no gunshots to add to the mess that he would have to clean later on.

_ “Takaba-san, run! Go!” _

Asami narrowed his eyes, wondering how it was possible to hate a voice so fervently. He didn’t even know what that imbecile of a police officer looked like, but he could already see himself torturing the faceless figure of a man in uniform with unforgiving precision and method.

_ “Sir?” _

His subordinate’s voice brought him back to reality. 

“Shinada?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth as he looked at the phone. “Where is Takaba?”

_“He… He ran away,”_ the man replied, still out of breath. _“The cop… He's the man I saw.”_

“What man?”

_ “He's the man I saw coming out of Takaba’s apartment.” _

The golden orbs staring at the LED screen seemed to liquify into a pool of fire.

Once again reaching for the folders on his desk, Asami unceremoniously pushed away the ones that were of no interest to him and leaned back on his chair with Shinada’s first report squeezed between his fingers.

Before jumping to the next set of daunting conclusions, he forced himself to remain lucid. 

Those two still addressed each other formally, not even the honorific had been dropped yet. There didn’t seem to be much intimacy between them… and yet, that man had spent the night in the photographer’s place already.

What was his angle? What was… _Akihito’s?_

_ “Uh, boss? Are you still there?” _

Again, he found himself blinking at the sound of the bodyguard’s voice. 

“Report to headquarters, wait until Kirishima confirms status with the Tokyo Police and head back to Yokohoma as soon as possible,” he said, putting away the report and buttoning his jacket after standing up. “But do not engage. He will be suspicious so you will have to be careful not to lose him.”

_ “Yes, sir.” _

_‘You’re being paranoid,’_ said a voice inside his head, when he finally ended the call. _‘And stupid. He’s free to sleep with whomever he wants.’_

His nostrils flared, that strange feeling of failure tugging at his chest. 

_ ‘You made sure of that.’ _

++++

Kirishima Kei was helping his assistant reconcile the bank transactions of Club Dracaena when a loud crash coming from his boss’s office made the two men jump to their feet, heads turned towards the source of the ruckus.

Soon after, an even louder thump made the two of them wince, a considerable amount of concern showing in their faces when the ground shook beneath their feet.

Within seconds, Asami Ryuichi was flinging his door open, emanating such an obvious wave of rage that Kirishima spared no time in dismissing his assistant, and the younger man disappeared from sight so fast he could as well have teletransported back to his own office on the floor below.

“Asam-”

“Run a scan in all databases.”

The man’s voice sounded like thunder, and even though the difference in height between them was not that significant, at that moment his boss seemed to be at least ten inches taller.

_Ten extra inches of fury_ , judging by the intimidating glare he was receiving.

After pushing his glasses farther up his nose, the secretary stole a quick glance towards the office ahead, just to see the 300-pound Scandinavian executive desk upside down, pieces of what used to be a business phone scattered on a corner at least three metres away.

And then, his gaze dropped to the folder that had been placed under his nose, the name _Tanimura Masayoshi_ circled enough times to tear the paper.

That name sounded familiar. 

Without asking any questions, he performed the requested search, and double clicked the only result found.

He cast a sideways glance towards his boss when the delicate, and yet strangely intense face of a brown-haired man filled half of the screen, just in time to see his eyes narrow, the muscles of his jaw dance dangerously.

Now, Kirishima himself was finally able to connect the name to a face. He had seen him before, that one time he had agreed to help Maya hack the Omi, but he suspected his boss was more worried about the fact that Tanimura Masayoshi, 28 years old, detective and _single_ \- according to his file - was the man that had left Takaba Akihito’s apartment early in the morning the previous day.

“Is he on my payroll?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“What do we have on him?”

Under any other circumstances, his response would have been very straightforward: _nothing significant._ However, he was positive that was not the right answer unless he wanted to be at the receiving end of the man’s fury. 

“There have been.. _.unconfirmed rumours_ that he works with the Tojo, but no evidence was ever found,” he said instead.

That was the best he could do, given the detective’s relatively clean slate, except for some minor offences that included gambling, joyriding and public disturbance.

“ _Unconfirmed_ rumours?” he heard his boss ask, with considerable emphasis on the first word as he, once again, glared daggers at the computer screen. “Get me Kuroda on the phone.”

Kirishima knew that look very well - his boss was about to fly off the handle. And on any other day, he would gladly endure the storm, if only there were no other urgent matters at hand.

_Many other_ urgent matters, at that.

“But sir…”

“Right now.”

The secretary stifled a grunt, and passed the other man the phone after speed dialling the prosecutor.

With an impatient motion, Asami Ryuichi pressed a button to put the call on speaker as soon as Kuroda picked it up.

_ “Kur-” _

“Who is Tanimura Masayoshi?” he heard his boss ask, skipping all the usual preambles of civilised conversation.

_ “Ah...Detective, Community Safety, Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. Why?” _

“Is he in the Tojo’s payroll?”

_ “Unconfirmed.”  _

And there it was, again, his boss’s newest least favorite word.

“Then fucking confirm it,” the man snarled, before slamming the handset back in place with so much strength the LED screen cracked, tiny pieces of plastic and glass flying across the secretary’s desk.

He was already walking away when Kirishima cleared his throat. Given their current endless list of problems, obsessing over Takaba Akihito and his hypothetical new love interest was a luxury his boss was not entitled to have.

“Sir, I apologise,” he announced, ignoring the fierce glare he got in return, “but I have talked to your daughter and it appears someone has been taking pictures of her.”

The obvious fear that flashed in the golden orbs for the fraction of a second confirmed that he had been heard and that the implications of that statement had been fully understood.

“Mine is still undergoing training, but he is qualified to go on duty earlier if required,” he added, watching the other man’s expression go back to its usual emotionless form although his overall stance seemed to be even more tense than before.

“No, finish the training, there can be no mistakes when he is on duty,” he heard his boss whisper. “Send Suoh to Yokohama, tell him to keep sight of Maya at all times. He has permission to engage if anyone tries to approach her, I want hourly reports beginning now.”

It was Kirishima’s turn to tense up. Sending away his own bodyguard in those turbulent times seemed like a horribly miscalculated plan, but that time, he believed his boss’s motivation had more to do with his paternal instincts than with some utter disregard for his own life.

He chose not to argue.

“Is that all?” the man asked, his anger slowly giving way to some very visible signs of exhaustion.

“No,” the secretary answered simply, his gaze shifting from the computer screen to his boss’s eyes. “We got Sakazaki.”

The man’s response, however, was impossible to read. Whether he was relieved, pissed off or screaming internally for the chance to finally make the sleazy, treacherous manager pay for his wrongdoing, nothing showed in his face.

“They're bringing him in as we speak,” Kirishima added. “What are your instructions?”

He watched his boss reach for his cigarettes with the same blank expression after a rather anticlimactic semi-shrug.

“Take him to Warehouse 11,” said the baritone voice, with an impressive amount of disinterest. “Initiate blue protocol, I have no energy left to deal with it today.”

The secretary was still stunned by that lukewarm reaction. Not that long ago, he had been promised a punishment to remember - if the plans had changed, then he had not gotten the memo.

For the time being, he would have to find consolation with the blue protocol. Water torture was not his favorite, but alas… he could do with a distraction.

“Anything else?” his boss asked, interrupting his brief reverie.

“Yes,” the secretary replied, noticing that his answer had elicited a deep, unhappy sigh. He was convinced he had just entered Asami Ryuichi’s list of ‘least favorite people’ after all those announcements, but certain matters could not wait. “The Prime Minister called again.”

When he raised his eyes to his boss’s face, he was startled to find out the man was no longer there.

“I'll call him from home,” came the disheartened response, from somewhere near the elevator.

++++

When Akihito arrived home many hours later, he found Maya sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, a notebook balanced on top of her knees.

“Welcome home,” she said, without raising her eyes from her notes.

“You’re back from school?” he asked. ”Must be late.”

“Nah,” the girl replied. “I just came home early.” 

He nodded silently in response, and Maya couldn’t help but notice the wrinkle of concern on his face.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, uh…” the photographer answered, but the way he was restlessly fumbling with his keys and shaking his leg as he sat next to her seemed to say otherwise. “Did… Asami call me, by any chance?”

Maya felt her heart skip a beat. _Had Kou spilled the beans?_

“What do you mean?” she whispered, trying to look confused.

“He...I, I talked to him today, and he said I haven’t returned his calls.”

“Oh,” she gasped, suddenly feeling her throat go very dry. That was a good time as any for her to come clean, but now that she thought about it, Akihito would totally hate it if she admitted what she had done. “Uh... I… Maybe there’s something wrong with your phone?” she shrugged.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, did you… did you add him to your blocked contacts?” she asked, still avoiding eye contact.

“What? No,” from the corner of her eye, she saw the photographer shake his head with a frown. “I, I don’t even know where my list of blocked contacts are, I don’t think I have blocked contacts…”

“Here, let me see it.”

Knowing beforehand what she would find the moment she accessed the security settings, she waited for the blond man to look away before removing Asami Ryuichi from the list.

“Well… Everything seems to be okay,” she muttered, her pitch slightly higher than usual as she returned the phone to the photographer as if nothing had ever happened.

The sad look on Akihito’s eyes, however, tugged at her heartstrings.

_What was she doing?_ It was obvious her intervention had not exactly made her friend any happier, and now that her father was trying to reach him, it felt even more unfair to keep lying.

She was about to open her mouth when he stood up.

“Well… Whatever,” he said, with a shrug and a half smile. “I’m gonna make pot roast for dinner, do you like duck?”

Her eyebrows arched in a saddened, almost anguished angle, but Akihito was too busy picking a couple of brown paper bags to notice.

“Yeah…” she whispered, her gaze dropping once again to the notebook. “Duck sounds great.”

She was still staring mindlessly at her notes when the metallic sound of keys jingling drew her attention.

“Hi,” she heard Kou say quietly, after closing the door behind him.

“Hi...”

“How was school?” 

“Good,” Maya replied, tapping the notebook with the tip of her pen nervously, as if that would help her forget how the day had ended. “Work?”

“Okay.”

That had been the only contents of their conversations for the past two days.

“Made any friends?” the designer asked, adding one more line to their scarce script.

“Not really.”

There was a minute of silence, in which the girl noticed Kou was just as fidgety as her.

“Could you…” she said, before standing up, “...come to my room for a minute?”

After the two of them looked over their shoulder, they realized Akihito was far too entertained reading a recipe to notice that little exchange, one of his elbows resting on the counter as he counted eggs and other ingredients.

“Are you upset?” Maya whispered, as soon as they entered her room, no longer within the photographer’s hearing range. “About the other night?”

Kou’s shoulders drooped in defeat as he sat at the edge of the bed.

“I didn't you tell you but… Takato called me,” he explained, his voice low and serious. “His neighbor said the night we were out, a tall man had stopped by to look for him. And there were a few missed calls from a number he didn't recognise…”

The girl swallowed a lump in her throat. Of course Kou was upset - now he had probably involved a third person in that entanglement, and the weight of all that lying was wearing him out.

“I told him not to worry, that I had already told Aki about it…” the designer continued. “But I feel bad, Maya. I feel bad about...hiding it from him.”

She took a step closer to the dark-haired man, and tilted his chin upwards after lodging herself between his legs.

“We should tell Akihito that Asami is looking for him,” he whispered, staring into her eyes as she cradled his head.

“I know. I was about to earlier, but I…” she paused, and forced a weak smile. Truth was, she wished she didn’t have to tell him anything. She wished Akihito would just figure things out on his own. To tell him that she had been the one meddling with his private life would _suck_. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.”

His grateful, relieved smile made her heart skip a beat, and when it did, her own smile faded a little.

_ She was getting attached. _

She didn’t like that feeling.

Or maybe she did, and it was just the bitter taste of the photo incident at the university still lingering in her mouth.

“You okay?” Kou asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Yeah…”

“Can I kiss you?”

_What kind of question was that?_ Hadn’t they done much more than kissing already?

“You really feel you need to ask, at this point?” she whispered in response.

“Sorry, _haha_ …” the designer replied, blushing a very endearing shade of pink. “I don’t...I’m not sure what my boundaries are.”

With a scoff, Maya brought his lips to hers, her fingertips playing with his hair as he held her in his arms.

_ She liked that feeling. _

She wished they would do that more often.

Again, the realization that her feelings might be running away with her made her eyes shoot open, and she took a step back.

“That day...when we found out Aki was in a hospital…” she heard Kou ask, while still holding her hands, “you said you confronted your father, right?”

That was a day she did not wish to revisit, but now that Kou was finally talking to her again, she didn’t want to bring that conversation to an abrupt end…

She nodded quietly, before sitting next to him on the bed. 

“What happened?” the designer asked. “Why were you so mad?

++++

Akihito whistled happily as he walked towards the end of the hallway. The fried rice would soon be ready, and the small apartment already smelled delicious.

Ah… _The power of food._

To think that hours before, he had been tugging at his hair without knowing what to do next… Now, he _still didn’t know what to do_ , but luckily he would have some sort of epiphany before the pot roast was ready. 

That is, of course, if his two friends were not too busy making out, and at least one of them helped him truss the duck - he hadn’t noticed how big the bird was until he took it out of its bag.

He was about to knock on the door when it occurred to him that maybe those two would not like to be interrupted... Perhaps he could tie the bird’s legs on his own?

_ “I saw him. Asami.” _

Maya’s voice, however, made him stop dead on his tracks.

_“With a woman, going into a hotel,”_ her voice was no louder than a whisper, and for the first time, the photographer was grateful that those walls were paper thin. _“That was like, three days after Akihito was gone? Who knows how many other hookers he’s been with since then…”_

Although ‘grateful’ was not exactly the word that best described his feelings at the moment.

His smile had already turned downwards, his entire body vibrating with a mix of anxiety and anger as he marched back into the kitchen.

_ He should have known.  _

Honestly, what had he expected? That Asami, of all people, would have abstained during the two months they had been apart?

That man could barely go a full day without sex…

“Idiot, idiot, _idiot!_ ” he hissed through gritted teeth, tossing the duck onto a cutting board.

_Him,_ not Asami. _Him,_ for expecting anything other than that.

_ 'Who knows how many other hookers he’s been with since then…' _

Good to know that at least one of them was having fun!

He brought down the cleaver, and slashed the bird in half. Screw the pot roast, they would all have duck stew for dinner!

So while he had been recovering, Asami had been sleeping around. His own daughter had seen it, no wonder Maya was always at odds with that man.

He was beginning to see why.

“Asshole… Fucking heartless bastard,” he continued to rant, stabbing the duck without mercy. “And you still have the nerve to ask me to go to Sion!”

It was beginning to dawn on him that the true nature of their relationship was nothing as he had once imagined.

Asami didn’t need a partner. He didn’t need commitment, the man himself had said he didn’t do relationships. Why had he insisted? 

Asami needed _sex._ And sex, he could have with anyone. Anyone would do, anyone would fill the tiny gap - if any - that he had left in the man’s life.

When he finally tossed the pieces of the dark meat into a frying pan, not really bothering to check if the heat was too high or too low, another thought occurred to him.

Could it be that Asami had someone else when they met? Now he really didn’t doubt it, considering how the man rolled. Maybe he had been the first name he had found to fill someone else’s blank space.

Just like right now, he was probably filling _his_ blank space with someone else.

“By _filling_ someone else, obviously. Son of a bitch....” he muttered, stirring the duck, which had already begun to burn, and ignoring the tight knot in his throat. “I am not gonna cry for you, ever again!”

And so, he didn’t.

Half an hour later, he and his two oblivious friends were sitting around the table, his furious gaze jumping from bowls to chopsticks and then back to the duck stew that looked more like a pile of mushy charcoal. 

“Akihito, are you okay?” he heard Kou ask.

“Never been better,” he replied, raising an eyebrow as he filled his bowl with a generous scoop of scorched vegetables and dry duck.

After a minute of silence, his mind was once again drifting to Asami Ryuichi, and he quickly realized that his promise of not shedding tears would be a tough one to stick to unless he kept his mind in a constant state of distraction.

“How’s the duck?” he asked, after clearing his throat.

“D-Delicious,” Maya replied, her eye twitching slightly at the obvious lie.

Kou, on the other hand, was brutally honest.

“Tastes like burnt cardboard,” the designer whispered, with a frown. “There’s something wrong with you, man… You love duck roast, there must be an explanation for this disaster.”

The corners of his mouth had curled into a shaky, unhappy smirk when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Incoming call**

_**Tanimura Masayoshi** _

“Excuse me,” he muttered, before getting up and walking towards his bedroom door.

“Hello?” he said, after closing the door behind him.

_ “Takaba-san? It’s Masa.” _

“Hi…”

_“Sorry, I only saw your message now,”_ the detective said casually,  although there was a distinct note of tiredness in his voice.

Oh, yeah, that message… He had almost forgotten that after the afternoon fiasco, he had sent Tanimura a message asking him to call him as soon as he could. It was the least he could do, after all, not to come across as un ungrateful bastard who just took off in the middle of a showdown.

“Long day?” he asked, trying to sound just as casual, as if nothing strange had happened a few hours before. 

_ “Yeah... How are you doing?” _

“Great…” he lied, after a careless shrug. “Sorry about this afternoon.”

_ “I’m not sure you are the one who should be apologizing, Takaba-san, unless I really didn't read the situation well.” _

The photographer snorted.

Probably, the detective had read the situation _perfectly well._

“Aren’t you… gonna ask me who that guy was?” Akihito asked quietly, sitting at the edge of his bed.

_ “Do you  _ want _ to tell me?” _

_ Did he? _

Those were explanations he felt would ruin an already complicated evening… that is, if there was _anything else_ to ruin.

_ “I mean… You didn't press charges, so I’m assuming he was an acquaintance?” _

“It’s complicated,” the photographer whispered.

_“It clearly is,”_ he heard Tanimura reply. _“But, since you chose not to press charges, don’t worry. I will not investigate your private affairs.”_

“I appreciate it.”

Akihito allowed himself to smile, if only out of relief for not being pushed into a corner.

Well… At least not in the _literal way_ … Which, in that case...

_ “Wanna grab a bite to eat?” _

He coughed nervously when the cop’s voice derailed his train of thought.

“I just had dinner, actually.”

_“Oh. Shame…”_ the man on the other side of the line replied. _“Want to… hang out for a while?”_

The photographer narrowed his eyes. 

Was he being invited on a _date_? 

“Uh…” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Sure. Yeah.”

_ “Great. I’ll pick you up in one hour.” _

“Ok.”

_ “Oh, Takaba-san?” _

“What?”

_ “Wear a suit.” _

Akihito ended the call, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“A suit, huh?” he whispered, casting a thoughtful glance towards his wardrobe. “I wonder what your plans for the night are, detective…”

He already knew what _his_ plans were.

He opened the door quietly, and tiptoed out of his room so that Maya and Kou, who were now doing the dishes while talking quietly to each other, did not notice him walking into the designer’s room.

Glancing over his shoulder, he opened and closed drawers until he found what he was looking for.

“Whoa, Kou, you are really stocking up on these, aren’t you…” he whispered quietly, before shoving a handful of square packets into his pocket and casually walking back into his own room.

Best case scenario, he would have to stop at the convenience store tomorrow morning, to replenish his friend’s condom supply. 

Worst case scenario, he would just slip them back into the drawer when he got back home. 

He found that unlikely, though.

He had managed to push aside his own needs for two months, hoping that perhaps he and Asami would come to some sort of reconciliation.

His eyes scanned the wardrobe until he found his best suit, the one he had only worn in very few, special occasions. Now that he knew that the man couldn’t possibly care less, there was no point holding back…

He would _totally_ get laid that night.

 

...or so he thought.

  
  
  



	38. Purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito is shocked to find out Tanimura has taken him to a public toilet for their “date", while the Tojo is faced with a problematic situation, and Asami has a melancholic moment of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quick notes: 1) this is part 1 of a very important evening in this story, the moment when the connection between side characters begin to become more evident. Tanimura will end up affecting everyone's destiny with a decision he will make later on, but this chapter and the next show the reason why that decision is so catastrophic.
> 
> 2) The Purgatory is taken from the Ryu Ga Gotoku universe, and the Wei Shen in this story is an AU version of the actual character from Sleeping Dogs. More about him later on... XD

Tanimura Masayoshi leaned against his car after texting his companion for the night that he had just parked in front of his building.

With a nervous sigh, he shoved his phone back into the pocket of his dress pants, and adjusted his tie one more time, feeling the palms of his hands grow slightly damp.

He was not sure that what he was about to do was a good idea.

Takaba Akihito was an investigative reporter, after all. Should he be taking him to that kind of place at all?

Then again… That was a place he needed to go, anyway. The other man was bound to find out at some point, now that there were chances they would be working together. If anything, he should be the one telling him the truth.

He huffed to himself, after shaking his head in silence.

 _‘Work together’._ Yeah, right…

It was about time he was honest with himself.

He wanted them to do more than work together.

“Tanimura-san.”

When the photographer’s voice brought him back to reality, the detective felt his jaw slacken a little.

“Hi,” he answered casually, although his voice came out low and throaty, his eyes lingering far too much on the blond man’s figure.

“What?” he faintly heard him ask, probably after noticing his rather obvious stare.

“Nothing,” he managed to reply, lifting his gaze from the photographer’s slim-fit, perfectly tailored suit to the skinny blue-striped tie around his neck, and from there to his slicked back blond hair. “You look different with your hair like that.”

“Different good or different bad?” the other man asked, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.

Tanimura swallowed, his eyes once again dropping to Akihito’s slender legs, and from there to the slight curve of his hips.

“You look like a model,” he whispered in response, trying to push aside the impure thoughts filling his mind as the familiar scent of apples and peach filled his nostrils when the photographer took a step closer to him.

“Do you have a problem with that?” the blond man asked, after raising an eyebrow.

The detective chuckled quietly, trying to act as if he was on top of his game although his mind seemed to be slower than usual.

“Not at all,” he finally answered, before clearing his throat and opening the door of the police car he had borrowed for the night. “If you will...”

When Takaba Akihito walked past him and the hazel eyes connected with his for very long - and very intense - few seconds, he felt his heart beat faster, most likely in order to pump more blood to _very specific_ parts of his body.

He had never had problems keeping it in his pants, what with having a less than exciting sexual life, but there was something about that man that put his usual self-control to the test. Takaba Akihito was at the same time endearing and extremely erotic, to the point of the detective no longer knowing whether he wanted to take him home to make him a cup of hot cocoa and wrap him in a blanket, or to strip him off those clothes and-

“Don’t go there,” he whispered to himself, after getting into the car as well.

“What?” the photographer asked.

“Nothing,” Tanimura replied, his voice once again throaty and low as he fastened his seatbelt. “Just talking to myself.”

It took him a few extra seconds to start the car, during which he faced an internal battle between how he desperately wanted that night to end, and what he knew he needed to do before anything else.

The problem was, if he headed to where he was being expected, to do what he needed to do, chances were Takaba Akihito would never want to see his face again.

When the engine finally roared and the photographer turned his head to look at him, he let out a faint smile.

All he could do at that point was hope for the best.

++++

Dojima Daigo watched as Tojo’s first lieutenant marched into the organization’s headquarters, his red jersey pants and bare, tattooed chest a stark contrast to the bunch of men in dark suits around him.

The Chairman narrowed his eyes, noticing a fair amount of bruises and red stains scattered across the man’s torso, some of them mingling with the _irezumi_ of a snake wrapped around a skull that covered his back and both of his arms.

The young man’s huffing and puffing as he made his way to the Chairman’s office should have clued his subordinates in. Even so, one of them rushed forward to tend to a particularly nasty cut in his cheek.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Daigo heard the man snarl, after pushing the compassionate assistant away with enough strength to send him crashing backwards onto a table.

Minami Daisaku, head of the Hayashi family and First Lieutenant of the Tojo Clan, had a remarkably short fuse, and from the looks of it, his meeting with a bunch of thugs from Osaka had not gone smoothly.

“Chairman.”

With a bow, Minami finally announced his presence, and walked into the room to take his seat next to Dojima’s advisor.

“What is the situation?” the Chairman asked.

“They confirmed it,” the younger man replied, after shoving his injured knuckles into a bucket filled with ice on the chair next to him. “Sengoku is on his way.”

“How many men is he bringing with him?”

The lieutenant pursed his lips, making the shiny labret above his chin tilt upwards.

“Five thousand,” he whispered.

By his side, Dojima’s advisor let out a disheartened whistle.

“Holy shit…” the bald man muttered, his small eyes bulging slightly as he laced his fingers together on top of the table.

“That might be a bluff,” Minami added.

“Or it might not,” Dojima replied. “They are the biggest family in the Omi Alliance.”

After a long minute, in which the three of them remained silent, the Chairman spoke again.

“What is our situation?” he asked. “Kanda?”

“I could summon a thousand of our operatives from Saitama,” the advisor replied, after a sigh. “But now that the Omi has walked into Chiba, that is pretty much it. Plus the three thousand men we can still deploy in Tokyo… Everyone else has their hands full already.”

“Do we have enough weapons?”

“For melee attacks, yes,” Kanda answered, eyeing the Chairman with a concerned frown. “But we are running out of firearms.”

“Screw that,” Minami interjected, jumping from his seat after a scoff. “Let’s just set the motherfuckers on fire, like we did that one time in Tochigi.”

“We can’t defeat Sengoku with stones and sticks, Minami,” Dojima replied, walking towards the window of his office, his thoughts already many miles ahead of himself. “Or fire, for that matter. We would be shot to death before we even got the chance to light a match.”

“Then… what are we gonna do?” he heard the young officer ask.

What were they going to do, indeed… Not only did he have to think of something to prevent the Tojo from being annihilated, but he also had no intention of letting _that man_ escape, not again...

“You two gather as many men as you can,” the Chairman finally responded, before reaching for the pack of cigarettes inside the pocket of his pants. “I’ll see what I can do.”

++++

Akihito let out a relieved sigh when the car slowly came to a halt, after parking in front of Park n.3, on a distant corner of Kabukicho.

That had been the longest, most silent and uncomfortable ride of his life.

It was not possible that he was the only one feeling the tension in the air - he had caught the detective casting some rather _impure_ glances in his direction at least twice. That and the constant clearing of throat, the whistling, the fidgeting around… Who was that man trying to fool?

And more importantly - how come he had _not even tried_ to make a pass at him yet?

 _‘What a slowpoke…’_ the photographer found himself thinking, shaking his leg impatiently as he looked out of the window.

“We’re here,” the detective finally announced.

“Here?” Akihito asked, frowning slightly. “You mean, _here,_ in the park?”

“Yup.”

“Haha. Funny.”

He shook his head after a chuckle, but much to his surprise, the other man was already getting out of the car.

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!_

“Uh… Is that why you wanted me to wear a suit?” he asked, as soon as Tanimura opened the door so that he could get out. “To come to a _park?_ ”

What was next _, having dinner with the hobos?_

Not that he hadn’t had meals with the homeless before, but at least he should have been briefed about the right dress code for the occasion.

As it was, he found the whole thing rather ridiculous.

His next surprise was to see Tanimura standing in front of a rather decrepit door, waiting for him.

“That...is a public _restroom_ ,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“It is,” the detective replied, after crossing his arms and tilting his head sideways. “Come.”

Akihito felt his eyes had just widened a little.

He was beginning to realize that night _was not_ going to be remotely like anything he had imagined.

“I’ll wait for you here, if you don’t mind,” he replied, with a confused smile.

“Come on, I have business I need to sort out before the day ends,” Tanimura explained. “There are people waiting for me, it’s nothing as bad as you must be imagining right now.”

Akihito blinked an extra couple of times, his confused smile giving way to a frown of realisation.

_Business._

So that wasn't a date, after all. The man was still on duty - doing what, exactly, he had no idea.

“You’ll be fine, I promise,” he heard the other man continue. “I am not planning on doing anything perverted to you.”

Akihito, however, noticed that statement was followed by a faint blush and an eye twitch.

“Not sure I believe that,” Akihito replied quietly, if only for the pleasure of seeing the other man’s smile die on his lips as his blush intensified.

And there it was, again. That thick, silent tension, and that glint in the light brown eyes that was almost predatory.

“Come,” Tanimura insisted, his voice low and serious. “I’ll show you.”

_Oh well._

With an almost imperceptible shrug, the photographer walked towards the restroom.

He could look after himself, after all, in case the detective tried anything funny.

The first thing he saw when he stepped into the filthy, decrepit area was a group homeless people crouching in front of a cubicle with a sign of “Out of Order” attached to it.

“Gentlemen,” the detective said, prompting two of the men to stand up with a bitter, grumpy frown.

“Let him in,” replied the third one, who was still sitting with his back against the wall, his eyes hidden from sight by a worn-out baseball cap.

One of his companions, however, was quick to notice Akihito’s presence, and moved forward with his fingers firmly wrapped around a long pipe.

“Yo, who’s this fool?” he asked, baring his yellow, ugly canine teeth.

“Mind your manners, Kato,” Tanimura quickly replied, and the photographer felt the detective’s strong fingers move to his lower back, pulling him closer. “He’s with me.”

“Huh,” again, Akihito saw the man with the pipe cast a suspicious glance in his direction, but his combative stance seemed to slacken when he groaned again. “Fine, then.”

“Any trouble recently?” the cop asked, as if trying to dissipate the tension in the small room as he and his companion got patted down.

“Yeah… some ballsy piece of shit came in with a knife the other day…” the man grunted. “Got too drunk to hurt anyone but himself but the boss almost tore us a new one, know what I mean?”

“I sure do…” Tanimura replied, taking a step forward when the man pushed the door of the cubicle open.

“Yo, pretty boy, ain't you going in as well?” the man asked Akihito, his face way too close for comfort.

In no time at all, the photographer had joined Tanimura, pondering that it was probably the reek of sake and sweat that propelled him forward. Only then did he realize there was nothing in the cubicle other than another door, which the detective was quick to open.

“What the-” the photographer asked, as soon as the two of them stepped outside, and he found himself surrounded by cranes, concrete beams and pipes. “Is this a construction site?”

“Keep walking.”

“Where are we going?”

“Uh, how can I call it…” Tanimura muttered, rubbing his neck after what sounded a lot like a nervous chuckle. “It’s an underground… adult… _recreation area_.”

Akihito stopped on his tracks.

“You mean, a _brothel_?” he asked with a deep frown, the dissatisfaction in his voice emphasising his annoyance with how that evening was unfolding.

“More.”

“More than one brothel? Many brothels?” the photographer asked, picking up his step when the detective kept walking as if nothing had happened. “Wait, that’s where you are being expected?”

“It has a casino, too.”

“A casino?”

Tanimura merely nodded in response. There seemed to be a hint of concern in his eyes, but overall he still looked calm and collected, his hands still shoved in the pockets of his dress pants.

“And a dance club…” he added, and Akihito noticed the man was deliberately avoiding his eyes when he adjusted the tie around his neck, “...and a massage parlor, and… a fighting club…”

“Right…” the photographer whispered, taking his time to study the detective’s figure now that they were a couple of steps away from each other. “Are any of them _legal?_ ”

Akihito watched when Tanimura’s shoulders went very stiff, his hand closing fiercely around the doorknob of what looked like a very heavy door. The detective’s slightly pale face and the nervous glance he got when the man turned around only confirmed his suspicions.

_They were heading somewhere shady._

“Not exactly,” the cop replied, after a long, deep breath.

He swiped a card on the LED panel next to the door, and waited until it was unlocked after two soft beeps.

“Then why-”

Akihito's words died in his throat.

Only a flight of stairs below them was a very long, luxurious walkway covered in rich red velvet, rising only a few meters above a river.

 _A river,_ of all things!

Two silver cherry blossoms were shedding their petals at the entrance, floating above the waters like trees clad in diamonds. Stemming from the walkway were little islands with their own set of heavy wooden doors and intricate carvings, small ottomans and chaises scattered around to accommodate men in suits and women in long, exclusive evening gowns.

Except, of course, for those that were wearing nothing but paint, as if they were living portraits of themselves.

No one seemed to care, however, probably due to the fact they were far too entertained with hosts and hostesses that seemed to have popped straight out of a beauty magazine, to say the least, as they poured drinks and lit up cigarettes with the grace and elegance of modern-day geishas.

Not very far from the entrance, a cage displayed equally stunning men and women dressed up in kimonos, waving their fans or combing their long hair as they smiled quietly at passers-by.

“Holy crap...” Akihito muttered, fully aware that his mouth was probably gaping.

“Welcome to Purgatory,” he heard the man next to him reply.

 _Purgatory. Sounds appropriate,_ he thought, as they reached the lower level and were quickly approached by a tall man wearing an impeccable tuxedo, his long, shiny black hair tied up in an elegant braid.

Akihito was quick to notice that the price of that tux would probably cover an entire year of rent at his current apartment. After spending three years with Asami Ryuichi, after all, _haute couture_ \- and the surreal price tags attached to it - was something he had learnt to recognise.

“Gentlemen, your phones, please.”

When Tanimura passed the man his phone, Akihito realized he would have no option but to do the same.

“What is this place?” he asked, trying very hard not to trip on his own feet as he recovered from the shock and set off to follow the detective as they made their way to the east end of the walkway.

“I know, right?” Tanimura replied, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth as he spoke. “Majima Goro was a visionary, he built Purgatory when people still made deals behind closed doors in an office. But back then he already knew that entertainment would become the world’s most profitable line of business. No wonder he used to be such a big shot in Japan at some point…” he explained, and for a moment Akihito was distracted by the vibrations under his feet. Apparently, they were walking past the place’s dance club… “A lot of money flows in this place,” Tanimura continued, casting a quick glance towards him. “Businessmen, politicians, celebrities… No one wants to be involved with the yakuza, but when you throw in sex, gambling, luxury… you end up with a very decent list of contacts.”

Akihito nodded quietly. _Businessmen, politicians, celebrities._ Why the hell did he always end up tangled with that sort of people? Not that he would complain, being an investigative photographer and all, but that was the kind of lifestyle he had absolutely no interest in...

“And all those VIPs come in through _a public restroom?_ ” he scoffed, after raising an eyebrow.

“Or the sewage, yeah,” the detective replied, with a snort. “I guess it's part of the experience. You can only go in by invitation and they allow no phones, cameras or guns of any sorts,” he continued, pausing to grab two flutes of champagne from a tray. “But other than that, when you're finally in…” he whispered, passing him one of the drinks and leading the other to his lips. “Nothing is out of bounds.”

Akihito took a sip from his glass, holding Tanimura’s stare.

 _What the hell_ were they doing in that place?

 _And why the hell_ was that man staring at him _again,_ if he apparently had no intentions of making any significant progress on that front?

After clearing his throat, the photographer finally looked away, and his gaze landed upon a very tall red-haired woman wearing a multi layered purple chiffon dress embroidered with crystals and feathers, her long golden nails tapping the tanned, tattooed torso of a man in a black suit, with half of the buttons of his red shirt undone.

“Who are those two?” Akihito asked, tilting his head towards the crowd that had gathered around the duo.

“The man in the black suit is the general manager, Wei Shen,” the detective explained. “A former red pole for the Sun On Yee.”

“Sun On Yee?”

“One of the most powerful triads in Hong Kong.”

“Oh,” the photographer gasped quietly.

Triads in Hong Kong didn't exactly elicit good memories.

“Like… the Baishe?” he asked.

“Right… Just don’t say that word near him, there is a lot of bad blood between the organizations,” Tanimura replied, eyeing him with a combination of surprise and suspicion. “You know a lot about criminal factions, don’t you?”

Akihito faked a smile in response, before taking the flute of champagne to his lips and emptying it with a large gulp.

 _‘You have no idea...’_ he thought, one of his eyes twitching as the bitter taste of alcohol registered in his tongue. “What about the woman?”

 _“Woman?”_ the detective asked, with a confused frown.

“Yeah, the one holding the sceptre,” Akihito explained, pointing the flute toward the eccentric figure standing next to the manager.

“Ah,” Tanimura chuckled. “That’s a _man._ ”

Akihito’s eyebrows shot up.

“Really?!” he asked, squinting to take a better look. “But…”

“That’s Sachi,” the detective explained. “ He dresses like a woman, but he would rather be addressed as a man.”

“Ah...O-Okay,” the photographer muttered in response, still studying the man’s face.

“He usually comes here to recruit.”

“Recruit?”

“He's a procurer,” Tanimura said, putting away his glass and urging Akihito to keep walking. “Every visit gets the staff here riled up,” he added, and Akihito realized that all the hosts and hostesses in the precinct were eying the exotic figure expectantly, almost as if begging to be noticed. “Those men and women will do anything to get a chance to end up in _Asami Ryuichi’s bed…_ ”

Akihito felt his stomach had dropped to his feet, all blood draining from his face as the words finally sunk in.

“Oh,” he managed to say, although for a split second his chest felt terribly constricted. “So… He recruits prostitutes for Asami...Ryuichi?”

“Yeah…”

The photographer forced himself to swallow the giant lump that seemed to be obstructing his throat, his eyes lingering on the procurer’s face for a second too long.

He had not noticed that the man was now staring back at him, and had begun to make his way through the crowd to reach him.

“We should get going,” he heard the detective say, his hand once again in his lower back as he quickened his step.

_“Eeny, meeny, miney, moe…”_

The grave, loud masculine voice made everyone else go silent.

“Catch a _tiger_... by his _toe_ …” the man continued, gracefully pointing his sceptre to the face of a short-haired woman, and then to the blond host next to her. “If he hollers...let him _go_ …”

A tall, tanned waiter with bulging muscles showing from under his vest… Then another woman, wrapped in a luxurious kimono…

“Mamma told me... to pick the _very... best... one…_ ”

One by one, the procurer dismissed potential candidates, and kept moving towards him and the detective.

“And that…”

They were about to walk past the crowd, and the man, when Akihito felt him change his route to follow him.

“..is…”

He jumped when long, cold fingers wrapped around his wrist, and forced him to turn around.

 _“You,”_ the procurer said, his almost transparent blue eyes boring insistently into his. 

Akihito blinked when the sceptre touched the top of his head, eliciting death glares and a wave of unhappy groans from the crowd, which immediately started dispersing.

“Sachi.”

By his side, the detective had taken a step forward, and his voice matched the irritated frown on his face.

“Masa-chan…” the procurer responded, acknowledging his presence with a polite bow, before averting his gaze to the photographer once again. “What's your name, angel?”

“He's with me,” he heard Tanimura snarl.

“Yes, I can see that,” the man replied, without bothering to shift his eyes from Akihito’s face. “You are really pretty, did you know that? Are you a model?”

_“Sachi…”_

The detective’s tone carried a distinct note of threat, but the procurer merely raised an eyebrow in response, smirking maliciously as he sized up the photographer from head to toe.

“You are exactly what I'm looking for,” Akihito heard him whisper, with such purpose and intent in every word that he felt sick.

How many other men and women had been approached in that same fashion, and then summoned by that man to satisfy Asami in bed?

“He is not interested,” Tanimura argued, steering the photographer in the opposite direction.

“Now, now, it doesn't hurt to ask…” the procurer insisted, his fingers wrapping once again around his wrist. “You know, business these days is not doing that great…”

“Is that so?” the detective asked, and Akihito wished the two of them would shut up. He really _did not_ want to hear the details. “How strange, how come I see you here every week?”

“My boss has been hiring for _his clients_ , _not_ for _himself_ ,” the other man replied, his smooth voice finally matching Tanimura’s in terms of contempt. “It's been like that for a very long time now…” he continued, tilting Akihito’s chin up, the tip of a very long golden nail travelling from the photographer's jaw to the corner of his mouth. “Rumor has it, all thanks to a _certain photographer…_ ”

Akihito felt his heart jump awkwardly inside his chest. What was that supposed to mean? The conflicting info would not do him any good - if anything, he had a better source back at home to tell him what Asami had _really_ been up to.

“See, his birthday is coming up,” the procurer whispered, his deep blue eyes studying his face as if he was something out of that world, “and you look like the perfect gift.”

Akihito felt his lower lip tremble.

That would be the first 4th of August in three years he would not be celebrating.

“Not interested,” he answered, shifting his gaze to the floor even though his head was still held up high.

“That is a shame,” he heard Sachi say, after a few seconds of silence. “Looks like I will have to keep searching…” the man added, before lowering himself enough to whisper into his ear. “Although I doubt he will be interested in _anyone here but you...Takaba-kun._ ”

Once again, his heart skipped a beat, and not for the first time that evening, he wished he had stayed home.

_He was not ready to deal with any of those feelings._

“Have fun,” was the last thing he heard, before the procurer spun on his wheels and disappeared behind one of the wooden doors near them.

++++

“Asami-sama?”

He could hear a familiar voice calling him, but his eyelids were too heavy.

 _‘Go away,’_ he mentally responded. Apparently, his mouth also refused to open.

“Sir?”

When fingers grasped his arm, though, and gave it a small, tentative shake, his eyes shot open as fast as lightning.

The first thing he saw past the hazy fog still surrounding everything around him, was the apologetic face of his secretary.

“I am sorry, sir, but you are being expected at Sion,” Asami heard the man whisper. “I tried calling, but you wouldn’t answer the phone or the door, so I had to use my spare key.”

He brought himself to a sitting position, still feeling slightly disoriented, while Kirishima took a few steps back to give him room.

“What time is it?” he asked, his voice low and still sleepy.

“Almost midnight.”

Much to his luck - or lack thereof, in that case - the sleeping pills he had taken only a few hours prior had worked beautifully and put him in a blessed, dreamless comatose state.

He had obviously not expected to wake up anytime before the next morning.

At that point, he doubted he would be able to, anyway. He still felt like his entire body was on the clouds, floating, even though his eyes were already semi-open and he had regained at least a fraction of his consciousness.

“Who’s at Sion?” he mumbled, with a confused frown.

“Dojima Daigo.”

“What does he want?”

“He says he needs to talk to you,” his first assistant replied. “I told him to schedule an appointment but he said it is urgent.”

Asami blinked slowly, his heavy eyelids threatening to shut once again.

“How many men did he take with him?” he asked, pushing away the blanket and forcing himself to stand up with as much dignity and steadiness as possible.

“None,” Kirishima explained. “He arrived alone at Sion some two hours ago. I thought he would eventually give up but he’s still there.”

“Did he say what it was all about?”

“No, sir.”

He held in the urge to complain - whining had never been his style and that was definitely not the first time someone woke him up in the middle of the night because of problems at work.

_It was probably not going to be the last._

“Give me five minutes, I need to take a shower,” he whispered, before walking into the bathroom.

“I will make you some coffee.”

After a silent nod, Asami closed the door behind him and got out of his silk black pajamas, his rock-hard erection breaking free from its confides and eliciting an unhappy groan.

It was not his fault, really. Just like most human behavior, there was a perfectly plausible, biological explanation for getting hard during sleep.

“Testosterone levels...” he muttered. “Friction…lack of brain control...biology…”

It was a normal male physiological response.

_Nothing more._

“It’s not me, it’s not _him_ ,” he said quietly, letting the first jets of hot water soak his hair. “It’s just biology.”

_Just biology._

Now, getting one of his assistants to browse each and every convenience store in Tokyo until he found the exact shampoo Takaba Akihito used, that was _not biology._

Not biology _at all._

It was _not biology_ that made him squeeze a decent amount of the apple and peach gel on his hand.

It was _not biology_ that made him hesitate.

He was awake enough to know very well what he was doing, but he could always lie to himself and say he was just drowsy, not entirely aware of his actions, his mental faculties somehow affected.

His left hand had closed into a fist against the tiles, the other kept moving despite the protests of a part of his mind that refused to acknowledge he had sunk that low.

_He had never needed that._

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, his heart racing as biology did its best, guiding him gently and shamelessly towards that abyss.

_‘I want to come while I watch your erotic expression…’_

That voice that he enjoyed hearing so much sounded like music inside his head.

When his body jolted forward, sending him crashing down into that gap between heaven and hell, the contractions of his groin filling him with a mix of pleasure and resentment, he refused to look down.

His eyes remained on the ceiling, blank, vacant, the crisp smell of apples still filling his nostrils as he waited for his breathing pattern to return to normal. To all due effects, when he remembered that pathetic moment of his day, he could always lie and say it had been the effect of his medication.

And, of course, of _biology._

 

 

 


	39. Greater good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night ends with Akihito making an important decision. In the meantime, Asami has to deal with a request that might put his career - and his life - in great danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I guess a few announcements are in order, to prevent future heartbreak, anger and dissatisfaction! =o
> 
> From now until Chapter 42 (or 43), if you are uncomfortable with Akihito getting involved with another man (including sexually), it might be a good time to take a break. You might want to skip all these chapters altogether, or at least some parts, since they will include some other very important information about the plot.
> 
> Also: I am aware that Asami and Akihito’s separation has now reached its 14th chapter, and believe me, I want them to get back together as soon as possible too! That being said, the truth is that they have to deal with many unfinished businesses, and I do not want them to get back together just to fall into the same bad habits of before. For that reason, Akihito is now going on his own “self-discovery” journey, and Asami is also fighting his own battles (physically and emotionally), including in the parenthood front, which is pivotal for his character. The two of them will eventually meet in a much better place down the road, but we are not there yet, sorry!
> 
> Final warning: long chapter ahead, and even though it focuses on two OCs, their stories will affect Asami and Akihito directly.

 

“Are you okay?”

Akihito was still lost in his own thoughts when Tanimura’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, fumbling with the keys inside his pocket. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

The photographer frowned at his own response.

That was not what he had been meaning to say. It was obviously a lie, after all, and his bitter, long silence after their brief run-in with that procurer had probably made it very obvious.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to go to bed and forget all the doubts pestering him, all the unwanted images of _that man_ \- above all, he needed to sleep away his uncontrollable desire to just storm into Sion and give that bastard a piece of his mind, and maybe, of _something else_.

He mentally rolled his eyes at his own delirious sexual fantasies.

What did Asami want from him, after all? What kind of game was that, of sending him away, disappearing for two months and now coming back into his life? Had he or had he not been with other people? If he had, why would he even bother to look for him? If he hadn't…

He let out another unhappy scoff, his imagination once again running away with him as the cop next to him cast another worried glance in his direction.

“So…” Akihito said, after clearing his throat. “This place is illegal… and you are a cop…” he continued, trying his best to sound casual when they stopped in front of another heavy wooden door. “Yet you’re not here to arrest anyone, how does that work?”

He tilted his head upwards, studying the concerned frown on the detective’s face.

“Tanimura-san!”

The cheerful, strong voice behind them made both men turn their heads at the same time.

“Wei,” Tanimura replied, when the general manager held his hand on a very loud and  firm handshake, followed by two very energetic pats on the shoulder. “Takaba Akihito, Wei Shen.” The photographer acknowledged the other man with a polite bow, but was soon pulled into a semi hug that made his eyebrows shoot up.

“Ha!” the man exclaimed, and Akihito’s gaze dropped from the man’s eyes to the tattoos and scars covering the skin of his chest, now uncomfortably too close to his face. “So you are the famous Takaba, the one I am supposed to train.”

 _“Eh?!”_ the photographer replied, pulling away with a confused frown.

“Li Jiao talks about you all the time,” the other man explained, a wide smile revealing his his bright white teeth. “You were planning on taking some self-defense lessons, yeah?”

“With her, yes,” Akihito replied, as he studied his counterpart with no little amount of distrust.

“Well, yeah, so she said. But she is… how can I say…” the man chuckled, raising his eyebrows, “...unable to perform that kind of activity due to a... _health condition_?”

The suspicion in Akihito’s eyes slowly gave way to a very obvious expression of worry.

“Health condition?” he asked, squaring his shoulders as the tension in his voice intensified. “What’s wrong with her, is it serious?”

“I’m not the one who should be telling,” Wei Shen replied, and the photographer noticed his smirk was not as playful as before. “Tell you what, why don’t you go pay her a visit? She could do with some cheering up.”

“Wait, how… How do you know her?” Akihito asked, with an even deeper frown. From what Tanimura had said, that man was a former triad member, and managed one of Tokyo’s most exclusive red-light establishments.

If there was a connection somewhere between that man and his counsellor’s assistant, he was failing to see it.

“We work together,” the manager replied. “I'm Majima Makoto’s second assistant.”

“Majima Makoto, you mean-”

“Majima Goro’s widow,” the detective interrupted, before the photographer could finish his question. “Purgatory belongs to her now.”

“Oh,” Akihito gasped, finally connecting the dots. "Oh..."

So the counsellor’s late husband was one of Tojo’s big shots… was she with the Tojo as well?

He didn’t have time to ask, though. Before he could open his mouth, Tanimura spoke again, his voice low and serious.

“How are you holding up here?” the detective asked.

“We have to keep business running, right?” Wei Shen replied, and Akihito noticed his tone was no longer casual, his deep brown eyes now shining with a distinct savage glint. “I mean, most of those guys have no idea there is a war going on, but from the looks of it…” he whispered, nodding discreetly towards a group of unaware guests, “...shit will hit the fan really soon.”

The atmosphere had suddenly grown so heavy that even Akihito, who knew he probably didn’t know half as much as the two other men, squared his shoulders, his earlier concerns about the counsellor and everything else long forgotten.

“Is Daigo here?” the detective asked.

“No,” the manager replied, fishing a pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets of his pants. “Hasn’t shown up in days.”

“I see...” Tanimura replied, after a slow, thoughtful nod. “I’ll try to touch base with him.”

Akihito has his fair share of questions to ask, but for some reason neither of the men in front of him looked like they would be inclined to answer.

The silence was only broken when angry voices and heavy footsteps made heads turn towards the entrance, a sulky young man in red jersey pants climbing down the stairs with a bunch of equally grumpy thugs closely behind him.

The photographer narrowed his eyes, trying to catch a better glimpse of the man’s face before he disappeared behind one of the doors with his entourage.

_That guy looked familiar._

“Ah, Minami just got here,” he heard the manager say.

_That name sounded familiar too…_

He was still searching his memories when the man patted him on the back, after shaking Tanimura’s hand with the same energy as before.

“I should get going,” he announced, before heading towards the entrance. “Have fun, you two.”

Akihito scoffed.

‘Fun’ was not a word he would use to describe that evening so far.

“Okay, let’s get going,” he heard the detective say, and he sounded just as tired and unamused as he was.

“Tanimura-san, you up for a challenge tonight?” said a man standing in front of the elegant glass doors leading to the place’s casino. “Baccarat and blackjack, high stakes only.”

“Not tonight...” the detective replied quietly, turning to look at him with a slight blush. “I mean, do you… do you want to?”

“Gamble?” the photographer asked. “Nah, I don’t think we should.”

He kept studying the other man’s face as he nodded profusely, almost apologetically.

“You’re right,” Tanimura responded, a sheer layer of sweat forming in his forehead.

_He looked nervous._

“So… who's expecting you?” Akihito finally asked, when they walked past what was clearly an opium den after countless minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“You’ll soon see,” the man answered, pushing a heavy wooden door open and holding it for him to get in as well.

A few footsteps later, Akihito found himself staring at a fighting arena and dimly-lit booths hosting hundreds of very enthusiastic, roaring patrons.

His gaze slipped to a sign near the exit.

_Coliseum._

“What the fuck…” he whispered, frowning slightly when the metallic voice blaring from the speakers above them made him look at the arena, just in time to see a man having his head bashed with a collapsible hammer.

In a booth in front of the brutalized victim, an old man looked startled when the vicious blows spattered blood on his table. His shock, however, quickly turned into an amused, maniac laughter, which was soon drowned by very loud whistles and applause.

“F-Fuck,” Akihito stuttered, taking a wobbly step backwards. “This can’t be legal. This… People kill each other he-”

Only then did he realize Tanimura was no longer by his side.

His eyes darted around for a brief moment, until he finally spotted the detective talking to a man wearing a long black coat near a door opposite from where he was.

He had to stifle a gasp when the man discreetly passed Tanimura a rather thick stash of money.

“Oh, _hell no_ ,” the photographer whispered, his chest filling with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

When his eyes met the detective’s across the room, Akihito spun on his heels and headed towards the door.

_He had had enough of that shit._

“Takaba,” he heard Tanimura’s voice behind him. “Takaba-san, wait.”

He ignored the demand with a loud scoff, quickening his step as he pulled the doors open and stepped back onto the walkway.

“ _Wait_.”

“You are a _fucking cop,_ ” he hissed, his hazel eyes glinting fiercely when the other man grabbed his arm and forced him to turn around. “Aren’t you supposed to stop people from killing each other?”

“They are here because they want to,” Tanimura replied, a vein in his neck throbbing so violently it looked about to explode. “Those are professional fighters.”

“Oh, shut- Seriously?” Akihito asked, with a bitter grimace. The fact the man had the nerve to use that as an excuse made it all even worse. “Including the guy that just got his head smashed in there?” he continued, pointing angrily at the door, his loud voice making some heads turn to look at them. “Is that what you brought me here for, to watch you _collect bribes_? What’s the next stop? The opium den?”

When he finally paused to catch his breath, he took a moment to study the detective’s face, the vein on his neck still throbbing visibly although his eyes were strangely vacant.

“When you said they called you the Parasite of Kabukicho, I thought they were exaggerating,” Akihito continued, his voice much lower and colder, “but now I see you worked hard to earn that title,” he said, breaking free from the other man’s grasp after another scoff. “I’m going home.”

“Takaba, _please_ wait.”

Akihito closed his eyes, letting out an unhappy sigh at the detective’s pleading tone.

“What?” he snarled, without turning around.

“I just… I just wanted you to know the truth,” Tanimura said quietly, after cutting in front of him, his light brown eyes now shining with a mixture of worry and determination. “I mean, if we are going to work together, it’s only fair that you know who you’re dealing with.”

 _‘Work together…’_ Akihito shook his head in silence. Like hell he would take part in those shady dealings! He was an investigative photographer, for fuck’s sake, if anything he should be taking pictures and exposing the kind of business that place hosted!

“I'll take you home,” the cop continued, his cheeks showing a rosy blush that would have been very endearing under any other circumstances. “I just have one more place to go.”

“I’m not doing that ag-”

“It’s…” the cop interrupted his protest, pursing his lips as he stared at the ground for a moment before looking at him again. “We’re leaving.”

Without a word, the photographer marched towards the exit.

_About damn time._

++++

“It’d better be urgent,” Asami announced, walking into one of Sion’s conference rooms with his usual confident stride, wearing his always impeccable Dormeuil Vanquish II suit, hair slicked back, the alert, sharp golden eyes giving no indication he had woken up less than half an hour prior. “Otherwise I will ask you to come back t-”

“It is urgent,” the Chairman of the Tojo Clan replied, standing up to greet his counterpart with a polite bow.

After the two of them had taken their seats around the oval, sleek table, Dojima Daigo spoke again.

“I received reports about the Sengoku family being on their way to Tokyo.”

“And?” Asami asked, after crossing his legs with a blank, disinterested glance as he reached for his Dunhills.

That was the kind of information that he already had, thanks to his own very capable team of informants..

“They have mobilized over 5000 men,” Dojima replied. “Their target is still unconfirmed but I intend to make the first move.”

_Make the first move._

So the Tojo had already decided to make another strategic mistake, and from the sound of it, its leader had no intention of backing up.

“I still don’t understand the reason for this meeting,” Asami replied, after taking a long drag off his cigarette.

“That will be the third Omi family coming to Tokyo,” the Chairman explained, his voice calm and low even though his deep brown eyes were burning with urgency. “They have also made advances on Gunma, Tochigi, Ibaraki, Chiba. More than three quarters of my contingent has already been deployed.”

Asami let out a long, dismissive sigh.

“So you are trying to tell me you don’t currently have 5000 men at your disposal,” he said, his face still void of emotion. “And you are here to ask me for help, is that it?”

The other man remained silent, as if trying to gauge Asami’s possible reaction to the answer he had in mind.

“What makes you think that I have _any interest_ in keeping the Tojo alive?” he asked, the golden eyes narrowed dangerously. “For all I care, your organization and the Omi can destroy each other, you would actually be doing me a favor...”

“Asami-san, I know that there is a lot of bad blood between us after everything that happened in the past few mont-”

“You sent your men to _kill me_ ,” Asami interrupted. “I think that qualifies as much more than ‘bad blood’” he added, his voice carrying a distinct note of threat. “I see no reason to help you in any way.”

“When the information about the routes in Zhuhai reached my hands back in April, I made the wrong move,” the Chairman explained, the muscles of his jaw clenched as he held his counterpart’s stare. “I saw a profitable opportunity, our organization needed the money. Now I see it was extremely unwise to antagonize you.”

Asami tapped his cigarette on the ashtray, his face still showing no emotion.

That was the world of business, after all. Opportunities were made to be seized, and if that meant knocking out the competition, then be it. The only _fatal mistake_ Dojima Daigo had made was to think that he, Asami Ryuichi, would be the one _losing_ in the event of a fallout.

At least now he seemed to have finally realized it.

“If I agree to help you,” Asami said at last, slowly lifting his gaze to the other man’s face, “the price will be high.”

When he saw the corners of the Chairman’s mouth twitch, his fingertips tapping the table in very quiet strokes, he reached for the lighter in the inside pocket of his jacket, rolling it between his fingers, if only to stretch the uncomfortable silence in the room and strain the man’s nerves even more.

“I want Purgatory,” he said at last, after a very long minute staring into his counterpart’s eyes.

“I am not the lawful owner of that place,” Dojima quickly replied.

“It is listed in the public registry as an asset under Tojo’s jurisdiction.”

“Because Majima Makoto lets the Tojo use the facility as a secondary headquarter, but it belongs to her,” the man explained, a frown of irritation finally wrinkling his forehead. “I cannot trade something that is not mine.”

“What do you have to offer?” Asami asked, his voice low and full of intent.

“Nothing.”

“So you came here to ask for my help, and want it for _free_?” he said, the corners of his mouth curling into a malicious smirk. “Do I look like a philanthropist to you?”

“The Tojo is going through a very delicate moment,” the Chairman responded.

“When _wasn’t_ the Tojo in a delicate moment?” Asami asked, the angle of his eyebrows adding to the sarcasm in his voice. “It lacks qualified management, it has very few profitable businesses, it is always brewing trouble, intrigue, betrayal,” he added. “The yakuza used to be the fourth state in Japan, but these days the Tojo, the Omi, all of you are nothing but a bunch of clowns that don’t even pretend to have a code of ethics.”

Asami paused, just to light up another cigarette as he looked at the other man from the corner of his eye, noticing that his hand had curled into a fist on top of the table.

“I am beginning to think that you all have outlived your purpose,” he whispered.

“You, of all people, should know that is not true,” the Chairman replied.

When Asami lifted his gaze to the other man’s face, he saw the brown eyes were burning with unspoken anger.

“We are still taking care of the ugliest parts of business, as we always did,” Dojima said, his voice slightly strained although he was obviously trying very hard to keep his cool. “Making sure that the pushers that _you_ supply drugs with don’t go over the line, making sure that the guns that _you_ smuggle into the country don’t fall on wrong hands,” he continued, without missing a beat, “making sure the streets are safe so that _people like you_ can strut around like _peacocks_ , without ever getting your hands dirty.”

Asami rested both elbows on the table, and let his chin touch his slender fingers as he watched the other man rant.

“We have not outlived our purpose, not by a long shot,” the Chairman concluded.

“If you don’t have enough men to defeat Sengoku and his goons, then don’t make the first move,” Asami said calmly. “It is that simple. Disperse, bribe the weakest links, take it down slowly. A full-blown war will not end well for you.”

With a frown, Dojima Daigo remained silent as he reached for something inside the pocket of his jacket.

Still in silence, he slid a picture across the table.

“What is this?” Asami asked, raising an eyebrow at the photo of a young boy wearing square glasses, his delicate face framed by the type of mushroom haircut that was only endearing in very few cases, that one included.

“A picture of my son,” the Chairman replied.

It was Asami’s turn to frown.

“Why are you showing me this?” he asked.

“His name was Hideki,” the other man continued, after leaning back on his chair. “He… would have turned 15 last month.”

Instead of offering his sympathies for what that statement implied, Asami simply picked up the photo, and let him go on.

“It happened nine years ago,” Dojima explained. “My wife and I were heading back from a party at my sister’s place. I had just been promoted to Chairman of the Tojo.”

There was a moment of silence, in which the man seemed to be organising the narrative unfolding inside his own head.

“Hideki was on the back seat,” he continued, his voice showing no signs of emotion although his eyes were glassy and melancholic. “Our car was ambushed. It was an armored vehicle so it resisted the bullets, but....one of the cars knocked us off the road. We ended up hitting a guardrail.”

Asami pondered if he should interrupt what was obviously a sad story to remind the Chairman that he was _not exactly famous_ for his empathy - therefore, if it was compassion he was looking for, he might as well save his breath and look for another shoulder to cry on.

However, against his best judgment, he let the man continue his tale.

“My wife and I suffered nothing but a few cuts but our son…” Dojima paused, his fingers shaking slightly as he laced them together on top of the table. “The rail...cut through one of the doors and… severed most of the lower half of his body.”

Asami’s eyes dropped to the smiling face of the boy in the picture, his jaws clenching involuntarily.

“When the ambulance arrived, they said he could not be saved,” he heard Dojima say, sounding more and more detached as the story went on. “The rail was holding him together, the moment they removed it he would…” the man paused once again, that time to reach for the glass of water that up until then had not even been touched.

After gulping down half of its contents, he spoke again.

“They said he couldn’t feel much,” he whispered, his voice low but firm. “But he was lucid. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, so he didn’t cry. He just… asked us why we looked so upset.”

Asami jumped on his seat when what was left of his long forgotten cigarette burnt his fingers, a long chunk of ashes falling on his lap. After hissing a quiet curse as he patted his legs, he motioned for the man to go on.

It puzzled - _and worried-_ him that he was so interested in learning how that story ended. He was used to not giving a flying fuck to other people’s personal tragedies. That one, however, was tugging at his heartstrings, and he knew exactly _why._

“My wife stayed by his side, talking to him, until he closed his eyes,” Dojima went on, and Asami took that moment to study the man’s impenetrable mask of indifference. Not many people would be able to tell such a story without showing emotion...maybe the Chairman of the Tojo Clan deserved some credit, after all.

“The longest minutes of my life,” he said, after drinking more of the water in his glass. “And then… I remember looking at the only car that had not sped off, and I saw Ochida, Sengoku’s lieutenant, _laughing,_ ” Dojima continued, his glassy eyes widening as if he were on a trance. “Grinning, from ear to ear.”

He thought of asking the man to stop right there. A war triggered by personal reasons was the kind of conundrum he had no intention of getting in the middle of.

 _Why was he even being told such a story?_ Was Dojima trying to appeal to his feelings?

That was quite the bold move to make.

“I will never forget that day…” the Chairman whispered. “My wife was never the same. Well, ex-wife now. We tried to have another child but when we found out she could not conceive again things got even worse. She was devastated. I was, too. I think neither of us could move on from what had happened and we drifted apart. We got a divorce three years later.”

Asami shifted on his seat again, crossing his legs with an ever deeper frown as he reached for another cigarette.

He should bring that conversation to an end. He had heard enough, and he knew that going on a joint venture with the Tojo to attack the Omi would be of no benefit to him at all. He had his own plans when it came to Sengoku - the emotions of a grieving parent should not be a part of that equation.

“Back in the day, I made it my mission to find Ochida and kill him. It didn’t matter if I would start a war, it didn’t matter if I depleted Tojo’s resources, I would burn Osaka to the ground if I had to to get hold of that man,” the other man explained, either unaware of the menacing frown on Asami’s face, or deliberately ignoring it.

“But he had some very thick skin. Protection from local police… Alliances with other families…” he went on. “That didn’t stop me. I made my move, and nearly destroyed the Tojo in the process. I was able to take down many of Sengoku’s men, but Ochida escaped. He escaped every time I tried to get him,” he said, his eyes once again burning with fury. “The last time we marched into Omi’s territory, some two years ago, he had gone into hiding again, but Hayashi was so close to finding his hideout. _So close_. She even managed to put Sengoku in a coma with her bare hands.”

The mention of Mirai’s outstanding fighting skills brought an almost invisible smile to Asami’s face, and he once again had to reproach himself for letting personal reasons affect his logic.

That was _business,_ and he should keep things as objective as possible.

“He survived, unfortunately,” Dojima said, after a long, unhappy sigh. “Last time Sengoku was in Tokyo, Ochida stayed in Osaka. I have been waiting for a very long time to see that son of a bitch again.”

Asami watched the other man nod slowly, as if lost in his own thoughts.

“And he’s coming. I can’t let him escape, not this time,” he whispered. “I can’t let him destroy other families… Hurt other people’s children. That man is a _monster_ ,” he added, his jaded, bleak gaze shifting to Asami’s face. “So is Sengoku, they are not yakuza. They are...sick, unhinged, soulless _animals_.”

The Chairman’s words gave Asami pause.

What made that man think that he, Asami, was not an unhinged, soulless animal _himself_? He had quite the track record, after all, although he could at least take pride in the fact he had never once touched a child or destroyed a family out of spite. Maybe for business purposes, yes, as Fei Long himself would be quick to remind him, but that whole ordeal was bound to end badly anyway…

“So today… I come to you not as the Chairman of the Tojo Clan.”

Dojima’s words brought him back to reality, and he straightened his back against the chair.

“I come to you as a _father_ ,” the man added, after a long moment of silence.

Asami felt his blood run cold for the fraction of a second, although not a single muscle of his face moved to reflect the sudden change in his heart rate.

 _Did the Chairman of the Tojo Clan know he was a father as well?_ It should not surprise him, though, given Mirai’s entanglement with the organisation. But for how long had he known?

He blinked slowly, although his mind was racing. Who else knew? Did Sengoku know, of all people? That changed everything. Although that pig of a man had reasons to go after the girl for her hacking prowess, the knowledge she was Asami Ryuichi’s daughter would put her in unthinkable danger…

He reached for his own glass of water, taking a sip to clear his mind. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, and neither Dojima nor anyone else knew about Maya...

“What makes you think-”

“I know Hayashi Maya is your daughter,” the man interrupted, and Asami, once again, kept his emotions under wraps although his heart had just missed a beat.

“She told me, on the day of her mother’s funeral,” the Chairman explained. “I would have to be blind not to see the resemblance, anyway. She has your eyes. Your face, your...attitude.”

Asami held the other man’s stare, although his only wish at that point was to storm out of that room, call his bodyguard, tell him to take his daughter somewhere she would never be found, _not even by him_ , let alone by his enemies.

For years on end he had kept the girl’s existence a secret, after continuously pushing aside any feelings that bore the slightest resemblance to affection, and ignoring all the reports about her life as to not to be tempted to approach her, ever again.

He had cut ties, silenced the voices inside his own head, put away years of memories, the thought that at least she would be safe the only thing to give him some sort of consolation.

Now, he could not even hold onto that anymore.

“She asked me not to retaliate against you,” Dojima said, his voice no louder than a whisper, as if he did not want to disrupt whatever was going on inside Asami’s head. “I don’t know what kind of relationship you two have, but I know that a child is bound to love their parents regardless of the choices they make in life.”

And there it was, again, that strange feeling of guilt creeping up his chest, the bitter memories of his last encounter with the girl making him even more uncomfortable now that a business rival reminded him of something he always knew.

Despite everything, his daughter _still loved him._

“Just like I know there is no limit to the extents a parent is willing to go for their kids,” the Chairman concluded.

Asami averted his gaze to the window.

Perhaps it was too late to mend his relationship with Maya, he had been negligent for too long…But if there was anything he could do to make sure she was safe, he would spare no efforts.

“Asami-san…”

He continued to look out of the window, even when the other man addressed him for the last time.

“...please help me avenge my son’s death.”

++++

Akihito was still staring out of the car window when Tanimura brought the vehicle to a stop, parking in front of a drugstore.

“I’ll be right back,” he heard the detective say, but not even that made him turn his head.

_He was still mad._

Minutes had gone by when he finally looked towards the other man, still frowning. Tanimurawas already heading to the check-out, carrying a small basket, one of his hands reaching for the money in his pocket.

Not much later, he was back in the car, with a brown paper bag containing a single square box.

Despite his curiosity, Akihito remained silent when the engine roared again.

“I was wondering if you wanted to… see where I live?” the cop asked quietly.

“Sure,” the photographer replied, after a particularly dismissive shrug.

At that point, he really didn’t care. The events of the night were finally beginning to weigh on him - if anything, all he truly wanted was to get back home, take a shower, and go to bed.

In no time, he found himself walking into the dark, confusing maze of Little Asia, one of Tokyo’s least hospitable districts. He kept walking by the detective’s side, ignoring the male and female prostitutes whispering to their customers on poorly-lit corners, and the eventual group of teenagers surrounded by empty bottles of beer and sake that cast rather hostile looks in their direction.

They had barely crossed a deserted, narrow alley to enter one of the place’s buildings, when a small girl with short black hair came running towards them.

“Masa!” she squealed, throwing her arms around one of the detective’s legs.

“Reina!” the man replied, after picking her up. “Why are you up? It’s late.”

“Daiki won’t stop coughing,” said an older woman wearing a purple robe and slippers, who had just joined them in the cramped living room.

“I bought his medicine,” Tanimura replied, passing her the brown paper bag. “ How’s the roof?”

“Fixed. But all our savings…” the woman explained, shaking her head with a shadow of grief in her tired, bloodshot eyes.

“I know,” the detective whispered in response, putting the girl down. “Did you finish the application?”

“Yes. All ready to go,” the woman replied, passing him a large, colorful envelope full of stickers.

“Thanks,” Tanimura replied, turning around to look at the photographer. “Takaba-san, this is Mama Si. She manages the orphanage with me.”

“Nice to meet you,” Akihito whispered, bowing respectfully before the woman did the same.

He, however, did not have time to look around and get better acquainted with the facility. Tanimura was already walking towards the door, and he found it best to do the same.

“I will be back in an hour or so,” the cop whispered, after casting a glance towards the other manager. “You should take a break.”

“Masa, Masa!”

The small girl was back, this time tugging at the man’s pants.

“What is it, kid?” he asked, crouching down to be in the girl’s eye level.

“You know, I, I made you a gift,” she said, holding out a brown beaded bracelet.

“A gift? What for?”

“It’s Tanabata,” the girl replied, holding her tiny hands together as she rocked back and forth on her tiny heels.

“The Star Festival? You’re early, Reina, Tanabata is still a week away…”

“Ahh…”

Akihito couldn’t help but smile when the little child’s eyes widened in confusion, her mouth opening and closing as she hunted for words.

“You can give it to the girl you like,” she said, giggling quietly.

“Silly.”

Another voice coming from the opposite corner of the living room made both men turn their heads.

“Masa doesn’t like girls,” said an older child, probably in her early teenage years, as she held her knees close to her chest. “Masa likes _boys._ ”

Akihito’s eyebrows shot up, but his surprise was nowhere as big as Tanimura’s, who was now blushing furiously.

“Oh?” the small girl looked confused for a split second. When she spoke again, however, the smile was back on her face. “Then give it to the boy you like.”

“Thanks, Reina,” the detective replied, stuffing the bracelet into his pocket as he got back on his feet, still looking slightly disconcerted. “You should go to bed now, both of you.”

He waited until both girls had walked onto the hallway to open the door and step outside, with Akihito following closely behind.

When the two of them reached the car, Tanimura was still avoiding his eyes, and the photographer realized that his anger from minutes prior now looked like a distant memory.

“I didn't-”

“You’re right,” the detective interrupted, still staring at the floor as he spoke. “I am a cop, but I’m not a good cop. I know that what I do is wrong, I’m not proud of it. And I did earn my title.”

When he lifted the light brown eyes to his face, Akihito opened his mouth to speak again. Perhaps he had been too harsh, who was he to judge anyway? It was not as if he had an exemplary life himself...

“Wait, listen,” Tanimura said, raising a hand before the photographer had the chance to voice his apology.  “See, I became an orphan when I was 7. I barely remember my mother’s face, I never even met my father. My… biological father, I mean,” he explained. “I was raised in a home like this. Here, in Little Asia. This is where most of my salary ends up, but kids get sick. The place is old, the last storm destroyed our roof,” he went on, and again Akihito tried to say he didn’t need to justify himself, but with another hand gesture, the detective urged him to remain quiet. “Money goes fast, much faster than I can earn it, even with double shifts. So I started taking bribes. That is how this place survives.”

The photographer kept staring at Tanimura’s face as he spoke. The man had his fair share of flaws, but his blunt honesty when talking about his own wrongdoing had to be commended.

“We have applied for government support but all those kids are illegal aliens, their parents are either in the sex industry or in crime… No one cares,” he said, scoffing bitterly. “But I do. So… I do what it takes. And sometimes what it takes…” he paused, his eyebrows arching in an almost pained expression. “...doesn't make us feel that great, you know what I mean?”

Akihito let out a small, mirthless chuckle as he nodded in quiet agreement. 

Yes, he knew _all about_ doing things that didn’t make him feel that great, for the sake of a greater good.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, swallowing down his own grief as he looked at the man in front of him. “I didn’t… I have no right-”

“No, no, actually… I am happy that you said the things you said,” Tanimura replied, with a saddened smile. “I’m happy that you got mad, it shows that you still believe in what is right.”

Akihito shoved his hands inside his pockets, raising both eyebrows as he thought about those words.

_‘Still believe in what is right…’_

In the past, that particular task used to be much easier.

“I don’t,” Tanimura continued, after clearing his throat. “I guess… I lost faith in the system a long time ago...Which is a problem, because I should represent the system.”

He let out another bitter chuckle before speaking again.

“I keep saying that what I do is for the greater good, but the truth?” he whispered, and his eyes were so fearful and sad that Akihito felt his heart skip a beat. “I don’t even know anymore. Maybe I would still collect bribes even if the orphanage didn’t need it.”

He leaned against the car, and the photographer did the same while the cop lit up a cigarette.

For very long minutes, both men  kept staring at the sky, each of them thinking about their own troubles and moral dilemmas.

“I think our conscience is like this button that we switch off for a moment when we have to do some bad stuff…” Tanimura continued, his eyes still distant. “And when you do it often enough, you just forget to switch it back on. Hell, you even forget where the button is,” he scoffed. “So when someone walks in and turns on the light, it kinda hurts the eyes.”

Before he knew, the cop had turned to stand in front of him again after tossing away what was left of his cigarette.

“But it’s good,” he whispered, his mouth a few inches away from his, so close that he could feel the warmth of his breath on his own lips. ““It’s bad but it’s good, know what I mean?”

Only then did Akihito notice the detective had gently grabbed one of his hands, and was now sliding the beaded bracelet onto his right wrist.

Out of sheer nervousness, the photographer laughed.

_Why was that happening?_

Hours prior, he had thought that night would end with him _willingly_ having sex with a man that was not Asami for the first time in his life.

Now, he finally realized that a “one night stand” was definitely not what the man in front of him had in mind, and what he seemed determined to conquer was pretty much the one thing Akihito could not offer...

_His heart._

That part of him, much as he hated to admit, belonged to someone else.

He felt like running.

“Sorry, it is getting late, and I am rambling,” he heard the cop say, probably noticing his obvious discomfort at their current situation. “I just… I just need to drop this at the mailbox,” he explained, raising the colorful envelope and giving it a kiss. “Here, give it a kiss too,” he said, holding the envelope closer to the photographer’s face. “ To bring good luck.”

“What is that?”

“An application for financial support,” Tanimura explained. “There is this… nameless benefactor that allocates grants every year to orphanages that comply with their audit items. Took ages for us to fulfill all the requirements but… we made it. If we get it, the kids will be good for a very long time.”

“Nameless benefactor, huh?” Akihito whispered, after giving the envelope a quick peck. “Sounds shady..."

“Hell yeah, it does,” the detective replied, before walking towards the mailbox and pushing the envelope into its slot. “Quite sure it's the Chairman of the Tojo, though. Dojima Daigo. He is a good man, despite his line of business.”

 _‘Everyone seems to have a double life around here',_ the photographer said mentally.

“Fingers crossed then,” he muttered, with a faint smile.

“Yeah,” Tanimura replied, reaching for the car keys. “Come, I’ll drive you home.”

“Nah…” Akihito said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You don’t need to. I can still catch the last train.”

The disappointment on the detective’s face was painfully obvious.

“P-Plus…” the photographer stuttered, his own face on fire as he tried to minimize the damage. “You should go back, give your manager a break, she looked tired.”

Tanimura nodded, letting out a small, nervous smile before speaking again.

“Are you... still... _interested?_ ” he asked, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

_“Uh?”_

“In the scoops?” the detective added.

Akihito, however, was fully aware that he was not talking about the scoops _at all._

He rubbed his neck, pondering his options. That would be a good time to walk away, before things inevitably went wrong.

Still… He knew he owed it to himself, to at least _try_ to start a new chapter of his life.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly, finally looking at the other man with a small smile on his face. “Yes, I am.”

The last thing he saw before waving another goodbye, was the light brown eyes regain their usual fierce, confident glow.

_He hoped he would not come to regret that answer later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for Hideki's appearance, by the way, was [this chibi of Nemu, from Hidoku Shinaide.](http://static.tumblr.com/da34b5755ebac9f86f666ff78441a84e/u3ipnkn/k1Amxq4k6/tumblr_static_proxy.jpg) :'(
> 
>  


	40. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> “He and the cop…” Shinada repeated, shaking his head. The man sounded like a broken record, and the suspense was beginning to get on the secretary’s nerves. “They… Asami-sama told me not to engage, but I think I should have engaged, how can this be any good… Takaba-san and the cop… They…”
> 
> “They _what_ , Shinada?” Kirishima snarled. “Just say it, you are not making things any better.”
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> OK, let’s make this brief: proceed with caution, this chapter contains scenes that might sting a little, as I mentioned in the previous chapter. Also, please forgive me for throwing in a lighthearted scene of Shinada talking to a cat and Tanimura going on a drug bust wearing no pants and missing one of his shoes – it is probably not what you imagine! I just wanted to throw in some harmless, casual content that could advance Akihito and Masa’s relationship without making it too serious or too dramatic.
> 
>  
> 
> Either way, feel free to scroll past the most… _intense_ parts (Kirishima will let you know when is a good time to turn away XD), but make sure to read the final bit with Suoh – some important information about the plot is revealed then!
> 
>  
> 
>  

**_3:05 am - Yokohama_ **

 

_12:06 am, Little Asia._

_Takaba Akihito and Tanimura Masayoshi enter Little Asia. They walk towards the building right between the restaurant Kyoshi N. 1 Star and a laundromat; a child approaches, no older than 4 or 5 years old. They go into the building (orphanage? - see appendix 1)._

 

_12:14 am, Little Asia._

_Takaba and Tanimura exit the building, head towards police car. Takaba looks concerned. They both engage in conversation, the cop is also tense. Current position does not allow me to overhear the content of their discussion…_

 

After typing the ellipses with thoughtful, slow keystrokes, Shinada Tatsuo looked at his own handwritten notes for a long minute.

 

_Expression softens. Smiles. Cop gets closer, bracelet, ~~kiss?~~ \- laugh - flirting_

 

The bodyguard took another gulp from the can of orange soda next to the computer, and let out a worried sigh. Takaba-san and that idiot of a cop… That would not end well, at least not for him. Who knows what Asami Ryuichi’s reaction would be upon reading the word “flirting” in the paragraph he was about to write...

He squinted at the computer screen after a yawn, his bruised cheek throbbing painfully as he opened his mouth. He had just reached page 16 of his report, the result of eighteen hours of work, a street fight, a visit to Purgatory and at least three trips to Tokyo and back.

_Talk about a long day._

A soft knock on his window made him automatically reach for the gun tucked inside his sweatpants.

Standing up as quietly as he could, he made his way past the shoes and clothes scattered across the cramped living room, carefully avoiding empty bottles and cans that were also cluttering the carpeted floor.

“Man, I need to call cleaning services tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, before taking cover behind the curtains. “This place is a mess…”

With a swift move, he opened the windows, just to be greeted by the dismissive stare of a black cat.

“Look who’s back!” the bodyguard exclaimed. “Are you still mad at me, Kiko, huh?” he asked, watching the cat jump into the living room and look around, meowing quietly as if to chastise him for the current state of their residence. “I know, it’s bad, but I have been working long hours… Hey, here, I bought your favorite food!”

With an enthusiastic grin, Shinada headed to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bag full of small cans.

Upon opening his own fridge, however, his smile died on his lips. Other than an old cabbage and a half empty bottle of milk, there was nothing that he could eat.

“Actually, haha, it looks like I forgot to buy food for myself, care to share?” he asked, looking at one of the cans. “‘Cod, sole and shrimp fest’, hmmm... Looks like someone is in for quite the meal!”

After taking a sniff of the food, the bodyguard made a face.

“Ugh,” he said, putting down the can with a grimace. “Changed my mind, I’ll just drink some milk...”

Shinada returned to his desk, smiling when the cat rushed to the kitchen. He should get that report finished - it was past three in the morning and in less than six hours he was supposed to be out again.

“Alrighty then…” he whispered to himself, before setting off to type the last section of his report.

He was almost done when the cat jumped onto his desk, purring quietly as she glided towards him.

“No no, kitten, bad kitten, not on my papers!” Shinada complained, quickly picking up one of the folders. “Great, now I have paw prints all over my cover page… You’re a lot of trouble, did you know that?”

He let out a defeated sigh, but his annoyance faded quickly when the cat meowed again, sitting straight as one of her paws patted another piece of paper.

“Uh? You wanna know who that is?” he asked, noticing that one of the small claws seemed to be scratching a name at the bottom of the page.

“That’s the boss of the boss,” he explained. “My boss is called Suoh Kazumi. And Suoh-sama’s boss is Asami Ryuichi.”

The yellow eyes kept staring at him, as if waiting for more introductions.

“And Takaba Akihito…” he whispered, pointing to the name printed at the top of the page, “...is the man I am supposed to protect,” he explained. “He and Asami-sama used to be together. But they are not anymore.”

The cat let out another quiet meow, and the bodyguard took that chance to scratch the pet behind her ears.

“They had a very bad break-up… I saw it,” he continued, his voice serious and low. “It was really bad...”

His gaze was now blank and distant, and he found himself immersed in memories of what he had seen in his boss’s penthouse that day, the horror and anguish he had felt as he cleaned the place...

“I wonder if they will ever get back together” he whispered, still stroking the cat, whose eyes were slowly closing. “I don’t know if I would have it in me, you know,” he added. “To forgive...”

After a long minute of silence. Shinada’s eyes went wide, and he gasped.

“I shouldn’t even be saying those things...” he said quietly. “What if there’s a bug here somewhere?”

The mere idea gave him chills. Knowing exactly who he worked for, that would not surprise him.

“Nah,” he finally said, shaking his head with a nervous chuckle. “If there were, someone would have called already to fire me, probably...”

His heart skipped a beat when his cell phone took that exact moment to buzz.

“H-Hello?” he stuttered, after spending a good ten seconds trying to locate the device under the endless piles of paper on top of his desk.

_“Shinada?”_

“Suoh-sama...”

_“Have you noticed anyone following Takaba Akihito lately?”_

“No,” Shinada replied, frowning slightly. “Well, not exactly. When he got off the train in Yokohama today, I saw Hayashi-kun’s stepfather inside a car near the station. I figured that he was in the city to visit the girl.”

 _“Negative, he hasn’t come anywhere near her apartment,”_ he heard the other man’s strong voice reply. _“Was he alone in the car?”_

“Negative. There seemed to be someone else on the backseat. I have included that in my report.”

 _“Did you get the vehicle’s license plate?”_ he heard the Head of Security ask.

“Yes, sir.”

_“Excellent. What time are you supposed to clock in?”_

“Nine in the morning, sir,” Shinada answered, the math unraveling inside his brain making him wince. As it was, he would barely have time to sleep before starting another round of insanely long hours.

 _“Get another hour of sleep,”_ his boss replied. _“Asami-sama has added three more operatives to Takaba-san’s security, they can keep track of his moves until you get enough rest.”_

“But-”

 _“Send your report to Kirishima as soon as you're done, and report to headquarters at the end of your shift for debriefing,”_ the man interrupted. “ _Say, Shinada, you are living in Yokohama now, aren't you?”_

“Yes, sir.”

 _“I am thinking of setting up a temporary base in the city, for you, Mine, and the other operatives working here,”_ Suoh explained. _“How many bedrooms are there in your apartment?”_

_Oh no._

“Uhh… T-Two…” Shinada answered, feeling the palms of his hands grow damp. His apartment looked like it had been hit by a hurricane - he had no conditions of hosting anyone, let alone an entire team of bodyguards! “Why?”

 _“Make sure you are rested and alert,”_ the man on the other line said, and his tone was final. _“We’ll talk later.”_

“Oh man...” Shinada whispered as soon as the call ended.

He had a feeling his day would be full of unpleasant surprises.

++++

**_11:05 am - Yokohama - Takaba Akihito’s apartment building_ **

 

“You ready?” asked Tanimura Masayoshi, his arms crossed as he leaned against his car door and watched Akihito climb down the stairs.

“Yeah,” the photographer replied, after making sure his beloved camera was securely attached to its shoulder strap. “You didn’t need to drive all the way here, I could have taken the train.”

He had already entered the car and fastened his seatbelt when the cop spoke again.

“Things in Tokyo are getting weird,” Tanimura whispered. “The incidents involving the Omi have been isolated, in areas no one cared for… But it looks like they closed the Millennium Tower today, half of the city is up in arms.”

“Crap!” Akihito explained. The Millennium Tower was one of Tokyo’s landmarks, and he could only imagine the turmoil the city must have dived in with the yakuza making such a bold move. “Is that where we are going?”

“No,” the cop replied simply. “Half of all Tokyo Police Department is there already, trying to negotiate their exit in amiable terms. And the media has been all over the place as well, I figure there would be no novelty taking the same pictures other people might have already taken.”

_He had a point._

It had begun, then… The Omi and the Tojo were about to go on an open war, something that even Asami considered unthinkable… But well, that conversation during breakfast had happened quite a while ago, before all hell broke loose.

That thought made him stare down at his camera morosely.

Memories of those days were now so distant he felt like he was looking at another lifetime.

“So…” he finally said, after shaking his head to clear it of troublesome thoughts. “Where are we going?”

“You ever heard of Azumi Ryouko?” Tanimura replied.

“The actress?” he asked, his eyes shining with a glint of jealousy. “Pfff. Yeah.”

He had to chew on his tongue not to curse quietly. Yeah, he remembered that woman very well. Even though it had happened almost an year prior, he remembered that stakeout with Mitarai… the image of Asami wrapping an arm around her waist as he got out of his limo had been imprinted on his brain...

“Bad blood?” Tanimura asked, raising an eyebrow at his bitter silence.

“I guess that’s one way to look at it…” Akihito mumbled in response.

“Well, then you’ll really like this,” the cop continued, smirking. “As you might know, some time ago she was rumoured to be the mistress of a diplomat, yeah?” he asked. “But turns out she is actually engaged to one of Shinjuku’s most famous drug dealers. They’re living together.”

Akihito felt the corners of his mouth involuntarily curl into a malicious smile.

“Their house was under surveillance for two weeks, and our team has evidence the place is visited by customers at least four times a day, sometimes more. I got a search warrant,” Tanimura explained, his light brown eyes lit up with excitement. “We are going in.”

“Are they gonna be arrested?” Akihito asked, his own eyes shining as he pictured the actress being handcuffed and dragged into a police car.

“If we find drugs, which I am sure we will…” the cop added, an eyebrow raised as he smirked. “ _Hell yeah_.”

The photographer looked out of the window, still grinning.

It was a stifling morning, the cloudy sky announced a storm was on its way…

Even so, he had the impression his day was going to be full of very pleasant surprises.

++++

**_11:58 am - Tokyo - Azumi Ryouko’s residence_ **

 

Nearly an hour later, Akihito found himself staring at the tall walls surrounding the backyard of a very fancy house.

“Wait a minute…” he whispered, as the detective by his side unbuckled his belt and used it to reach for an iron hook above them. “If you have a search warrant, why are we breaking in?”

“Because…” the cop replied, his voice strained as he made his way up. “We don't want them... to escape through... the backyard... as we knock... on their front door,” he said, finally balancing himself on top of the wall.

With a glint in his eye, Tanimura reached down to grab his arm and help him up as well.

“You really don't stick to the rules, do you?” the photographer asked quietly, adjusting the shoulder strap and bringing his camera closer to his chest.

“Nah…”

He raised his eyes to the cop, just in time to see him lose his balance and begin to fall headfirst into the yard.

“Shit!” Akihito hissed, grabbing one of the man’s legs. “Holy crap, you're heavy!”

He bit his lip when his fingers began to slip, his own knees bent in a strange angle as he reached for Tanimura’s other leg in an attempt to keep him from falling.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, feeling the fabric was either going to rip, or he would dive headfirst as well. “I can't… _hold…_ ”

He had to be quick on his feet not to tumble backwards when the detective finally dropped clumsily onto a small bush below.

After cursing silently, Akihito finally regained balance, and his eyes went wide when he realized he was holding Tanimura’s pants.

“Damn it!” he heard the man hiss below him. “I think I lost a shoe!”

Covering his mouth with the back of his arm, Akihito felt his shoulders shake as he laughed.

“B-Boxers or briefs?” he asked quietly, after wiping away happy tears.

“Hmm?”

“I asked, are you wearing boxers or briefs?”

His question was met with a humorous chuckle.

Apparently, the detective did not seem concerned about standing on a drug dealer’s backyard wearing no pants and missing one of his shoes.

“Neither, _g-string!_ ” he finally replied, and Akihito once again bent over laughing. “What? It’s the latest fashion among Tokyo Police, didn’t you know?” Tanimura whispered.

When the photographer finally managed to catch his breath, he slid down the wall in a much more gracious and swift manner than his counterpart, and tried not to laugh when the cop gingerly walked towards the door, shoes and pants forsaken.

“Tanimura, your pants!” he hissed, hiding behind a nearby bush as the man knocked on the door, dismissing the rest of his outfit with a quick wave of his hand.

 _“Who’s that?”_ asked a female voice.

“Tokyo police,” he heard the cop reply. “Please open the door, ma’am.”

 _“What are you doing in my yard?”_ the woman asked, her voice showing very obvious signs of distress. _“How did you get in?”_

“I climbed the wall.”

 _“You did **what?** ”_ the female voice now sounded positively hysterical. _“I'm going to call the police!”_

“Ma’am, I _am_ the police, please open the door, I have a warrant.”

After a long minute, Akihito saw the door open slightly to reveal the suspicious face of the actress, her hair tied up in a careless bun, the lack of makeup making her look like a completely different person.

“Why are you not wearing any pants?” the photographer heard her ask.

“Ah… Cost cutting measures,” the cop replied, and Akihito noticed his eyes were already scanning the inside of the house although the door remained mostly closed. “My department is trying to save on expendit- _Freeze!_ ”

Tanimura’s scream made Akihito’s heart jump.

Apparently, the drug dealer, upon noticing the cop’s presence, had decided to make a run to the front door.

Another painful cry made the photographer look at the door again. From the looks of it, the woman had tried to slam it closed, but Tanimura’s fingers were in the way.

Without giving it a second thought, without even thinking that maybe the man could have a gun and shoot him dead much before he managed to get closer, Akihito started running, taking a shortcut through the exterior hallway so that he would be able to intercept the drug dealer as soon as he got out of the front door.

And, indeed, as soon as the man stepped outside, he was greeted with a very heavy flower pot being thrown in his direction, and that was enough to make him trip on his feet and land on the ground with a loud thud.

“ _Poliiiice_ ,” Tanimura screeched from inside the house, reaching the two of them not even five seconds later. ”Don’t move, you are under arrest,” he announced, immobilising the suspect, just to reach behind his back and realize what he was looking for had stayed behind, somewhere in the backyard.

“I guess you need... _these?_ ” Akihito panted, retrieving a pair of handcuffs from the back pocket of the man’s pants, which he had inadvertently been carrying around.  

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You are making a big mistake,” the bulky man on the floor spat out, his face as purple as a beet as he hissed and cursed. “Do you know who I work for? _Do you know who I work for?_ ”

“No, but you will tell me all about it later on…” the cop replied, his voice calm and collected even though he was still trying to catch his breath.

Akihito was already snapping his fair share of pictures of the angry wrongdoer struggling to get rid of the handcuffs when the cop stopped by his side.

“Good job, Takaba-san!” he whispered.

“Call me Akihito,” the photographer responded, without averting his gaze from his viewfinder. “Takaba-san makes me feel old…”

Their eyes met for a second, and the cop’s small smile probably mirrored his.

“Fine...” the other man replied. “Feel free to call me Masa, by the way.”

With a quiet nod, the photographer continued to take pictures, until the detective spoke again.

“I called for reinforcements,” he said. “I should search their place for the drugs but I don’t really want to leave you alone with a guy like this…” Tanimura added, tilting his head towards the man still cursing on the floor.

Akihito scoffed. _What was it with people always thinking he was a damsel in distress?_

“I can take care of myself, you know?” he complained, with a slight frown.

“I’m sure you can.”

“Hey, Masa.”

The photographer had finally put his camera away, and was now approaching the detective with a malicious smirk on his lips.

“ _That’s not a g-string_ ,” he whispered into the man’s ear, just for the fun of seeing him blush all shades of red.

“Haha…” he chuckled nervously. “You noticed, huh?”

“Red boxer briefs, how could I not?” Akihito replied, laughing heartily as he returned the pants to their rightful owner. “You should probably put those back on before your team gets here.”

++++

**_7:47 pm - Tokyo - Sion headquarters_ **

 

Kirishima Kei lifted his eyes to the door of his office just in time to see a very pale Shinada standing in front of his desk, his clothes soaking wet.

“Shinada?” he asked, looking at the bodyguard over the rim of his glasses. “What’s the matter?”

“Kirishima-sama!” Shinada exclaimed, bending in such an extravagant bow that the secretary couldn’t help but frown. “Please, allow me to at least write a letter to my mother, she lives in the countryside and she has no idea of what I do for a living, the last time we talked I was still a professional baseball player, she doesn’t even know I was in the adult entertainment industry for a while, that would be too much of a disappointment but I want her to be prepared for it, I made sure to save most of my salary so that she c-”

“Shinada,” Kirishima interrupted. “Stop.”

The expression on the bodyguard’s face was a mix of resignation and horror.

“Now, in _few_ words,” Kirishima said, making sure to stress the word ‘few’, “tell me, what is the matter?”

He watched as Shinada cleared his throat, and pushed away a strand of wet brown hair away from his eyes.

“Asami-sama is going to kill me.”

The secretary was about to shake his head when realization hit him, and he jumped from his chair so fast it nearly tumbled backwards.

“ _What happened to Takaba Akihito?_ ” he asked, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

For Heaven’s sake, he did not need to receive that kind of bad news. He _would not be able_ to deal with that kind of bad news.

“He is alive, and fine, he is doing great,” Shinada was quick to rectify, and the secretary let out a very obvious sigh of relief. “But… but he and the cop…”

Kirishima, once again, found himself frowning.

“He and the cop…” Shinada repeated, shaking his head. The man sounded like a broken record, and the suspense was beginning to get on the secretary’s nerves. “They… Asami-sama told me not to engage, but I think I should have engaged, how can this be any good… Takaba-san and the cop… They…”

“They _what_ , Shinada?” Kirishima snarled. “Just say it, you are not making things any better.”

He saw the bodyguard open and close his mouth multiple times, until he reached for a slim folder inside a plastic bag tucked inside his coat.

“Page six,” he replied, his voice low and defeated as he slid the report across the secretary’s desk. “It’s all there.”

++++

**_3:05 pm - Yokohama - Takaba Akihito’s apartment building - rooftop_ **

 

“I like your style,” Akihito said, as soon as the two of them reached the rooftop of his building in Yokohama. “Chaotic. Disorganized. Counting on the element of surprise,” he chuckled, after wiping away happy tears.

He was still having a hard time believing that man had gone on a drug bust wearing no pants.

“Yeah, at least you gotta admit,” Tanimura replied, passing him a can of soda, also laughing. “It works.”

“It does…”

When their laughter died down, Akihito found himself staring at the city below, lost in his own thoughts.

“Thanks for driving me home,” he said quietly.

“My pleasure.”

“I can’t believe I forgot to bring my keys…” Akihito added, his eyebrows arched in a pained expression. “Are you sure you wanna wait until Kou gets back? It might take a while.”

“Sure,” the cop replied, shrugging. “It’s not as if I have anywhere to be before 7 anyway…”

“How is your hand?”

The detective shrugged, lifting his bandaged, swollen fingers.

“Numb,” he replied. “I’m amazed they didn’t break…”

The photographer nodded in agreement.

That drug bust had been quite chaotic, just as he liked it. As a matter of fact, it had been a long time since he had felt this alive doing his work…

Sure, he knew that being a freelancer meant he had to count on other less exciting gigs to make ends meet… Catalogue shoots, fashion events, parties… Weddings were great but every now and then he missed that rush of adrenaline…

“So…” he heard Tanimura say, after clearing his throat. “Azumi Ryouko, is she an acquaintance of yours?”

“Hmm?”

He turned to look at the detective, and noticed he was shifting on his feet.

“Is she… an ex-girlfriend or something?” Tanimura asked, without looking at him in the eye.

“ _Girlfriend?_ ” Akihito asked, his face scrunched up as he scoffed. “Pfff, no. No,”

 _Not his,_ anyway.

“Nothing like that,” he whispered, after taking another large gulp of his soda to wash down his bitterness. “I mean…” he continued, clearing his throat as he tried to steer the conversation on a different direction than the one his mind was leading him to. “It’s been a while since I last went out with a girl.”

“So you like girls too?”

Akihito raised an eyebrow.

“‘ _Too?_ ’” he asked. “Why, do _you_ like girls?”

“No, no,” the detective replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I meant, are you… _bisexual?_ ”

The photographer felt the tips of his ears had just gotten really hot. He had never been asked that question, and he was no sure he knew how to answer it.

“Uh…” he started. “I never stopped to think about it, really.”

He clutched the can of soda as if his life depended on it, staring at his own hands as he spoke.

“But I remember hanging out with my friends when I was younger and we would all hit on girls at the beach. I fooled around, got on with a couple of them…” he said. “But Kou and Takato were always so… aroused and excited thinking about boobs and stuff and I… _wasn’t_ ,” he chuckled nervously, fully aware he was blushing. “I guess I just tagged along. I mean, if my friends were doing it, then I should be doing it too, right?”

He took the can to his lips and tipped it slightly, only to find out it was already empty.

“So yeah, I dated a few girls back in the day,” he continued, after clearing his throat again. “I was not repulsed by them or anything, but I just…” he paused, trying to find the words to explain why his relationship with the opposite sex was never that great. “I...I had a hard time getting… _in the mood_ , if you know what I mean.”

When he finally lifted his eyes to the detective’s face, he saw him nodding quietly, his lips slightly curved in a sympathetic smile.

“It didn’t occur to me that I could be gay…” Akihito continued, after another chuckle. “I just thought I had low sex drive. Not much of a problem.”

“When did you find out?” Tanimura asked, after crossing his arms.

“That I liked guys?” the photographer asked, feeling one of his eyes twitch.

He knew very well _when_ , and _with whom_ , he had come to that life-altering realization.

That, however, was a part of the story he had no intentions whatsoever of revisiting.

“It just happened,” he whispered, turning around to look at the street below again. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Much to his relief, the man by his side chose not to press into the matter any further.

“What about you?” Akihito asked, casting a sideways glance towards the detective.

“I think I always knew,” he replied, quietly. “I didn’t have many friends when I was younger so I spent a lot of time alone… just figured out that every time I fantasized about sex there was never a woman in it, so that had to mean something, right?” he chuckled. “I guess I was 16 when I kissed a guy for the first time.”

The photographer turned around again, and leaned against the wall behind them as he listened to the other man speak.

“But very few people know up to this day. I haven’t exactly… come out, so to speak,” Tanimura continued, his light brown eyes clouded with a melancholic shadow. “I don’t think I ever will, if I do I will probably lose my job,” he chuckled sadly. “I mean, of course people know when you are going out with a guy, they talk… But as long as you don’t make it official they let you off the hook.”

Akihito nodded silently.

He hadn’t exactly come out either. Other than his closest friends, no one else knew of his involvement with Asami... Even though he doubted his job as a freelance photographer would suffer much of a blow with that kind of revelation, he knew that at least his parents would be sorely disappointed… As an only child, he knew they were counting on him to get married and give them grandkids.

That was something his father, at least, made sure to remind him of every time they talked.

“To all due purposes, you might just be confused or “experimenting”,” the cop continued. “As long as you don’t frustrate their expectations that you will eventually get married to a woman and give them beautiful Japanese babies… You’re safe.”

Akihito let his gaze drop to the floor.

Part of him had never actually thought about settling down - he was too young for that. He had too many things to do, too many places to see… And then, after three years with Asami, he had finally started considering that possibility, even though he knew it was a one-sided project…

_Maybe it was really not meant to be._

“B-But the kids in your orphanage know,” he said, in an attempt to change the topic when the corners of his eyes started prickling. “Did you tell them?”

He averted his eyes to the detective’s face, just in time to see a small smile curl the corners of his mouth.

“The older girl, Leika? The one you met yesterday?”

“Yeah?” Akihito replied.

“She’s 14,” Tanimura replied. “She came to me the other day, to ask if it was normal that all her friends wanted to go out with boys but she didn’t,” he explained. “I could have lied, but… I don’t want them growing up thinking they are worse than others just because they are different, you know?” he whispered, before chuckling quietly. “I know it’s very rich of someone that never came out to say that, but I don’t want them to be ashamed of who they are.”

The thunder rolling in the distance made the two of them look at the dark clouds above for a second.

“So I told her,” the detective continued, ignoring the first thick raindrops falling from the sky. “I told her there was nothing wrong with her. Maybe she would want to go out with boys later, maybe she never would. Some girls liked girls, some boys liked boys,” he paused, pointing at himself, “some people liked both and some people didn’t like either. They were all good.”

Akihito nodded quietly, a small smile on his lips as he closed his eyes and tilted his chin upwards, welcoming the cool rain.

When he opened his eyes again, he noticed the detective was staring at him, his own clothes soaking wet.

“Do you ever feel lonely?” the photographer asked quietly as he studied the light brown eyes in front of him, full of purpose and strength, but showing a distinct trace of sadness.

Loneliness was something he had come to recognize very quickly - in himself and in others.

“Yeah,” the other man whispered, his gaze dropping to the floor for a second before they darted back to his face. “Do you?”

Akihito gave a thoughtful nod in response, pursing his lips as he followed Tanimura’s eyes travel to his wrist.

He felt like a giant lump had gotten stuck in his throat. He knew where that was going, and he needed to tell him the truth before they both made a mistake.

“Looking for this?” he asked, his voice low and serious as he fished the bracelet he had been given as a gift the night before from one of his pockets, water dripping from the tip of his nose as the rain grew thicker. “Sorry, I took it out before we met today, I…”

The man’s expectant stare was not helping.

 _Why was he so nervous?  
_ “Uh... Tani- _Masa_ …” he corrected. “You've been very honest with me so far so... I think I should be honest with you too,” Akihito whispered.

He forced himself to draw in a long breath, raking his fingers through his wet hair as he shifted on his feet.

“There's someone else,” he said, his eyes dropping to the floor. “We are not...together anymore, but I haven't forgotten him,” he added, his voice slightly shaky as he chuckled. “I don't know if I ever will."  
“Ok.”

As he spoke, Tanimura closed the distance between them, mere inches separating their bodies.

Unaware of his own intentions, the photographer let his eyes travel to the other man’s soaking shirt, now clinging tightly to his muscular chest, and his breath hitched.

“S-So…” he stuttered, his body reacting to their proximity in ways that he couldn’t control. “I’m... I'm not sure what you expect of this,” he whispered, his finger moving back and forth in the tiny gap between them, “but I don't think I can give you what you deserve.”

_That was as honest as it could get._

His eyes were probably as apologetic as his voice, although he feared he was sending all sorts of mixed signs as he bit his lower lip, shuddering rather visibly when the detective cupped the back of his head.

“Let me be the judge of that,” was the last thing Akihito heard, before Tanimura’s lips covered his.

++++

“And so, they kissed,” Kirishima said, taking off his glasses with a frown. “Honestly, you made such a big deal I was expecting something much worse…”

The secretary wiped the lenses with a handkerchief, and put the glasses back on after clearing his throat. The truth was, that kiss in itself might be enough to send his boss crashing into a downward spiral of fury, but all things considered-

“There’s more,” Shinada announced, derailing the secretary’s train of thought. “On… on the back.”

Kirishima let out a disheartened sigh as he turned the page.

 _Of course there was more…_ When it rained, it poured.

++++

**_3:35 pm - Yokohama - Takaba Akihito’s apartment building - rooftop_ **

 

The photographer was slightly out of breath when Tanimura finally let go.

His lips were throbbing, just like another part of his body.

The thoughts running through his head were a jumble, and something inside him just wanted him to step back but it had been too long… It felt good to be touched again, it felt good to be wanted, to be looked at like that.

“Are you okay with this?” he heard the other man whisper, his voice so husky and low that Akihito felt it vibrate it inside his ear like an intimate, warm caress.

“Hmm?” he asked, unsure of what the other man was referring to.

“Are you okay with kissing?”

“Yeah,” the photographer answered, his hands gripping the cop’s shirt for good measure. “Yeah.”

The second time they kissed, Akihito found himself unconsciously bringing Tanimura’s body closer to his, the warmth of his chest seeping through their soaked clothes as rain poured down heavier than ever.

He felt fingers closing tightly around his hair as the kiss deepened, a second before the cop’s other hand found its way under his T-shirt, sliding across his chest until his fingertips brushed against one of his nipples.

Akihito’s eyes shot open.

_Maybe they were going too fast?_

“Can I kiss you here too?” he heard Tanimura ask, his low, throaty voice once again piercing his ear as his fingers circled the tender, pinkish flesh.

_But when had he **not** gone too fast, anyway?_

When their eyes met, the photographer nodded his permission, biting his lower lip when the other man bent down and pulled his T-shirt up to expose his bare skin.

Another loud thunder made him jump slightly. Of all days, the storm had to come the one time he had gotten himself locked out of his apartment...

The soft, slow licks were making his heart pound so fast he barely noticed one of the cop’s hands had moved to the very noticeable bulge in his pants.

“Here?” he heard Tanimura ask, his voice barely audible past the loud, heavy rain.

_That was **decidedly** going too fast._

“Can I?” he asked again, licking his lips, the vein on his neck throbbing so violently Akihito had no doubts whatsoever as to what he would find when his eyes dropped to the man’s groin.

He was probably just as hard as him.

 _‘Stop,’_ said a voice inside his head.

 _‘No,’_ he mentally replied.

“Akihito?”

The hazel eyes were darting back and forth, as if hurrying his mind and body to come to a consensus.

_‘It’s too soon.’_

_‘Do it.’_

Apparently, there would be none.

His hands moved from the man’s arms to his head, his fingers pushing the wet, slick strands of brown hair away from the flushed cheeks before pulling him up, towards his own lips.

“Y-Yeah,” he finally replied, covering Tanimura’s mouth with his as slender fingers unbuckled his belt and pulled down the zipper of his jeans.

It all felt like an alternate reality.

His vision was blurred when the detective kneeled in front of him, and he threw his head back when the warmth of his mouth engulfed him, eyes shut tight as thunder rolled louder and closer with each passing minute.

When he opened his eyes again, the rain was so thick and heavy he could barely see what was going on around him.

One thing he could see with blinding clarity, though, and he gasped.

On his knees, a taller man with strands of jet black hair falling in front of his eyes was staring at him as he took his length into his mouth, the golden orbs showing that same erotic expression that always made his blood boil.

_Asami._

Akihito closed his eyes again, thrusting his hips forward as his heart jumped inside his chest, his mind so full of memories that his senses no longer could distinguish reality from dream, and he had to wonder if any of that was happening at all.

The scent of Asami’s cologne filling his nostrils could not be real, and yet, it was there, just like everything else.

His touch, his voice, his mouth...

 _He was not there,_ but he had never left.

When he finally felt the familiar tingle of orgasm hit him, he realized he hadn’t even given Tanimura proper warning.

“Shit,” he hissed, trying to push the man away, but to no avail. The strong hands on his hips made sure he remained exactly where he was.

Akihito had no strength to fight back, so he squeezed his eyes and gritted his teeth when the inevitable wave made him jerk forward once, twice, countless times.

Slowly but surely, he descended from his orgasmic heights, and the realization of had just happened began to dawn on him.

“Are you okay?” he heard Tanimura ask, after wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb, his voice loaded with concern. “You look pale.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in response. “I… I drifted away for a moment…”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“I’m so sorry,” the photographer mumbled, the embarrassment making blood rush to his face.

He had come thinking of Asami, he was _the worst!_ He could barely look at the other man in the eye- if only the ground would open and swallow him...

“It’s okay...” Tanimura whispered, his fingers gently stroking the back of his neck.

“No,” Akihito replied, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.”

When he raised his gaze to the other man’s face, his eyes were fierce and determined.

If he was going to be with another man, then he would _do it right._

“I… Can I have a do-over?” he asked, with a semi-smile.

“Now?” the detective asked, looking confused.

“No, later.”

“I work the night shift tonight...” Tanimura replied, with an apologetic grimace.

“It doesn’t have to be today, I-”

“Hey.”

Before he could finish his sentence, the cop had pressed his thumb against his lips.

“Relax,” he whispered, his light brown eyes shining with peaceful contentment. “I’m not in a hurry.”

A quick glance towards the man’s groin, however, showed that a certain part of his body was probably feeling terribly neglected.

“Let me h-” Akihito whispered, reaching down to touch Tanimura’s straining erection, just to have his hand gently pushed away.

“You don’t need to,” the cop replied, his voice still calm and collected although his fingers were slightly shaky. “I can take care of that later.”

“No,“ Akihito responded, his voice firm and serious as he stared at the other man’s face.

He had been enjoying their time together, even though his mind had set him up for failure at some point…

He wanted to make Tanimura feel good too.

“I want to do it,” he whispered, his hands moving to the fly of the cop’s pants while still staring at the other man’s face and his widening pupils, blown back with desire.

“Go ahead,” the detective whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “But I must warn you that I’m very close already…”

With a smirk, Akihito pulled the cop into another searing kiss.

That time, no voices inside his head were telling him what to do.

++++

“Shinada,” Kirishima muttered upon reaching the end of the page. “Your narrative is way too colorful, do you really think your boss wants to read about this damn cop’s _“erect penis”_?” he snarled, picking up a marker and crossing out words as his eyes scanned the report one more time. “For crying out loud, you will get us both killed...”

“The boss said he wants all the details!” the bodyguard argued.

“Yes, but not _that_ kind of detail!” the first assistant retorted, with a deep, concerned frown. “Frankly, I think I have been given too much information about body parts and… fluids… Where _exactly_ where you positioned to see all that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Across the street, on another rooftop.”

“And you could see all that, even with the rain?”

“I was using binoculars…” Shinada replied, still looking like a man who was ready to walk the plank.

“My goodness…” Kirishima muttered, crossing out all words that referred to male genitalia, and then moving on to scratching out entire sentences. “No… no…” he said, as his pen moved on the surface of the paper. “No, _definitely not_ …”

When he was done, the two pages were almost entirely covered in black ink.

“I will rewrite this,” he announces, snapping the folder closed. “All Asami-sama needs to know is that they engaged in intimate contact. Namely, a blowjob and a handjob.”

The words made Shinada wince, and even Kirishima felt the urge to cringe.

“And may the gods have mercy on us when he reads it,” he whispered, before drawing in a long breath. “Where is Takaba-san now?”

“He headed to Majima Makoto’s house,” Shinada replied quietly. “There are three operatives keeping guard outside.”

The secretary leaned back on his chair, his thoughts running wild.

Neither Takaba nor the girl should leave home until the Omi had been taken care of… Preferably, they both should be relocated to a place where no one would be able to find them…

But, for now, they would have to worry about his boss not losing whatever had been left of his sanity after reading about his favorite photographer’s… _adventures._

++++

Suoh Kazumi took a large gulp of the fifth cup of coffee he had poured himself that evening.

There was still a lot of work to be done.

“Suoh-sama?” said one of his team members, as soon as he walked into the surveillance room of Sion. “Shinada is here.”

“Good, tell him to wait at my office,” the Head of Security replied. “Have you found out anything about the suspicious vehicle in Yokohama?”

“The license plate is not registered under any prefecture, sir,” the man replied. “But we requested the Yokohama train station to grant us access to their surveillance files and I believe you will want to see this.”

Without asking questions, Suoh followed the other man to his desk.

“This is Hayashi Kazuki,” the shorter man said, pointing to a tall, blond man getting out of a black BMW. “When he opens the door, you can see there is another man on the backseat.”

“I can’t see his face,” Suoh replied, squinting at the computer screen.

“I know, that is why we had to access the surveillance camera of this convenience store over here,” the operative continued, the tip of his finger pinpointing the exact location of the camera,  “so that we could get a clearer angle…”

“Wait.”

Suoh took a step closer to the desk, his jaw slacking slightly when he finally recognized the other man in the car.

“Is that…”

“Yes, it is him. We ran a facial recognition software just to be sure,” the man next to him replied. “ _Mikhail Arbatov_.”

 

 


	41. Bite the bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maya decides to confess her feelings for Kou, but things don’t go according to plan. At Makoto Majima’s house, Akihito finds out one of Asami’s men is in for the surprise of a lifetime, while in Sion Kirishima and Shinada brace themselves for their boss’s rage when a certain report is revealed.
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost: sorry for the delay. My plan was to update three days ago and then today again - let’s just say I’ll have to settle for a 50% success rate this time! XD
> 
> A warning: the first part of this chapter is Maya-heavy, and yes, I am aware that right now she is not exactly a beloved character. Still, she is central to this story, and I do want to take a moment to explain why I made her the way she is: I didn’t want her to be a “natural-born badass” just because she inherited 23 chromosomes from Asami Ryuichi. She is a very smart, but imperfect, 21-year old girl with a strong sense of justice, who is also struggling with common issues like identity, heartbreak and acceptance, among other things. But worry not: the Asamis will show surprising strength in their darkest hours - hopefully you will like her better by then. ;)
> 
> As I said before, this story is also about family. What happens to Maya in the upcoming chapters is, in a way, what will eventually bring Akihito and Asami back together, so please bear with me because there is a sequence of events that need to happen before they get to their much deserved happy ending.

 

**_Earlier that morning…_ **

Three soft knocks on the door made Maya choke on the coffee she was sipping.

“Shit…” she whispered, putting down her mug and looking for her keys amidst a pile of books she had just dumped on the couch.

_What the hell?_

She glanced through the peephole, and frowned when her eyes fell upon a tall, slim man wearing skinny jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt, his shoulder-length black hair tied up in a man bun.

“Who are you?” she asked, while scanning the room next to her in search for anything she could use as a weapon.

“Mine,” the man replied, his eyes still covered by wayfarer sunglasses. “Your new bodyguard.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” she replied, her voice loud and clear, even though her fingers were shaking slightly.

“Yes, Asami-sama advised you might say that.”

“What?”

She glanced at the peephole again, just to see the man was now talking on the phone.

In a matter of seconds, she felt her own mobile buzz inside her pocket.

**_Asami_ **

“Look, I-” she started, after looking at the caller ID.

 _“Let Mine in,”_ the man on the other side promptly interrupted. _“You are being followed. I just got a report saying there was a car from Osaka parked in front of your apartment a few minutes ago.”_

“I can take care of myself,” Maya insisted, unwilling to admit the obvious.

_“Maya, listen to me.”_

She tilted her head upwards, shoulders stiffening as she waited for the first blow. That tension, that knot in her throat every time she heard that voice, was pretty much a learnt response, something she couldn’t really control.

 _“If you want to be mad at me, go ahead. You have cause to be,”_ she heard the baritone voice say, his tone still stern but somehow softer than usual. _“You are welcome to try and hit me in any way you see fit, but this is not the time to be reckless.”_

She gulped, holding the phone closer to her ear.

 _”The people that are looking for you… They are dangerous,”_ the man continued, taking a brief pause. _“I don’t want you to get hurt.”_

Those words made her draw in a long, slow breath, and she allowed them to wrap around her chest like a soothing, warm blanket. In times like those, she could almost forget that the bond between them was nothing but an _‘unfortunate biological connection’._

“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly.

 _“Don’t shake Mine off,”_ the man on the other side of the line replied. _“Let him go wherever you go, he is only a few years older than you so he can pass like one of your classmates. Let him do his job.”_

She nodded quietly in response, temporarily forgetting they were talking on the phone.

 _“Do what he asks. If he asks you to stay home, you stay home,”_ he added. _“Do you understand?”_

“Yes,” she answered, without a moment of hesitation.

For what felt like endless seconds, they both remained in silence, as if the conversation had already come to an end but neither of them truly wanted to end the call.

 _“Take care,”_ her father finally said, before hanging up.

“You take care too,” she whispered, before putting her phone away and unlocking the door. “Come in,” she said, as the tall man finally walked into her apartment and took his sunglasses off, before bowing respectfully.  “I’ll just grab my bag.”

++++

It was many hours later when she finally made it back to Yokohama, with her newest shadow keeping track of her every movement.

If anything, she would have to concede that guy Mine knew how to mingle. At some point, she had even started thinking the man was really just another one of her classmates…

Upon reaching the front door of her apartment, she found a very distracted, and very wet, Takaba Akihito sitting on the floor.

“Oi, Akihito?”

“Hey…” the photographer replied, his voice distant.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “You’re soaking wet…”

“Yeah, it was raining some time ago,” he answered, bringing himself to a standing position with a strange smile on his lips. “And I had left my keys inside, so…”

Maya raised an eyebrow when he shrugged, scratching his neck with a very noticeable blush creeping up his cheeks.

Her gaze automatically followed his hand, only to find the very obvious marks of... _love bites_?

“Ah, ok,” she muttered, as she opened the door. “And you were alone here, waiting?”

The lack of response made her turn around.

“Masa stopped by earlier,” she heard him reply, while clearly avoiding her eyes.

That would be a moment to extract a confession, to tease Akihito to no end, until he finally admitted he and the detective had made out. It had been her idea, after all, to introduce them to each other after deliberately preventing her own father to reach the photographer - shouldn’t she be pleased that things had finally taken off?

Instead, she found herself faking a smile, the guilt inside her chest leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Nice…” she whispered, putting away her bag and the stash of books she was carrying.

“By the way, did Kou tell you?” the photographer said, after clearing his throat. “He got a promotion.”

“Oh,” she replied faintly, her forehead wrinkling slightly as she double checked her phone.

No, Kou had not told her. He hadn’t even answered the messages she had sent him earlier that day...

“He texted me a while ago…” Akihito added, before heading to the bathroom.

“Great,” Maya replied, trying to hide her disappointment with another fake smile. “Uh… Listen, Aki...can we talk?”

She flexed her fingers when one of her eyes twitched nervously. It would suck, he would certainly hate her, but that horrible feeling at the pit of her stomach every time she remembered her own actions that night was something she could no longer put up with.

_She had to tell him the truth._

“Sure,” he replied, frowning slightly as he studied her face. “Can I take a shower first?”

“Yeah! Yeah…” she replied, staring at the floor after a casual chuckle that she hoped would hide her nervousness. “I’ll go to the store real quick.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.”

In no time, she was out on the streets again, and Mine had reappeared next to her to wrap an arm around her waist.

“Whoa, hold the- What are you doing?” she snarled, trying to push the man’s arm away.

“Just play along,” he whispered.

“The fuck, man, that’s _not_ part of your job!” she replied, her voice low and serious as her eyes darted around, trying to locate any hidden threats.

“My job is to keep you safe,” he whispered back. “And right now, whoever is following you needs to see you are not alone.”

“Next time just give me proper warning,” she added, a fake, friendly smile curving the corners of her mouth as they walked casually towards a small shop on the other side of the street.

“I had no time, were you trying to shake me off?”

Her bitter glare was enough of a response.

As they browsed the tiny clothing store, Maya frowned, scoffing as often as she could. _Of course she had tried to shake him off._ Even though she had promised she would behave, there was a part of her that would never accept to be kept in a cage, even if it was for her own safety.

Her bodyguard finally agreed to give her some privacy as she grabbed a handful of small cards and headed to a small table tucked in the far end of the shop, a square box with a big red bow firmly secured under her arm.

After taking a deep breath, she picked a pen and set off to write her first attempt.

_‘Kou, hi! Congratulations for your promotion.’_

_So far, so good._

_‘I’m sorry, I’m not good at saying some things, or writing them.’_

“Uhh… Lame,” she muttered, tearing the card in half and retrieving a blank one from her pocket.

_‘Kou, I’ll go straight to the point: I think I fell in love with you._

_But I’m afraid that I will get attached to you and you will leave.’_

She winced at her own words, but continued nevertheless.

_‘It would not be the first time._

_It’s easier if I just say you are a friend I get to fuck eventually.’_

She scoffed.

“Woe is me, pretty much?” she whispered, a derisive smirk on her lips as she tore the card and put it aside. “Gee… That was pathetic.”

_‘Kou,’_

She took a deep breath, biting the end of the pen with a thoughtful expression.

_‘Did you know I used to wear braces and thick-as-fuck glasses in high school, and I never got invited to anything? I was not a cool kid._

_But I am a cool girl now, wanna hook up?’_

“‘ _Hook up’_ , what the hell?!” she hissed, frowning as she discarded yet another card.

Her phone took that exact moment to buzz inside the pocket of her jeans.

**_‘Akihito sent you a message! Swipe to read’_ **

“Damn!” she whispered. “I must have lost track of time…”

**_‘Hey, Maya! I have an appointment in Shinjuku. Need to leave in 10 mins. You coming back home?’_ **

With an unhappy sigh, she typed her response.

**_‘That’s ok. We’ll talk when you get back.’_ **

She doubted they would be done in 10 minutes, anyway, and the content of that conversation was likely to ruin whatever appointment came next…

Her shoulders drooped in defeat when she looked at the blank card in front of her.

“I don't know how to do this…” she whispered, scratching her neck.

_One last try._

_‘Hey baby…’_

_Baby._

_‘You must be Lion 10.7 OS X because you got me feeling so unstable…’_

The girl chuckled at the nerdy joke.

_‘Is your name Wi-fi? Because I’m really feeling a connection…’_

She put the pen down, stole a final glance at her own handwriting, and threw the small card away along with all the others she had cut in half.

“Well, cards are not gonna fly…” she muttered to herself. “Guess I’ll have to say it.”

Sounded like a terrifying idea, but Kou was drifting away… Maybe she could make things better by letting him know how she really felt about him?

Still lost in thought, Maya barely realized she and her bodyguard had already reached the front door to her apartment.

She drew in a long breath, and stepped inside.

_It was time to bite the bullet._

++++

Kou slammed the refrigerator door closed, cursing quietly at the can of soda in his hand.

He was such an idiot.

He should have accepted the fact he and Maya would never be a thing - she was way out of his league. She had always been very clear about not wanting a relationship, joke was on him for falling in love.

He snorted.

Even Akihito had told him to be careful. Akihito, of all people! The one person that always seemed to dive head first in unknown waters…

Seeing the girl walk down the street with that...ridiculously gorgeous man that had picked her up in the morning felt like a knife had just been twisted into his chest.

_It was time to bite the bullet._

When the front door opened, and the girl walked in, smiling and carrying a box under her arm, he had to will his heart to slow down.

Why did she have to have the most amazing smile ever?

“Hi,” he said, after clearing his throat.

“Hey,” she replied, taking a seat next to him on the couch. “I heard you got a promotion?”

“Yeah.”

“I got you a gift.”

“Oh…”

His fingers were slightly shaky as he undid the bow, and opened the box to retrieve the stylish grey trilby inside.

“A hat?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected gift. “Thanks.”

“Congratulations.”

He nodded quietly, clearing his throat as he gathered the nerve to ask the one question that had been bothering him since the beginning of the day.

“Who's the guy that came to pick you up this morning?”

Slowly, he raised his gaze to her face, and was surprised to realize she continued to smile.

“Oh. Mine,” she replied, her voice casual and calm. “Sorry, I had to leave earlier than usual, didn't have much time for introductions,” she explained. “He's my new bodyguard.”

“Who hired him?”

“Asami.”

“I see…”

He shook his head, biting his lip as an unexplainable wave of anger swept through him. He could at least say he knew the girl well enough to know she hated being followed around, let alone by someone sent by her estranged father.

The idea that she was taking him for a fool made his blood boil.

“Strange,” he said, his pitch slightly higher than usual. “I didn't know you and your father were getting along now.”

He didn’t look at the girl’s face, but noticed her tilting her head sideways, as if looking at him in surprise.

“He is very good looking, this… Mine,” he whispered.

“What,” he heard Maya scoff. “Are you jealous?”

_And now she was making fun of him…_

“Me?” he asked, after finally raising his eyes to her face. “Nah.”

The golden eyes were narrowed, the smile on her lips long gone.

“What?” she asked.

“You're free to sleep with whomever you want,” he said, after a shrug. “It's not as if we have anything serious, anyway.”

The words were cutting through his throat like razors, but he was able to continue staring into Maya’s strong, fierce eyes, which seemed intent on looking into his very soul.

“You think... I'm sleeping with him?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, are you?” Kou asked, his pitch once again giving away his nervousness. “By now he must have spent more time with you than you had spent with me before we had sex for the first time.”

It might have been just his impression, but for a second he could have sworn he saw hurt in the golden eyes. And then, it was gone, replaced by the usual confidence and pride.

“Oh,” he heard the girl say, a small smirk curling the corners of her mouth. “I see.”

“Maya, I'm sorry, but I can't do this,” he continued, after letting out a long, saddened sigh. “I can't...pretend I'm okay with us having sex whenever you feel like it, then pretending to be just friends when you have other things in your mind.”

He gulped on his soda, if only not to make a fool of himself and turn on the waterworks in front of the girl.

“I don't know how to feel,” he added. “And I don't like...feeling like this. I'm sorry.”

When he raised his eyes to hers, he saw her expression remained unchanged, not a single muscle of her face revealing sadness, anger, or relief.

It reminded him of how Maya could be impossibly hard to read sometimes.

“It's okay,” she finally said, still smirking. “I will...book a hotel room. Then look for another place.”

“No, no, don't be absurd,” he interjected. “If anything, I'm the one that should go.”

“No. No way,” the girl insisted, shaking her head. “Aki needs his friend.”

“You are his friend too.”

“You are a better friend.”

After a brief moment of silence, the girl stood up, and pointed to her own room.

“I am…” she trailed off, rubbing her thighs as she moved away. “Yeah.”

She was about to disappear behind the door when she turned around.

“Tell Akihito to call me when he gets back, yeah?” she said, her voice slightly shaky despite her still blank expression.

He nodded in agreement, unaware that despite the spring in her step as she closed the door behind her, the first thing Maya would do as soon as she was alone in her room was to turn on the waterworks herself as she packed her bags.

++++

Suoh Kazumi had just taken a seat around the large table at Sion’s main conference room, with Kirishima and Shinada by his side, when the phone on the table started ringing.

_“Suoh-sama?”_

A young male voice echoed in the room as soon as the Head of Security pressed a button.

“Mine?”

 _“Hayashi-kun is moving,”_ the bodyguard replied, after a long sigh.

“Say _what?_ ” Kirishima asked, leaning forward to stare at the phone, his eyes wide as two saucers. “Moving where?”

 _“She said she will spend a few nights at the Sunroute Plaza in Shinjuku,”_ Mine answered. _“And then look for a studio or something.”_

“But I was about to set up a base in Yokohama!” Suoh exclaimed.

“Well,” Kirishima whispered, a concerned frown wrinkling his forehead as he spoke. “You will still need it for Takaba-san, anyway…”

The blond man snorted, and ended the call after thanking Mine for the update.

“What is it with people that refuse to stay put when everything is going to shit….” he complained shortly after. “Asami-sama is not going to be happy to learn the girl is back in Tokyo.”

“They talked on the phone today,” Kirishima said, after leaning back on his chair. “The Sunroute Plaza is just five minutes away from Sion. You know what that means?”

Apparently, Suoh didn’t, and neither did Shinada, who didn’t even know why the girl had so much protection around her.

“She wants to be close to him,” the secretary added, throwing a sideways glance towards the Takaba Akihito’s bodyguard, who seemed to understand very well he was not supposed to ask questions.

“Yeah, yeah…” Suoh replied, unwilling to comment any further with Shinada still in the room. The less he knew, the better.

He remained quiet as the three of them waited for their boss to join them, thinking about the latest developments and all the logistic changes that the man’s daughter moving to Tokyo would require… On one hand, it was a good thing that their operatives would be closer to the headquarters, but on the other… Tokyo was definitely not the safest place to be at the moment.

But, what could he do? War tended to bring people together, even if the people, in that case, were a father and a daughter that had been fighting and avoiding each other for so many years… He understood the girl’s unexpected proximity, but his boss’s paternal instincts had taken him off guard.

Could it really be that strong, that thing they called parental bond?

_What did he know…_

_‘To think that at some point of my life I wanted to have kids of my own…’_ he thought to himself, his gaze distant and vacant as he tapped his pen on the desk, imagining how that level of commitment to another human being would be completely incompatible with his lifestyle _. ‘What was I thinking…’_

++++

“Ugh,” Akihito snarled, when the Chinese man in front of him struck him once again with his ridiculously heavy wooden staff.

“Concentrate, Takaba-san!” he heard Wei Shen scream, before finally allowing to take a five minute break.

With his head still spinning and his sweaty T-shirt clinging to his back, he dragged his feet from the dojo to the kitchen, and helped himself to a glass of water that he emptied in two large gulps.

That was not how he had expected his evening to go when he headed to Majima Makoto’s house. All the self-defence training was fun and much needed in times like those, and at some point he was certain he would master the windpipe strike Shen was trying so hard to teach him, but...

He had come to that place because he needed _to talk._ Too bad for him that his counsellor was in a meeting and could not be interrupted - judging by the amount of black BMWs parked at her gate, it was not very difficult to guess it had something to do with the Tojo.

He let out a tired sigh, his mind strangely vacant as he looked at his own hands.

_What had happened that afternoon…_

Yes, he had been into it. It had felt good, and if Tanimura hadn’t needed to return to Tokyo at a certain point, he was positive they would have gone all the way…

Yet he couldn’t help but feel... _strange._

Why did he keep seeing Asami in flashes every time he closed his eyes? How long would it be until he finally managed to get that man out of his system?

Would he _ever_?

Did he _want_ to?

He let his forehead rest against the cold glass of the window, trying to forget the fact he still craved Asami’s warmth, his voice, those eyes, those hands, that-

_‘But at least Masa’s will be easier to take…’_

“I’m not sure I get it,” he heard a voice behind him say. “But then again, I suspect I am missing the entire context. Who is Masa?”

He whipped his head around, just to find Li Jiao leaning against the door as she crossed her arms.

“Li!”

“Akihito,” she said, a small smile curving her lips. “It’s good to see you again.”

He let out a smile of his own.

“It’s good to see you too,” he replied.

“So, who’s Masa?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. “And what will be easier to take?”

_He had said that aloud?!_

“Haha,” the photographer chuckled, filling another glass with water and hoping he would drown in it. “Nothing, I was just talking to myself…”

“Sure you were…” the woman whispered. “Sorry to hear his _attributes_ do not live up to your expectations.”

He spat out his drink, spraying enough water to cover half the kitchen.

“E-Excuse me?!” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes so wide they looked about to pop out of his head.

“Well, that is the only conclusion I could come to after hearing the words _‘that size’_ ”, she said, and Akihito noticed she was trying very hard not to laugh, “and then… the rest.”

The things about Asami... _Had he said them aloud too?!_

“T-That’s not it!” he exclaimed, his face so hot he was sure he had blushed a fierce shade of purple. “It-It’s not that kind of size!”

“Hey, cousin!”

Wei Shen’s voice made him lift his gaze from the floor, just in time to see the man touch Li Jiao’s lower belly with a wide grin on his face.

“How’s the little bean going?” he whispered, before his hand was unceremoniously slapped away.

“ _Cousin?_ ” Akihito asked, with a frown. “ _Little bean?_ ”

“Yes, Shen is my uncle’s son, unfortunately,” Li Jiao replied, baring her teeth to show her contempt.

The man merely blew her a kiss in return.

The photographer blinked slowly. That explained his first question. As to the second…

His gaze travelled to Li Jiao’s remarkably flat stomach. Nothing in her body seemed different, except the slightly dark bags under her eyes and the paleness of her skin…

“Li Jiao…” he started, memories of the woman’s recurring episodes of nausea while he was still in that house finally registering in his brain. “Are you… Are you _pregnant?_ ”

Wei Shen looked elated at the word, both eyebrows shooting up as he grinned.

Li Jiao, however, looked like someone who had just been called a very bad name and was ready to strike back.

“C-Congratulations?” he offered faintly, not sure as to what to make of the woman’s reaction.

“I’m not sure I’m keeping it,” was her curt response, her voice just as cold as her eyes.

“Yeah, _she is_ ,” Wei Shen replied, after emptying a glass of water himself and stopping by his side on his way to the door. “She even bought a crib already,” he whispered.

“Shut up, Wei!” the woman snarled.

“Just saying…”

Akihito waited until the other man had left the kitchen to speak again.

“Wait, is it _Suoh’s_?” he asked, his eyes going wide. “Does he know?”

The expression on Li Jiao’s face was one of rage mixed with the most absolute surprise.

“How do you-”

“Nah, never mind,” he said, the tip of his ears getting hot as he realized he would probably have to explain he had once seen the two of them going at it. His eyes went even wider at the memory - could he have accidentally witnessed that child’s conception? “H-How far along-”

“No, he doesn’t,” he heard the woman say, her eyes still burning dangerously. “And you are not telling, understand?”

“Sure…”

The photographer watched when she moved closer to the window herself, her anger slowly dissolving into something that looked a lot like sadness.

“You should head back to the dojo,” she whispered, without looking at him. “Wei is waiting for you.”

With a quiet nod, Akihito put his glass down, and headed to the room next door.

“Boy, she is really upset, isn't she?” he asked the other man, stealing a glance at the window to watch the Chinese woman walk towards a bench in the garden.

“Yeah...” Wei Shen replied, both hands on his hips as he looked out of the window as well, his eyes falling upon a man in a black suit that had just taken a seat next to Li Jiao. “Well… Something tells me she is about to get her act together really soon.”

++++

Dojima Daigo watched his ex-wife walk towards him with a small smile on his lips.

Almost ten years of their lives spent together… The same strong expression on her face, the same confidence in her stride, but the aura of sadness surrounding her made it clear she was not the same.

_Neither of them was._

“Did Majima-sama send you to try and talk to me?” she asked, smirking as she took a seat next to him on the bench.

“Yes. She is worried about your extremely sour mood,” he replied, after taking a long drag off his cigarette. “I hear you made five staff members cry today, is that so?

“Maybe…”

“You always had a quick temper…” he said, studying her face as he spoke. “And I always found that very attractive.”

His words made the woman lift her gaze from the floor to look at him.

“You look pale. Have you been eating?”

“Trying to,” she replied, crossing her arms.

“Upset stomach?”

Daigo saw her nod in silence, her eyes distant and empty.

“How far along are you?” he asked quietly.

“12 weeks,” she whispered, shifting on the seat. “Did she tell you?”

“No,” he answered, smashing what was left of his cigarette on an ashtray. “But I had a hunch when she told me about your mood swings...the morning sickness,” he explained. “I remember the symptoms.”

The muscles of her jaw flexed visibly as her nostrils flared.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Sometimes, when I close my eyes… And I try to remember his face… It’s hard,” she explained, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she tried to keep her voice steady. “I used to see him so clearly but now… it’s all foggy.”

He saw her chin tremble, forehead wrinkled as she wiped her eyes on the back of her arm and cleared her throat.

When she spoke again, her voice was ragged and shaky.

“I don’t want to forget him.”

“Li…” he whispered, reaching for her hand as he spoke. “You will not forget our son just because you’re having another child.”

In silence, she allowed him to squeeze her fingers reassuringly, the tears in her deep dark eyes threatening to spill, but being wiped away much before they could.

“We tried for three years. For three years,” she whispered. “And then they told us I could not get pregnant again…”

“They were clearly wrong.”

“And now I am carrying the child of a man I’ve known for three months,” she continued, a stubborn tear running down her cheek as she sniffled.

“Does he know?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head.

“When will you tell him?”

Li Jiao paused, and reached for a pack of tissues inside the pocket of her pants.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Daigo,” she explained, after another loud sniffle.

When she covered his hand with hers, he felt her fingers squeezing his, as in a silent scream for help.

“Back then, when Hideki… When he…” she paused, her voice nasal and weak as she swallowed, refusing to say that word that still haunted both of them. “All I wanted was to be a mother again. But now…” she shook her head, pursing her lips before continuing. “It’s too late. I’m old. I’ve changed. Things have changed,” she said, her eyes drifting to the multitude of cars parked far ahead, behind the gates. “Now is not the time.”

Daigo took that moment to wrap an arm around her shoulders. Even though they had gotten a divorce more than five years prior, it was a bittersweet feeling, to learn that she was carrying another man’s child…

It was almost like seeing another person have the future he wanted for himself.

“The best things in our lives happen when we are not expecting them,” he whispered. “Who would have thought I would have met a beautiful, hot-headed nurse on my first trip to China…” he continued, watching a small smile curl the corners of her mouth. “Who knew she would end up giving me a child…”

It was his turn to pause and take a long, deep breath.

“Even though things ended the way they did, the days I spent with you and Hideki are the best memories I have.”

After a long minute of silence, he saw her turn her head to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Daigo,” he heard Li whisper.

“Why?”

“For everything,” she replied, her strong dark eyes no longer glistening with tears. “For blaming you for what happened.”

“You had a point. They only ambushed us because I had become the Chairman of the Tojo.”

“No,” she whispered, one of her hands touching his face as she spoke. “What happened was _not your fault._ ”

Daigo Dojima let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and swallowed a lump in his throat.

He had never known how much he needed to hear those words, until they were finally said.

“I made you carry that burden alone,” she continued, and it was his turn to fight unwanted tears. “I’m sorry that we drifted apart.”

His eyes shifted to the sky above, and he waited until his heart was no longer beating as if it wanted to jump out of his mouth. He was not there to feel sorry for the things they had lost, but to help her look forward to the things that were yet to come.

“Things happen for a reason,” he said, after taking a deep breath. “Maybe a second child was always written into your future, but not into mine,” he explained, reaching for his pack of cigarettes as he spoke.

“Do you… remember what Hideki said when he met my little sister?” he asked, with a small, melancholic smile.

“He said he wanted a little sister too,” Li Jiao whispered in response.

The Chairman of the Tojo nodded silently, relieved to see her face was much more peaceful than it had been at the beginning of their conversation.

“Maybe this is a chance to grant him his wish,” he whispered, leading her fingers to his lips for a soft, loving kiss. “But it’s your decision,” he added, before standing up and lighting up a cigarette. “I will stand by you no matter what.”

“Thank you.”

He was about to walk back into the house when he stopped on his tracks and turned around to look at her face one last time, realizing that she was not the only one feeling better after that talk.

++++

“Sir!”

Kirishima was the last one to notice their boss entering the conference room. Shinada, on the other hand, had not only been the first one to jump from his seat to salute the taller man, but was also bowing so emphatically that the secretary feared his next step would be offering to kiss the soles of Asami-sama’s shoes.

He saw the precise moment in which the golden eyes narrowed at the bodyguard’s unusual behaviour, his nostrils flaring slightly as if detecting the smell of the other man’s fear.

“Where’s the report about Takaba?” the baritone voice asked, raising an eyebrow.

Kirishima had to stifle a gasp. Now they were both doomed, he and the former baseball player. _Stupid, stupid Shinada!_ He had urged the man to keep calm, to act as if nothing had happened, otherwise their boss’s incredibly sharp instincts would kick in as soon as he walked into that room...

“I-I haven’t finished typing it yet, sir,” Shinada replied, his eyes darting back and forth as he shook his leg nervously.

“Show me what you have so far,” their boss insisted, taking his seat with his usual, intimidating calm and confidence.

When the secretary looked at the bodyguard, he realized the man looked like a dog whose tail had gotten caught under someone’s foot. He was obviously trying his best not to look desperate, but failing considerably, as he opened and closed his mouth while pondering what words would cause the least damage.

“I-I,” he stuttered. “I think, I should probably…”

“I am helping Shinada with the formatting,” the secretary finally announced, and the glare he got in return made his hair stand on end.

 _‘Maintain eye contact,’_ he silently told himself, holding his boss’s fierce stare for seconds that felt like an eternity.

He knew that the moment he looked away, that man would go for his jugular.

_Maintain...eye...contact..._

“I don’t care about the formatting,” the low, deep voice replied, still staring at him without blinking. “I just want the _content_.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow.

Somehow, that man already knew that the small folder under his fingers was full of bitter updates.

“ _Kirishima?_ ”

Trying to make the man forget about that disastrous report now that his curiosity had been piqued, he now noticed, was like fighting a losing battle.

With a resigned sigh, he slid the folder across the table.

Hopefully, he would not open it at-

Kirishima pursed his lips when his boss opened the folder, and started scanning his contents.

 _Page one… page two…_ with every flick of pages turning, Shinada seemed to turn a more sickening shade of green.

The frown on their boss’s forehead made it clear he had reached the dreaded page 6.

He could tell Shinada had started praying; the secretary, on the other hand, remained calm and collected though he was beginning to realize the thick black ink of the marker, if anything, would only make the man angrier as he tried to put together the pieces of that erotic puzzle.

And indeed, when Asami Ryuichi raised his eyes to both of them, they were murderous.

Much to their surprise, however, the man simply snapped the folder closed, and rested his elbows on the table, the tips of his fingers touching his lips for a long moment before he spoke again.

“You can go now, Shinada.”

However, the bodyguard was still so paralyzed by fear that he remained seated, as if waiting for his punishment.

“Shinada?” the secretary said, his face still showing no emotion although he suspected Asami-sama was _nowhere near done_ with that report. “Didn’t you hear? You can go now.”

The man finally jerked on his seat, regaining some of his composure before standing up and walking towards the door like a malfunctioning robot.

 _At least one of them had been able to walk away with all their limbs._ Now, all he would have to do was explain, very carefully, why the final pages of that report were so cryptic…

“Sir-” he started, just to be cut short unceremoniously.

“Suoh, have you confirmed who was in the car with Kazuki in Yokohama?” the golden-eyed man asked, his voice calm and collected as if nothing had happened.

“Yes, sir.”

Kirishima merely watched the two other men exchange notes and report about Mikhail Arbatov, his boss’s face showing little surprise as Suoh filled him in on the details.

“I want operatives following Kazuki, I need to know where he is staying,” he said at last, signing the final page of one of the reports and putting away the remaining folders. “I will review the intel we have so far, tomorrow morning I intend to go talk to him in person, so have our men ready,” he added. “What else do you have?”

“Hayashi-kun has checked into a hotel in Shinjuku,” the blond man replied, passing him a folder with the hotel details.

“When?”

“Two hours ago.”

The secretary saw his boss let out a tired sigh, one of his eyebrows raised as he reached for the phone on the table.

“Call the hotel and make sure she is staying in the presidential suite, and that no guests have access to her floor,” he said, after dialling a number and putting the call on speaker. “And tell Mine she is not to leave her room until tomorrow morning.”

_“Hello?”_

“Maya?”

_“What do you want?”_

Kirishima frowned at the girl’s unusually slurred speech.

So did her father, who was now looking at the phone with an extra amount of concern.

“Have you been drinking?”

 _“None of your business,”_ she replied, after a hiccup.

“The Tojo has imposed a curfew,” the man continued, his brows furrowed as he spoke. “I have given Mine orders not to let you out of your hotel room.”

_“What if I want to use the pool?”_

“This late at night? I am confident the pool is already closed for guests.”

The secretary’s eyebrows shot up. He had become proficient at arranging for _public pools_ in hotels to become _private_ every time his boss and Takaba Akihito travelled together.

And knowing _exactly what they did_ in said pools, he didn’t think he would be able to go for a swim in a hotel _ever again_.

 _“You are a pain in the ass,”_ the girl complained, her voice so raspy and wobbly it would have been funny, if only the circumstances were not so serious.

And while he was ready to move on to the next topic of the evening, his boss seemed to have detected something in the girl’s voice that he had missed entirely.

“Has something happened?” he heard the man ask quietly, his frown intensifying when there was a sniffle on the other side of the line.

_“N-No…”_

Kirishima saw the golden eyes dart back and forth, as if pondering if he should press into the matter or just end the call.

 _Dilemmas of a father,_ apparently.

He looked away, wondering if he should interpret that as a cue for him to leave and give them some privacy.

Before he could take action, though, the man spoke again.

“Just go to bed and stay out of trouble.”

_“Fine...”_

“Take c-”

The call ended, and Suoh took that moment to approach the table again.

“Mine has been briefed, sir,” he said.

“Good.”

The blond man was about to take his seat when his phone started ringing, and his eyes went wide.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, “Asami-sama, it’s a personal issue, may I-”

“Go ahead.”

In silence, the two other men watched as the Head of Security stepped outside, and paced the corridor with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

That is, until he stopped dead on his tracks, all blood draining from his face.

“Great…” the secretary heard his boss whisper as Suoh leaned against the wall, shoulders slumping as one of his hands covered his forehead. “Bad news, all we need at the moment.”

Not a minute later, the bodyguard was walking back to the room, the muscles of his jaw clenched tight.

“Are you okay?” Kirishima asked. “You look pale.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” the man whispered in response, his shallow breathing telling a very different story.

“Then let’s continue, I believe all of us are more than ready to go home,” Asami-sama said, his voice showing his obvious tiredness after another very long day of work. “Suoh, is there anything else you would like to bring to my attention?”

_Silence._

Oblivious to the question, the bodyguard continued to stare at the table, his eyes glassy and distant as he rolled a pen between his fingers.

“ _Suoh?_ ”

When the man did not respond for the second time, Kirishima was forced to elbow his colleague on the ribs.

“ _Eh?_ ” the man finally muttered.

“Anything else?” their boss repeated, raising an eyebrow at the man’s moment of distraction.

“N-No,” Suoh finally replied. “No, sir, that’s all I’ve got.”

“Kirishima, anything else?”

The man cleared his throat. It was not a good thing that he was usually invited to speak when his boss was already tired, irritated and worried, but he was sure the last item on their agenda would be handled with extraordinary dexterity by the man sitting across from him.

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Sakazaki.”

Before continuing, he gave the other man a folder containing pictures that attested the despicable manager was being handled according to his boss’s every instruction - and deteriorating rather visibly as a result.

“How long has he endured so far?” 

“Thirty-one hours,” Kirishima answered, taking pride in the fact that many of those had been personally supervised by him.

“Is he still coherent?”

“Very much so,” the first assistant replied, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “In fact, he has said something that gave me cause for concern.”

He waited until his boss lifted his eyes from the pictures to continue.

“He demands to talk to you immediately, because he claims to have _‘crucial information’_ about someone you care for.”

_“Crucial information?”_

“He said something about _a hit_ , but refused to give further details, even after we used more... _persuasive methods_ ,” the secretary explained. “Turns out he is very resistant to pain, and I am following your instruction of not delivering too much damage until you get to see him in person.”

“He’s most likely bluffing,” the other man replied, standing up and walking towards the window with a very visible frown of concern. “Sakazaki is a snake...”

Kirishima nodded silently - he had thought the same thing.

But what if he _wasn’t_ bluffing?

“Let him reflect upon his actions until dawn. No food, no water, no sleep,” he heard his boss say, walking back to the desk to pick up Shinada’s dreadful report. “I will pay him a little visit tomorrow, as soon as I finish reading _this_.”

The secretary blinked slowly when the report was unceremoniously shoved into his hands.

“That is, if you are kind enough to provide me with the _unabridged_ version of this report,” the baritone voice said, his golden eyes containing a very obvious threat. “No cuts, no _formatting,_ Kirishima. I want a copy of this for reference, and I will notice if there is a _single word_ missing. _Do you understand?_ ”

For the first time since that report reached his hands, he felt tremendously relieved.

The man was still bound to be out of his mind with anger after reading the rather explicit details of Takaba Akihito’s adventures with another man, but at least he had already chosen another human being to beat to a bloody pulp.

And if he was lucky enough, he would get to witness _every second of it._

“Yes, sir,” he finally replied, with a small smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

 

 


	42. What goes around comes around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The connection between Mikhail Arbatov and Maya's stepfather is finally explained, Kirishima finds out Suoh is going to become a parent, and Asami's birthday begins with a series of incredibly unpleasant events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three notes, let me try to make this quick!  
> One: My deepest apologies for this late update, I am totally behind schedule, not only with the story, but in my responses to comments. Trust me, it is the support of every single one of you that makes me find the time and mental energy to write even after a sequence of eight 14-hour work days (I was assigned a very complicated editing project a few days before my birthday). So, just to make it clear: I intend to reply to every single message you took your precious time to write, asap! It's the least I can do to show my gratitude for your support. ^_^
> 
> Two: please note that we are entering a very dark section of this story. Please study the tags carefully in case you haven't done so yet - this chapter, for example, includes strong references to child sexual abuse, mental illness and includes some scenes of torture. I will try my best to post warnings because I don't want to trigger anyone, but I believe the tags are a good reference of what is yet to come.
> 
> Three: the first section of this chapter is Mikhail's POV, so take what he says and thinks with a grain of salt when it comes to the connection between Asami and Kazuki. It is Asami that will eventually explain the nature of that connection (in addition to what has already been revealed in chapter 18).

“Won't you eat?”

“No.”

“Nervous?”

There was no answer, but Mikhail Arbatov could tell, just by looking at the man sitting across from him in the large dining room of his presidential suite at the Hilton, that the answer was yes.

He would be, too, with a plan that had so many chances of going wrong.  
But he had to give props to Kazuki. He had come a long way, from a frightened wide-eyed kid living in a foreign country, to a cold-blooded assassin.

He put down his fork, pushed aside the large plate of fruit in front of him and cleared his throat before taking a sip of his Parkside Fizz, his bright blue eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and indifference.

He still remembered the first time the two of them had met, in the basement of his parents’ house in Moscow. Pale, fragile, wide brown eyes and the face of a girl, dressed in very old clothes that were far too large for his skinny body.

At first, he had thought he was just the son of one of the Asian servants in the manor. Every now and then, he would find a way to sneak into the basement and spend time with the only person in the house that was remotely close to him in age…

Even after they had learnt each other’s language, Mikhail had never asked a single question as to whom he was, where his parents were, why he was always covered in bruises and cuts, why he always looked so scared every time night fell.

He would find out at some point, by walking in on his uncle and him, the only time he had dared to go to the basement after sunset.

The whimpers of pain should have clued him in.

_They didn't._

Before he knew, he was also covered in bruises and cuts that would leave him scarred for life.

And that was how they had eventually resorted to their fates and gone separate ways, living under the same roof but barely talking to each other anymore, all the remains of what once had been a budding friendship long forgotten.

“I already failed once,” Mikhail heard the other man whisper, his eyes just as glassy and haunted as they used to be two decades ago. “Can't fail again. Not this time.”

“Don't punish yourself for that day at the Tojo’s headquarters,” he replied, remembering the first time Kazuki had tried to off Takaba Akihito, and failed. “How could you know that Asami's minion would show up…”

“I missed that shot. If I had gotten it right it would not have mattered if he was there or not. No one would have seen it,” Kazuki replied, while cleaning his CZ 75 with surgical precision. “That's the beauty of snipers.”

“You'll get it right this time.”

“I have to.”

Mikhail noticed that the look on the other man’s eyes, as well as his entire facial expression, had become fierce and menacing, the traits of his habitual bleakness long gone. He wouldn't be surprised if he had developed some kind of dissociative identity disorder over the years…

He was a ticking bomb waiting to explode.

After a long, bored sigh, Mikhail got to his feet and stretched.

Why the man was so intent on getting revenge on Asami Ryuichi, he had never asked either. It didn't actually matter - chances were Kazuki had been, at some point, Asami’s lover. Turned out everyone that ever got close to Asami Ryuichi would end up in the man’s bed - the only thing that seemed to change was how often and for how long.

Mikhail let a smirk curl the corners of his mouth.

It was probably not friendship that had made Kazuki pick up the phone that one day some three months ago to say he needed his assistance.

It certainly wasn't friendship that had made him agree to help.

He had nothing against Asami _per se_ , he had always been a very good business partner.

If he were still on top of his game, he would have seen through Kazuki’s twisted plot from the very beginning.

The fact that _he hadn't_ , only confirmed that perhaps his days of greatness were gone, that his instincts had indeed deteriorated after all the ups and downs of his convoluted personal life, and that it was time to find out who Japan’s next number 1 would be.

In the meantime, of course, he would be more than happy to keep all of the country’s weapon routes and crime syndicates under his thumb.

“You know that you are being followed, right?” he asked, after casually stuffing his hands into the pockets of his white pants.

“Yes,” the other man replied, still staring at the gun on his lap. “It doesn't matter. Asami will believe whatever he wants to believe, that's how he rolls…”

Mikhail turned around, putting on his jacket and straightening the collar of his light blue shirt as he eyed the other man with curiosity.

Very few people would be bold enough to make such a statement about Asami Ryuichi. Kazuki, though, seemed to have a remarkable free pass, and he would eventually find out _why._

“And he thinks I'm a weak idiot….” Mikhail heard the other man whisper. “What does he know…”

What did _anyone_ know, really.

Sometimes he himself wondered if it had been a good idea to join forces with a person that was so obviously unwell. The same anger and resentment that seemed to steer Kazuki towards the most absurd plots to destroy Asami could be used against him, if he wasn’t careful.  
“Do you want me to go over the plan with you again?” Mikhail asked, after joining the man at the table.  
“Yes,” Kazuki replied, his voice dull and distant. “Go to my apartment. Wait for Asami,” he said, as if reading items from a shopping list. “Get his phone. Neutralize surveillance team.”

And that, from Mikhail’s point of view, would be the most difficult part.

“Tell me again how you are planning to do that?”

“Sengoku has confirmed his men will back me up,” Kazuki replied. “The target is in Shinjuku, his party will be intercepted in the Nakamichi intersection, as he heads to Club Ambitious.”

“What if he runs away?” Mikhail asked, raising an eyebrow. “Have you ever been with Takaba Akihito? He is actually very smart, he will probably notice it is a trap.”

He watched as the other man clenched his jaw.

“I have instructed Sengoku’s team to be stealthy,” he replied, his voice low and menacing.

Mikhail took another sip of his cocktail not to laugh. _The Omi, being stealthy?_

That was beyond wishful thinking.

“Well, if you can get past that part, all the rest will be a breeze,” Mikhail said, after clearing his throat and standing up again.

He had other places to be, and boosting Kazuki’s confidence was not on his schedule.

Besides, his many years of experience plotting against others were telling him that serendipitous plan was going to fall through anyway...

++++  
Not that far from the Hilton, a frowning Asami Ryuichi opened his eyes to welcome the first rays of sunshine into the small room of the penthouse that had once been Takaba Akihito’s.

The photographer was really a stubborn man, to have declined all the invitations to join him in the king size bed of the master suite in the first years of their relationship… That tiny bed, he now noticed, was incredibly uncomfortable when one slept on it for longer than a couple of hours.

He shifted under the sheets until he was lying on his back, the mattress creaking loudly with the unusual extra weight. His eyes were darting back and forth mindlessly as he looked at the ceiling, one of his arms resting behind his head as he enjoyed those fleeting moments of calm before his mind was fully awake and reminded him of his troubles.

The crumpled report lying in the floor next to the bed being one of them.

He turned his head, hoping not to see the small folder that had been opened, closed, tossed around, nearly torn in half and discarded the night before.

That had been, obviously, before he regained his sobriety, and used each line of each paragraph to torture himself, by rereading the entire thing multiple times until every detail of Akihito’s adventure with another man had been burnt into his brain.

He inhaled deeply when his mind, once again, reminded him of the conclusion he had reached back then: _Akihito had enjoyed it._ He had felt pleasure at the hands - _and mouth_ \- of another man, and he couldn't actually explain the feelings that were now clashing inside his chest.

It was worse than jealousy. It was much stronger than anger.

For the longest time, he had been convinced he was the only one Akihito would ever want to be with. Sex was his field of supremacy, so at least through their intense desire for each other they had a chance of keeping some sort of connection. Even if it was so much less than what he actually wanted, the idea that Akihito could at some point turn to him for pleasure meant that at least _he would not be forgotten_...

But now… Akihito had been with another man, and he had enjoyed it. Nothing in that encounter had been forced or premeditated, at no point had he been coerced - Shinada had made sure to be very graphic about every detail of the young man’s satisfaction. From his dark, erect nipples as he was kissed and fondled and _sucked_ by that bastard of a cop, until the smile on his lips after his orgasm, everything had been described in stunning detail.

He swallowed, feeling the bitter taste of fear lingering on his tongue.

The idea that the photographer was moving on from him was one he was not ready to accept.

Neither was he ready to accept that at the end of the day, that report meant nothing at all, although he did feel like gutting that stupid cop and strangling him with his own intestines. It didn't actually matter - although he was not inclined to let anyone know - if the photographer slept with another man, or with another hundred men, nothing of that would make him want Akihito any less, and he would be more than happy to swallow his pride and forget everything the moment the photographer walked past his front door and accepted him back.

Which, at that point, sounded like a very faint possibility.

++++

“Suoh, do you know what day it is today?” asked the bespectacled man on the passenger seat of the black BMW zigzagging the streets of Ginza.

“Thursday.”

“Yes,” Kirishima replied. “But I meant, it's August 4.”

He shifted his gaze from the window to the blond man at the steering wheel, who had just turned his head to look at him.

“The boss’s birthday,” said the bodyguard.

“Yes.”

“I take it the ladies in the Financial Department will be pleased,” the blond man continued. “I mean,” Suoh went on to explain, after noticing the confused frown on the secretary’s face. “I believe this year he won't be taking the flowers or the chocolate home.”

Ah, _that._

Such a small observation that implied so many tough, irrevocable truths. Of course, this year, there would be no Takaba Akihito to munch on all the sweets and cakes the man religiously got from suppliers, customers and other acquaintances on August 4.

And he was quite sure that the few times he had seen some sort of _ikebana_ at the penthouse, it had not been his boss’s doing, so probably the flowers wouldn't make it to his place either.

“No, I don't think he will…” the first assistant replied, his voice low and serious when he realized that instead, the only thing keeping the man company that morning was probably Shinada’s report.

“I wonder if there is anything we can do to cheer him up?” Suoh asked, as if reading his mind. “I don't know… the boss is rather reserved, I don't think he would appreciate a party, would he?”

Kirishima scoffed, and his furrowed eyebrows were enough of a response.

“Yeah, I know…” the bodyguard replied. “And especially now, with so much going on…”

The first assistant remained quiet, lost in his own thoughts as his gaze shifted back to the window.

_He worried about his boss’s state of mind._

True, he had already managed to gain some of his weight back, the wounds on his arm were finally healing, and he was just as sharp and diligent with his duties as a CEO as ever.

And yet, that unfathomable bleakness in his eyes was growing more evident each day. Maybe not many had realized it yet, but they would, at some point. Despite the grace in his step, the always unreadable facial expression, the thundering voice, Asami Ryuichi’s bulletproof armour was cracking. The only things keeping him functional were the drugs he was taking to sleep, to wake up, to have an appetite, to not have too much of an appetite.

The moment that automatic pilot was switched off, he had a feeling the man would collapse, and in a world so full of vultures with a keen sense of smell, his fragile mental state would not go unnoticed.

“Ah, can we stop here for a moment?” Suoh’s voice brought him back to reality. “I should probably buy him something.”

“In a _drugstore_?” the secretary asked, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of gift do you have in mind?”

“Ok, you have to promise to keep this a secret,” he saw the blond man reply, letting out a small smile that contrasted eerily with his usually fierce facial expression. “I asked Kimura-sensei to produce a prescription for probiotics supplements based on Asami-sama’s latest clinical tests. To increase his metabolic rate, help regulate his mood, that kind of thing. I got the list, so now I'm gonna make him some kind of wellness kit.”

Kirishima felt his jaw slacken a little.

 _Probiotics as a birthday gift._ Suoh had the weirdest ideas sometimes.

“Oh, I see…” he replied, his voice coming out weak and full of disbelief.

“I'll be right back.”

Chances were that “the kit” would take a while, so Kirishima decided to make good use of his time by checking his emails and updating his boss’s schedule as he waited for the other man.

Just as he had thought, it had been a good twenty minutes until Suoh got back in the car.

“A wellness kit… Now that is unheard of,”  he whispered, reaching for one of the two large paper bags the bodyguard had dumped on the backseat. “Let's see what we have here.”

The first item he pulled out of the bag made his eyes go wide.

“Diapers?” he asked, and the word made Suoh step on the brakes so fast he nearly hit his forehead on the windshield.

“You have the wrong package,” the bodyguard muttered, his entire face struggling with the urge to go pale and a deep shade of pink at the same time.

“Suoh?”

“What?”

“ _Diapers?_ ” the secretary hissed, his glasses slightly skewed after the car’s abrupt stop.

“T-They are not for me,” the blond man stuttered, struggling with the gearshift. “I just bought them… f-for someone else.”

“Well, _obviously_ ,” Kirishima snorted in response. What was he, stupid? “If you were buying diapers for yourself, I take it the size wouldn't be ‘newborn’.”

Neither man laughed at the joke, and Suoh’s growing tension made his stomach sink.

“Oh no…” the secretary whispered. “You knocked her up, didn't you?”

The bodyguard remained silent, but his clenched jaws made it very clear he had heard the question.

“ _Suoh?_ ”

When the man finally turned his head to look at him, his eyes were so full of panic that Kirishima felt his own head was about to explode.

“ _You did_!” he exclaimed. “Goodness, have you ever heard of _condoms_?!”

“I always used a condom!” the man shrieked in response.

“Well, obviously _not always_!”

“Once, only once, I didn't.”

“Once is all it takes, Kazumi!” Kirishima retorted, pursing his lips as he shook his head.

He let out a long sigh after taking off his glasses. Sure, he would have been very happy for his long-term friend and colleague if only that development had been planned and executed accordingly. As it was, the man clearly did not realize the full implications of that accidental pregnancy.

“We had… It was… That day, that day Asami-sama almost killed the counsellor in that damn island… Li showed up. I had to perform a sleeper hold on her, she was out of her fucking mind after she regained conscience,” Suoh explained, barely pausing to breathe as he tried not to trip on his own words. “We got into this huge fight, and...and...and one thing led to another and she was so mad and I didn't have a condom on me, but we did it anyway, and I… I… I couldn't hold back, but she said it was okay because she couldn't have kids, Kei, she told me she couldn't have kids, so I was… I was fine, but well...”

When the man finally stopped speaking, Kirishima realized he looked on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“Yes, I knocked her up,” he whispered at last, before cursing quietly as he took a right turn instead of a left.

“Stop the car,” Kirishima said, after putting the glasses back on.

“But I have it all fig-”

“Stop. The car.”

When the vehicle finally came to a halt, the silence between them was so heavy it could be cut with a knife.

“You don't remember, do you?” the first assistant asked, his voice low and tired.

“What?”

“Clause 23 of your work contract.”

“Clause 23?” Suoh asked, his forehead wrinkled with a confused frown. “Is there even a Clause 23?”

“No. It is one of the unspoken employability special conditions,” Kirishima replied, matter-of-factly. “Anyone involved in Asami-sama’s personal security is relieved of their duties the moment they start a family.”

He saw the blond man’s eyes go wide, his mouth gaping a little.

“Wait, hold on, I don't think my situation-”

“You are going to be a father, Kazumi,” Kirishima quickly interrupted. “ _That_ is your situation.”

“Yes, but I have no plans of giving up my job!”

“You will still have a job, only not as his bodyguard,” the secretary continued, raising a hand to stop the other man from interrupting. “You won't stop working for him. He might just assign you an office job, something that doesn't put your life on the line.”

“But what if I want to continue taking care of his personal security?”

At that point, Suoh sounded positively exasperated.

“I'm afraid he won't give you that choice,” he replied quietly.

“But he can't do that!”

“Yes, Suoh, yes he can,” the secretary said calmly. “And he will. When I…” he paused, and cleared his throat before continuing with his explanation. “When I almost got married back in the day I was going to be demoted too.”

“But why?” the bodyguard asked, his voice beginning to shake with anger and confusion.

“Because,” Kirishima replied, with a small smile curling the corners of his lips. “And those are his words, not mine... _Family comes first_.”

The other man snorted, and the twitch in his eye, followed by some very rapid blinking, did not go unnoticed.

“That's very rich of him,” the bodyguard replied, his voice strained and angry as he spoke. “Of all people to talk about family, what does he know…”

“Suoh, you are being disrespectful.”

His stern tone made Suoh’s lips curve downwards, his eyebrows following suit and drawing closer to each other in such an angle it was clear the man was about to bust into tears.

“I know,” he muttered, his entire body slumping in defeat as he clutched the steering wheel with all his might. “I apologise.”

“You need to calm down. You don't have to tell him today, or tomorrow…” Kirishima replied, his tone much more amiable. “For all I care, you can wait until the child is born to do so, but the earlier you tell him, the earlier you can plan for the future.”

Suoh nodded in silent agreement, his eyes distant as he looked ahead.

“Hold on,” Kirishima said, when silent beep coming from his phone forced him to glance down at the device on his hand. “Asami-sama just texted me, he wants me to go with him to Warehouse 11.”

Without a single word, the bodyguard started the engine and set the car back in motion.

“Drop me off at the penthouse and tell your team you need an hour break. Get yourself together, go for a swim or throw some punches at the dojo,” the secretary said, his eyes fixated on the other man’s distraught expression as he drove to their destination. “We can't afford to break down. Not now, at least.”

All he got in response was another silent nod.

In no time, they had reached their boss’s building, but when the car stopped, the secretary chose not to get out right away.

“And Suoh?” he said, to finally get the other man to look at him in the eye.

Perhaps he had been too harsh. The way he had addressed the issue had made it sound like Suoh becoming a father was the uttermost catastrophe, and indeed it was, at least for him, who no longer would have his long-term colleague and friend in the battlefield with him.

He knew he was being selfish, and for the time being, he would forgive himself for that. Eventually, he would find it in him to congratulate Suoh properly.

“You'll be fine,” he said at last, offering his best rendition of a supportive semi smile, before getting out of the car and switching to the spiritual state required for the upcoming session of torture that awaited him, his boss and Sakazaki in Warehouse 11.

That was going to be an exhausting day, he could tell.

++++

When Asami entered Warehouse 11, he made sure to stick to all the usual preambles. He waited for the main door to be opened for him, and took his time taking the very first step into that dimly lit, damp portion of the building, looking at its concrete walls and reveling the smell of bleach, chlorine and blood.

As if he was in some strange sort of ritual, he allowed Kirishima to help him out of his tailor-made jacket, then undid the cuffs of his shirt and stowed the cuff links in one of his pockets, rolling up his sleeves with calculated, precise moves.

Throughout the entire process, he ignored the loud, ragged breathing of the main tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his golden eyes void of any feeling as he picked his weapon of choice from a number of options displayed on the nearest counter.

“You know, I thought you would let your goons have all the fun,” he heard Sakazaki say, his voice nasal and hoarse. “Took you long enough, Asami-san.”

He allowed a bitter smirk to curl the corners of his mouth. It had been a long time since he had last laid eyes on that man, and he sounded - and looked - just as detestable as he remembered him.

The fact that Akihito had submitted himself to the unspeakable humiliation of pleasing that pig _in order_ _to help him_ made his stomach turn.

He should have never allowed those two to meet, in the first place.

But now, at least, he could channel the burning anger at his own failure into something much more satisfying...

It was a matter of time until that sarcastic expression on Sakazaki’s face was wiped away.

“Yes, I am quite sure you were looking forward to this moment, weren't you?” Asami said, his voice low and calm as he put on his leather gloves and picked up a pair of pliers from a silver tray.

“Maybe, even though I'm still not sure of what my crime was,” the man had the audacity to reply. “Surely I wasn't the first to have a go at your _boytoy_? That mouth really knew what it was do-”

One powerful punch later, the chair was tumbling backwards with a loud bang.

In silence, Asami signaled for his assistant to bring it back up, taking a moment to look at the blood flowing from the manager’s broken nose.

“Kirishima told me you are very resistant to pain, is that so?” he asked quietly.

There would be no need to raise his voice. His golden eyes were caustic enough to send a very clear message.

There was _no way_ he would let that vermin get of that warehouse alive.

“Yes,” Sakazaki panted, the cuts and dark bruises scattered across his face and chest a testimony to his response.

“Good for you,” Asami replied, the metallic tip of the pliers rubbing against the man's ear as he spoke, with a dangerous smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “Because I intend to make this _last_.”

He grabbed a handful of the slimy black hair and tilted the manager's head to the side, so that the rings on his pierced ear were in plain sight. Slowly, the tip of the pliers closed around one of the small loops, pulling on it softly as if to announce his intentions.

As he pulled harder, the man’s obvious pain began to show on his face, his hands curling into fists by his side as metal began to tear through the skin.

The screams of pain that followed were like music to his ears.

When the bloodied ring finally fell on the floor with a small clatter, Sakazaki was already bent in half, panting so hard he would have vomited if there was anything for his stomach to expel.

“Resistant to pain my ass…” Asami muttered, putting down the pliers and reaching for the pair of scissors on the silver tray.

“I...I have…”

He slowly turned his head around to look at the manager, small bubbles of saliva mixing with the blood dripping down the corner of his lips as he spoke.

_“...information…”_

“Do you?” Asami asked, still smirking.

_Did that animal really think he was in any condition to strike up a bargain?_

“Takaba...kill… Takaba…”

The name made Asami raise his eyes to Kirishima, who had managed to hide his reaction just as well as him, despite the very obvious clenching of his jaw.

“...the Omi… _today…_ ”

“How convenient of you,” he finally whispered, sneaking one of the blades under the man’s pants. “To bring Takaba into this…”

He saw the dark eyes widen in fear when the first snip tore part of his pants and underwear away.

“Well, I think you're bluffing,” Asami continued, smirking when every single muscle on the manager’s body seemed to tense as he cut more of the fabric, his pubes finally coming into view. “But I suppose you will be more honest very soon…”

“I-I know...I know where…” Sakazaki stuttered, trying to bargain his way out of what looked like a very painful fate.

At that point, however, Asami’s mind had already entered a realm dominated by images of the most repulsive, cruel punishments that could be inflicted upon a human being, and once the beast inside him found an avenue of escape, it was very hard to put it back to sleep...

“Excellent…” the golden-eyed man whispered, before putting the scissors down and reaching for a scalpel, his voice cold and distant as he spoke.  “I am sure you will end up telling me everything much before I finish _castrating you_.”

++++

No one looking at Asami Ryuichi less than twenty minutes later would have known he had just left a bloodied man behind.

His pristine white shirt smelled fresh and clean - it was a pity that one of his favorite ties had been sprinkled with blood and had had to be replaced as well. He glanced down at his chest, smoothed the ensemble that his secretary had put together and then looked out of the window, feeling slightly numb even after the brief rush of endorphins that Sakazaki’s pain had given him.

At some point he would have to let go of his medication. It might be regulating his sleep and mood swings but he deeply disliked the fact he felt like he was watching his life from behind a thick glass wall.

In no time, Maya’s old apartment building came into view, and he took a long, deep breath.

Hayashi Kazuki was back in his nest.

It was time to get some answers from that little traitor. Too bad that the same phone call that had announced the man’s arrival at the old apartment in Kabukicho had also been the one to interrupt his piece de resistance with Sakazaki. He was about to make the first cut - the look of horror on the man’s face when the scalpel touched his balls had been priceless. Had Kirishima ever witnessed a castration? He didn’t actually remember...

When he got out of the car, after getting clearance from his security team, all thoughts about Sakazaki had to be pushed aside for a moment. He had other questions to ask, other concerns he would need to address. His Beretta and Česká zbrojovka were tightly snuggled against his chest just in case - at that point, he really did not know what to expect from that encounter.

 _“According to our sources in the field, Arbatov is not in the area,”_ the metallic voice of his Head of Security announced, and he covered his earpiece with the tip of his index finger to hear better. _“Hayashi-san arrived at his place alone.”_    

“Are all the exits covered?” Asami asked, speaking into the microphone attached to one of his cuffs. “He might try to run away.”

_“Positive, sir.”_

“Good,” he replied. “Turning off microphone for now.”

And with that, he pressed a button in the small remote control hidden in his pocket, and made sure no audio was being shared with his team.

Last thing he needed was for them to learn about a part of his past he only wanted to _forget_.

He knocked at the door twice, and waited.

The man that appeared before his eyes less than a minute later looked very different from the decrepit carcass that had greeted him two months prior - there was no doubt whatsoever he had remained true to his promise and gotten clean.

For how long, however, only time would tell.

“Ryuichi,” he heard the man say, transpiring confidence in his business attire, his hair and skin looking healthy and very well cared for. “What brings you here today?”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

After the initially strained exchange, Asami walked into the apartment, noticing that nothing seemed out of place and that the living room looked much cleaner than usual.

A cautious voice at the back of his head told him something was off, but then again, he had always felt something was off with that man...

He should go straight to the point.

“Since when have you been working for the Russian mafia?” he asked, declining Kazuki’s offer to sit when he motioned towards an armchair.

Much to his surprise, the man’s expression remained calm, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t work for the Russian mafia,” he answered.

“Don’t lie to me,” Asami interjected. “I’ve seen you with Mikhail Arbatov.”

“So what?” Kazuki asked, shrugging as he took his seat, his impeccable pinstripe suit making his figure look even slimmer than he already was. “I don’t work for him, you can ask him yourself.”

The calm with which Maya’s stepfather was handling the situation made all kinds of red flags go up in Asami’s head.

Apparently, that talk would take longer than he had calculated, so he might as well sit down.

“Back in the day, yes, I would,” the man casually added. “Not after I got back to Japan.”

“Did Mirai know that you used to work for him?” Asami asked, after crossing his legs and reaching for the pack of Dunhills inside the pocket of his jacket.

“No,” the man replied, and his deep brown eyes were loaded with a strange combination of resignation and hatred. “Just like you, she never asked what happened after I ran from the orphanage.”

Asami felt like swallowing a knot in his throat, but that would show his counterpart his discomfort with that particular topic, and he would not give him that kind of satisfaction.

“I wonder why...” he heard Kazuki whisper, one eyebrow raised as they stared at each other.

That look, and that tone of voice, were dripping with resentment, and Asami knew he would have to be very careful as to what to say next. He was being roped into a guilt trip he had taken far too many times in the past, until he had finally come to terms with the fact _what had happened that day had not been his fault._

He could not let that man manipulate him into believing otherwise.

“Well, actually I think I know why, you said so yourself the other day,” Kuzuki continued. “She felt _guilty_.”

There was a long pause, in which Asami did his best to void his face of any visible emotion.

“Did _you_?” he heard the man ask, the deep, smooth voice alternating self-control with very obvious streaks of anxiety. “ _Do you?_ ”

 _Of course he did_ , even though he kept telling himself it had not been his fault.

That day, more than twenty years ago, he knew Kazuki was an easy prey that would be attacked as soon as he and Mirai turned their backs. And still, he had convinced the girl to leave the room the three of them shared in that orphanage so that they could spend the night alone outside, where no one would see them, hear them, or interrupt.

 _Of course he had felt guilty_ , when Mirai nearly passed out the next morning when the two of them returned to their room to find Kazuki sitting in a pool of his own blood, his eyes glassy and empty, his small body covered in bruises and fluids of who knew how many men.

 _He still felt guilty,_ every time he remembered the boy was just twelve years old, and that he had told them, so many times, that every night the “bad men” would whisper things at him.

They were just waiting for the right opportunity.

For years on end, Asami blamed himself for giving those men that exact opportunity.

Secretly, he still did, and that was why he had never been able to explain to anyone, let alone Kirishima, why he kept cutting Maya’s stepfather so much slack.

Because of that day, he had never wanted that man anywhere near his daughter. Who knew what kind of mental disorder he struggled with?

 _But because of that day,_ he had never been able to stop Mirai from carrying out her insane plan of rescuing Kazuki from the abyss he had sunk in, even if that included marrying him to help him get back on his feet.

What a huge gamble that had been… Luckily for him, Mirai was a true warrior when it came to the girl, and would have been the first one to send Kazuki to kingdom come if he ever did anything to her.

Before he knew, he found himself staring at his own hands, lost in memories and regrets, the pulse in his neck giving away his frantic heartbeat.

He had walked right into that man’s trap, and it angered him to no end that another person had such easy access to a part of his life he had always tried so hard to forget.

“No,” Asami finally replied, his voice calm and collected although he could feel the loud throb of blood in his ears.

_He would not let Kazuki manipulate him._

“We were not aware of how serious your situation was,” he added. “We were just kids.”

“Oh yeah, you were 16, the two of you,” Kazuki replied, the corners of his lips curling into a malicious smile. “You wanna know what **_I_** was doing when I was 16?”

He didn’t, actually, but he had the feeling Kazuki would tell him anyway.

“Giving head to men four times my age in exchange for food,” the man replied, his eyes lifeless and glassy as he spoke. “Living in a basement in Moscow. I lived in that basement for five years.”

Asami narrowed his eyes.

_Moscow._

That part, he would have to hear with a lot of attention.

“The only times they would let me out was to… _entertain guests_ ,” Maya’s stepfather continued. “For _five years_. That was my life after I left the orphanage. And yes, I left when I found out you had knocked her up, you know why?”

After an uncomfortable sigh, Asami shifted on his seat.

“Kazuki, I-”

“Because I had had enough,” the man continued, ignoring his attempt to interrupt. “I could endure the abuse, the...things they did to me while you two sneaked around to have some _quality time_ together, but _that._..that was my limit,” he said, his eyes flashing with the same hatred he had seen the moment he walked into the apartment. “I knew there would be no place for me. You were the only thing that mattered to Mirai. The way she looked at you, as if you were some kind of _deity_ …”

He watched when Kazuki snorted, reaching for his own cigarettes.

“Anyway...I had no reason to stay,” he said, before lighting up a Seven Stars. “I thought… things couldn't get worse than they already were.”

In the meantime, Asami’s Dunhills were still inside their pack, long forgotten as the man listened to his counterpart’s story.

“I had been sleeping on the streets for what, two weeks?” Kazuki continued. “This guy showed up, in a nice suit, this funny accent, asking me if I was hungry, which I was,” he said, after a shrug. “He gave me food. Took me to this...guesthouse. Gave me clothes. A passport.”

“A fake identity?”

Maya’s stepfather merely nodded in response.

Well, that explained how he had been able to fly under his radar for the past months.

“Next thing I knew I was in Russia,” the man explained, his voice casual and calm as he looked at his manicured nails. “Living in this...mansion. The Arbatovs manor.”

Asami had to clench his jaw at the unnerving coincidence - that is, if what the man was saying was true.

“Small world, isn't it?” Kazuki chuckled. “How many crime lords can a person meet in a lifetime…”

How many, indeed.

 _Was it possible that he had underestimated Kazuki all that time?_ He had never seen him as anything more than an accomplished club manager with a troubled past, but his involvement with the Russian mafia changed everything.

“So see… I didn't even mind that my room was a cold, damp basement that never saw the light of day,” Maya’s stepfather went on. “Place looked like a dungeon, but I had a roof above my head. Food. It felt good. People were so kind to me…”

And then, Asami saw the distinct moment the look in his eyes changed again, from confident and carefree to anguished and bleak.

“Funny how these things happen…” he whispered, after a lifeless chuckle. “ I was being _groomed_ … And I didn't even notice.”

There was a moment of silence, in which the water dripping slowly from the tap in the kitchen sounded ten times louder.

“And then one night… it began,” the man continued, his face pale and void of emotion as he spoke. “Mikhail’s uncle… his cousins… all of them would show up to… _play_.”

Once again, Asami sensed that conversation was going places he did not want to go.

The strange glint in the other man’s eyes as he stared at him was not helping either.

“I was a very pretty boy, I'm sure you remember?” Kazuki asked, standing up to walk towards the window. “I am not gay. I hated when they touched me, but I… I just… I kept telling myself it was not me, doing those things,” he heard him mutter, somewhere behind him. “And at some point I really wasn't. I would just… close my eyes and be elsewhere, out of my body. Out of my mind.”

Asami frowned. Even without turning his head, he could see the other man had walked away from the window, and was now standing dangerously close to him.

“For years and years…” Kakuzi whispered, as he took one step closer to his armchair. “I'll tell you, I became very proficient in giving men pleasure, Ryuichi.”

His tone, and the lowered eyelids, left no room for wonder.

That man was trying to seduce him, and he actually came to that realization a split second before Kazuki’s fingers closed around his crotch, the weight of his body landing on top of his as he forced their mouths together, his skinny limbs locking him in place.

“I can do things that would surpass your wildest dreams,” he panted into his ear, before Asami finally managed to push him away, jumping from the armchair and reaching for his Beretta as soon as the other man landed on the ground with a loud thud.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” he whimpered, his eyes scared and weak, as if he was a completely different person than the one who had just assaulted him ten seconds prior. “I don’t know what got into me, I-”

Asami saw him cover his mouth with both hands, his body jerking forward as if he was about to vomit.

He was still pointing his gun directly to the other man’s head when Kazuki stumbled into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, the sound of running water soothing his nerves for a split second as he rearranged his thoughts.

The water was still running when he patted his pockets in search for his cigarettes, and noticed, not without a decent amount of alarm, that his cell phone was missing.

His nostrils flared when he raised his eyes to the bathroom door.

_That son of a bitch!_

The door was locked, obviously, so he shot the lock already knowing what he would find.

An open window, and Hayashi Kazuki nowhere to be found.

The distinct sound of a sniper shot outside made his blood freeze.

“Suoh,” he hissed into his wrist, after switching the microphone back on. “Tell me you intercepted Kazuki.”

 _“Negative, sir,”_ he heard his bodyguard reply, the background noise making it clear he was running. _“Just got to the side of the building, one of our men is down, shot in the head.”_

“He has a sniper rifle,” Asami muttered in response, feeling his fingertips go numb as the pieces of the puzzle began to come together. “He has a sniper rifle, he has my phone, he is going for Takaba.”

_“I have already sent our team on a search, sir, he cannot be far.”_

“No, no,” Asami whispered, pacing the small room before rushing towards the exit. “We don’t have time for a search, we need to know where he is headed.”

_“How?”_

“Sakazaki,” he replied. “Get him on the line right now, call Takaba and tell him to stay where he is, send a warning to Shinada as well.”

By the time he had reached the black BMW waiting for him outside, Asami felt his head, and his heart, were about to explode.

To think that he now depended on the man he had been torturing less than an hour earlier made him sick for so many distinct reasons…

But, if that meant saving Akihito, that was the kind of humiliation he was willing to endure.

++++

“So, have you decided where you’re going?” Akihito heard Li Jiao ask, as he stood behind the gates of Majima Makoto’s house. “I can ask Wei to drive you.”

He frowned. The thought of being driven around like a pompous poodle did not sit well with him. It was bad enough as it was, with that stupid curfew forcing him to spend the night in Shinjuku, the coming and going of Tojo officers keeping him awake and alert until the wee hours.

There was so much going on, so much that he, as an investigative photographer should be keeping track of… The idea everyone was keeping tabs on him, stopping him from going outside, following him around when he finally did, was beginning to get on his nerves.

“Look, Li,” he said, his voice tired and anxious. “Is there any way I can just go out on my own? I don’t need Wei to babysit me…”

“It’s dangerous out there, Akihito,” the woman explained, her fierce expression giving way to a look of pure concern. “I can’t force you to accept the ride, but it would at least keep you safe.”

“I appreciate it, but I really need to do this alone,” he replied, clutching his cell phone harder as he spoke.

He had gotten two messages that morning.

One had been Tanimura’s, asking him if he was okay and if they could meet at the police station.

But it was the other one that had made his heart miss a beat.

**_Asami_ **

_‘We need to talk. Meet me at Club Ambitious.’_

He had texted back, asking what it would be about.

No response.

He had tried to call him, multiple times, to ask why Club Ambitious, of all places. It was far from the penthouse, it was far from Sion, he didn’t even know exactly how to get there.

But the man hadn’t answered the phone either.

He didn’t know what to think.

What he knew was that he was absolutely not ready to see Asami again, even though he craved it with every fiber of his being.

And that was why, when he walked past the heavy gates under the scrutinizing gaze of both of the counsellor’s assistants, he shoved the phone back into his pocket after reading the directions to Club Ambitious for the millionth time, and headed to the closest subway station, at the intersection of Nakamichi and Taihei Boulevards.

“Takaba-san!”

The familiar voice made him frown.

“Shinada?” the photographer asked, after finally turning around. “Don’t tell me Asami still has you following me around?”

Only then did he notice the man was slightly out of breath, and his eyes immediately spotted the reason why.

His fingers were covering a rather nasty cut in his stomach, the blood seeping through his shirt and jacket in a huge crimson stain.

_“Run.”_

That was the last word he heard before he saw the man jerk forward, tumbling to the ground after a bullet tore through his collarbone.

“Takaba-san, take cover!”

His heart was racing when another familiar voice called out for him, but he had no time to locate its source. The sound of gunshots around him made him freeze on the spot for a second, but the men in suits getting out of cars that had just skidded onto the road set his feet back in motion.

Before he knew, he was running in the opposite direction of all that mess, getting into alleys, taking left and right turns as fast as he could to lose the people that were clearly chasing after him.

He thought it was all over when one of them tackled him, landing on top of his body and pinning him down.

He was still struggling to break free from the strong arms keeping him still when the familiar cologne filled his nostrils, the jet black hair against his cheek making his heart race even faster.

When the golden eyes finally met his, his breath caught in his throat, and everything else around him, including time and his own heartbeat, seemed to come to a very sudden stop.

_“A-Asami?!”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff-effing-hanger! =O  
> Please do not hate me – the next part is almost done and I just wanted to give you all something to look forward to!


	43. Fragile things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > _“There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts.”_
>> 
>> -Neil Gaiman
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the summary speaks for itself, but I should reinforce this chapter goes from heaven to hell really fast. Proceed with caution. This part and *especially* the next chapter might leave a bitter taste in your mouth but rest assured this is where the healing begins. The question has been asked, and Asami will answer it in a few chapters from now.

 

“Turn left.”

The voice coming from the passenger seat made Asami bite the inside of his cheek. He could see, from the reflection on the rear view mirror, that his secretary was just as annoyed to take instructions from the man by his side.

“Go past the traffic light on Nakamichi Boulevard and turn right…”

The satisfaction on Sakazaki’s bruised face did not make things any better.

He had refused to simply reveal where the hit was supposed to take place, claiming that he would be offed the moment he gave away his only trump card.

Since that was exactly his intention and he had no time to use any other methods of persuasion to obtain the desired directions, Asami had had no choice but to agree to the man’s condition when he demanded to go in the car with them and show the way.

“Turn left ag-”

Before Sakazaki could finish his sentence, the familiar silhouette of a man crossing the street half a block ahead made Asami open his door, forcing Kirishima to bring the car to a sudden halt.

“I see him,” he announced, reaching for the guns stowed in his shoulder holsters.

The sound of a click made him turn his head just in time to see Kirishima handcuff the manager to the steering wheel.

“He needs to get out of the road,” the secretary said, after slamming the door behind him with a concerned frown as he reached for his Glock 17. “If Kazuki has a sniper rifle, he is an easy target.”

“I'll get to him.”

He heard a faint gasp, but barely bothered to look at the man by his side. His eyes remained glued to the figure of Takaba Akihito, only darting very quickly to the man he was talking to.

Shinada was down. He had to hurry.

“But, sir-”

“Give me cover, Kirishima,” he said, making a run to intercept the man that had just disappeared into an alley the moment the first gunshots crossed the air between them.

The burning feel of a bullet grazing his shoulder made him grit his teeth for a second, but his recovery was fast. After a quick scan of the area, he managed to spot where the shot had come from and in no time got rid of the man in suit trying to aim at him again.

Two headshots later, he finally got to be close enough to tackle his target.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been very aroused to have Akihito struggling under him, his thighs pushing against his as he tried to break free from his grasp, but for once he wished the photographer would just stand still.

And just as that thought occurred to him, he felt the lithe body under him go limp, the warm breath on his ear coming out in short puffs.

“ _A-Asami?_ ”

He could have moved away then. He probably _should have_ \- it was not as if the people around them had stopped shooting just because they were sprawled on the floor, anyway.

Still, that smell of apple and peach, that warmth seeping from under the other man’s T-shirt, his voice, his presence, had made everything else - including the urgency of their current predicaments - fade to black.

“What are you doing here?” he faintly heard the photographer whisper, his fingers flexing slightly against his back as they stared at each other. “I thought you were at Club Ambitious?”

His only response was a rather deep frown.

“The text?” he saw the other man ask, looking just as confused as his gaze darted from his lips to his eyes. “You sent me a message…”

Asami let out a sigh, quickly bringing himself to a standing position as he spoke.

“It wasn't from me,” he said, holding out a hand to help Akihito up. “My phone got stolen.”

“What? By whom?”

When the warm fingers wrapped around his, Asami was quick to change their positions so that the photographer was shielded from any potential stray bullets coming from the main road just down the alley.

“It’s a long story, we need to get out of here,” he replied, quickly spotting an abandoned building on the other side of the road. “You see that other alley, just past Nakamichi?” he asked, tilting his head sideways. “I need you to run to that open door near the dumpster, don't stop, don't look back.”

“But-”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

He could see the concern in the hazel eyes, and the idea that Akihito still worried about his wellbeing made his heart jump awkwardly inside his chest.

Perhaps not everything was lost.

“Go,” he whispered, prompting the other man to start running.

He had already located the source of the shots that had come closest to where they were, and the moment the man hiding behind the car turned around to shoot Akihito when he started running towards the other alley, all he had to do was pull the trigger of his Beretta and watch the limp body fall to the ground.

He repeated the same procedure until no one was shooting in the photographer’s direction, or his, when he started running as well.

Soon enough, the two of them were panting as they took cover inside the derelict reception of what had been a rather lively love hotel back in the day.

“Are you hurt?” Asami asked, studying the other man’s figure as he tried to catch his breath.

“No,” the photographer puffed in response, his eyes scanning his body as well. “Are you?”

“I'm fine.”

Faster than he imagined, the hazel orbs found the red stain on his shoulder.

“You were shot!” he heard Akihito exclaim, his eyes wide with worry as he moved closer to inspect his injury. “Why do you always-”

He would never hear the end of that sentence, even because he had stopped listening quite a while ago. His fingers had gently tilted Akihito’s chin upwards, and he glanced at the hazel eyes for a split second before bringing their mouths together, a quiet gasp of surprise quickly suppressed as his hand moved to the photographer’s lower back to bring him closer.

Somewhere at the back of his head, he wondered if Akihito would push him away and unleash a string of his usual curses - if he did, he would not be surprised or discouraged. But the soft lips he had craved for months yielded right away, welcoming his tongue without hesitation, and the fingers that had crawled up his neck and were now grabbing his hair made it even more obvious that Akihito was craving him as well.

The combination of relief and arousal that flooded his bloodstream made his feet move of their own accord, dragging the lighter body with him until he found a wall, and pressed the other man’s back against it.

“Asami…”

He grunted at the whisper that carried his name so sensually, one of his hands sneaking under the photographer's clothes to touch his hardened nipples. When his lips slowly shifted to the man’s neck, he felt Akihito’s hips jerk forward, the evidence of his arousal pressing against his thigh as he clutched the fabric of his shirt.

From the corner of his eye, Asami could see someone approach, and he had already reached for his gun by the time his secretary came into view, just to spin on his heels and retreat as fast as he had arrived.

“What?” he heard the photographer pant, his cheeks flustered as his chest heaved up and down.

“Nothing,” he whispered in response, leading one of Akihito’s hands to his raging hard-on and eliciting a deep moan that made his entire body throb.

A part of him was fully aware there were all kinds of problems in what they were about to do, including the fact there were people waiting to take them down just around the corner.

Another part of him couldn't possibly care less.

When the warm fingers moved along the fabric of his pants, teasing his length with a firm, quick squeeze, Asami had to bite his lip not to groan.

“Akihito…”

His own voice sounded alien to his ears, the distinct pleading note that edged so close to desperation almost making him gasp in embarrassment.

He had been holding a lot in, and the fact his fierce photographer was responding so well to his advances was putting all of his self-control to the test.

His mouth had once again moved to the tender flesh between Akihito’s neck and his collarbone, and this time he saw what his eyes, so clouded by desire and need, had failed to detect moments prior.

_A series of small love bites left there by **someone else**._

He sucked in an irregular breath that transpired jealousy, but that the photographer was far too enraptured to realize as he threw his head back, eyes tightly shut as he moaned.

His grasp around Akihito’s hips had tightened, and his eyes were probably shining with a manic gleam when he lowered his lips to the soft skin being offered so openly to him. He would erase those marks in his body, just like he would erase any other man from Akihito’s heart and soul.

He sucked hard on the photographer’s neck, letting his teeth graze against the smooth skin time and again, pulling it into his mouth with enough strength to make the younger man shudder.

“Asami…” Akihito whimpered, his body shifting and straining under his touch. “It hurts…”

He inhaled one more time before coaxing the photographer’s lower lip into his mouth, their tongues clashing together in a hot, wet dance as the kiss deepened, his hands roaming freely as Akihito once again pressed his straining erection against him.

He was very close to ridding the photographer of his clothes and taking him right then and there, but for the first time since they had gotten to that building, his foggy brain was able to send the right commands to the rest of his body.

“We need to get out of here,” he found himself whispering, taking a step back despite the urge to keep going. “It's not safe.”

The photographer nodded, his pupils still blown back as he looked around, as if trying to make sense of his whereabouts. Asami took that moment to rake his fingers through his hair, glancing down at the bulge tenting his pants and noticing Akihito seemed to be struggling with the same problem, pulling at the hem of his T-shirt as if hoping it would get long enough to cover the crotch of his jeans.

He cleared his throat before walking outside, one of his hands laced with Akihito’s, one of his pistols firmly secured in the other.

“Kirishima,” he said, as the two of them walked towards the limo waiting a few metres ahead.  “Is the area clear?”

“Yes, sir, but we couldn't get hold of Kazuki,” the secretary explained, quickening the step so that the photographer wouldn't notice Sakazaki handcuffed to the steering wheel of the BMW they had just walked past. “We have sent part of the team on a search but it’s best to take Takaba-san somewhere safe while we still can.”

Behind him, he felt Akihito stop on his tracks, the grip on his hand slackening.

“Asami…”

He let out a sigh, still looking ahead as he stopped a step away from the BMW.

Judging by the photographer’s tone, and by the abrupt way in which his fingers had slipped from his hand, the damage had already been done.

“What is _he_ doing here?”

++++

He sincerely hoped there was a good explanation for the manager to be handcuffed to the steering wheel of one of Asami’s vehicles, his face so bruised and swollen he was barely recognizable.

“Asami, why is Sakazaki here?”

When he repeated the question, though, he was no longer interested in the answer.

“Have you… what have you done to him?”

His voice only reflected a fraction of the panic and guilt bubbling inside his chest - regardless of the reason why that man was there, he knew why he had been beaten to a bloody pulp, and his eyes started filling with tears.

He had let the warmth of Asami’s body, his kisses, his touch numb his deepest fears, his worst memories, but now that he was sober again, they all came back to haunt him.

“We need to get out of the road,” he heard the older man whisper.

“Don’t,” the photographer replied, pulling his arm away before Asami had the chance to grab it.

Before he knew, he was back to that day, two months ago, dragging his feet out of the penthouse, the physical pain paling in comparison to the distress of having been discarded, humiliated, rejected.

He had never been one to hold grudges, but that particular day and the two months of silence that followed were a wound that had not yet healed, and now… seeing what Asami had done to the other man because of him only showed that he was nowhere done being pissed, on the very contrary.

“You'll never let go, will you?” he whispered, vaguely aware of Kirishima’s concerned sigh when he and the other man ignored all security protocols, refusing to get into the car when prompted to do so. “I thought you were done punishing me.”

“I'm not punishing you, I'm punishing him,” Asami replied, his eyes glowing dangerously as he cast a glance towards the BMW. “He humiliated you.”

“So did you.”

He gave up trying to blink his tears away when the first ones rolled down his face.

Now he understood why he had been so hesitant about seeing Asami again. It was not because he was afraid of being hurt again, it was not because he was mad. It was because he feared the man would show no remorse for what he had done, and now that they were both face to face, he suspected his assumptions were horribly right.

 _Asami was not planning to apologize_ , he could tell.

“Seriously, after everything that happened, a blowjob throws you off?” he asked quietly, not knowing exactly what he was expecting to hear in response. “Gets you so...offended and...disgusted. Why?” he continued, his voice hoarse and nasal as he glanced at the golden orbs staring at him. “The one time I do it to help you, I don't...I don't understand…”

Perhaps there was nothing to understand, really. He had probably just overestimated the role he played in the life of the man standing in front of him, his face impassive as always, no emotion showing in his eyes.

“Not that it matters anyway,” he snorted, wiping away his tears with a bitter smirk on his lips. “I heard you have been keeping your bed warm even after I was gone.”

It was the first time Asami’s stoic face showed some kind of reaction, in a mix of surprise and anger.

“Who told you that?” he asked. “Maya?”

“It doesn't matter who told me.”

“You know, for someone that works as an investigative reporter, you are rather incompetent in selecting your sources,” the other man retorted, his eyes two pools of incandescent lava as he spoke. “And you are one to talk about keeping your bed warm, anyway,” he hissed, his usually cold and calculated voice a little bit rough around the edges. “What's his name again, _Tanimura Masayoshi?”_

Akihito felt his heart had just skipped a beat.

_That explained a lot._

“For someone criticising my sources, you are not exactly in the loop either,” he scoffed, tempted to say he had not yet slept with the cop, but now that Asami had mentioned it, he might as well. “But I get it now,” he said instead, his voice slightly shaky as he nodded slowly to show his understanding. “That is why you wanted to talk to me, to reclaim your property.”

He scoffed again, and bit his lower lip when he finally understood why the other man had been so eager minutes prior.

“You...you are unbelievable,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his hair as he tried to steady his voice. “You send me flying out of the door, but the moment another man comes close to me, you…” he paused to let out a nervous chuckle. “This is not about me, is it?” he asked, his voice hitting a crescendo as frustration gave way to pure, undistilled anger. “It's about you, it's always about you, it's you defending your property, your toys!”

“You are not a toy.”

Asami’s expression seemed to soften for the fraction of a second, his eyes gloomy as they darted around, his eyebrows slightly pulled together as he spoke.

“Oh yeah?” the photographer asked, drawing in a long breath as he tried to sound much more indifferent than he actually was. “Then _what am I?_ ”

The one million dollar question, one that he had asked so many times and was beginning to fear he would never have answered.

The cold, emotionless expression that had once again hijacked the man’s face, though, made him feel even less confident that he was going to get the answer the expected.

“Say it, Asami,” he whispered. “Now is the time.”

++++

_That was **not** the time._

His eyes darted around once again, checking rooftops and corners to make sure no one was about to shoot them again, an impatient Kirishima shifting on his feet behind him as if waiting for the right time to take a step ahead.

When he finally did, Asami raised a hand, and the secretary immediately returned to his place after a rather noticeable grunt.

And then, he averted his gaze back to the photographer’s face, chin trembling, hazel eyes glistening with tears.

Asami could feel his heart jumping in his throat, so fast that he could hear the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins. He had imagined that moment so many times, but none of them, not even the worst scenario he had envisioned, included the the two of them standing in front of a convenience store, a few steps away from Sakazaki, of all people, with a bunch of his subordinates watching out for goons that were out to kill them.

 _That was definitely not the time_ for that conversation.

“Not like this,” he whispered.

“Like this, how, with witnesses?” the photographer asked, his voice nasal and raspy.

“Not to defend myself, not when you are out of your mind with anger,” he replied, his voice calm and collected although every single muscle in his face was threatening to betray him.

“You bet I am angry!” Akihito snapped, his cheeks pink and glistening with tears. “I am fucking _enraged_!”

He parted his lips to speak, although he was not sure as to what words would come out of his mouth when he did.

The photographer, however, didn't seem inclined to wait for his reaction, and continue blaring.

“That's why you wanted to talk to me, because you thought Tanimura and I _were fucking?_ ”

Asami closed his mouth, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt. He didn't like that feeling, of being cornered, of losing control, of _failing_ \- the more upset Akihito got, the more he felt he was drawing a blank, every explanation he had ever thought of giving slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

“Did you miss me, did you worry about me _at all_ in those two months?”

By the time the other man asked that question, he had already fallen into a void, memories of two months of emptiness flashing behind his eyes like a movie in black and white.

That was the answer to that question, but one he didn't know how to voice, or perhaps didn't want to.

“Say something,” Asami heard the other man whisper, his pleading tone only making his brain freeze even worse.

“Now is not the time, Akihito,” he replied, his voice distant and disconnected. “When we get out of he-”

“Yeah. It's never the time.”

The look of defeat and disappointment in the hazel eyes made his stomach sink.

“There will never be a time for us, Asami, that is the truth,” the photographer added quietly, wiping away his tears with a saddened smile on his lips. “Go ahead, kill him if you want,” he continued, nodding towards the BMW, “but don't say it is because of me, because it isn't. This is about you.”

Asami felt one of his eyes twitch, and closed his hands into fists to hide a rather obvious tremor.

“And I am done waiting for an answer,” he heard Akihito say, in a tone that was both final and miserable.

For the longest seconds of his life, Asami kept staring at the man that had been the biggest, most pleasant surprise of his life, but one that he seemed destined to lose.

He had always thought that when the time came for him to make amendments, he would pass the test with flying colours. He knew what he had to say, he knew how he felt. Now, however, looking at Akihito’s face, he realized that he had built a very thick wall between them, one that he himself no longer knew how to cross.

And for that, his punishment would be to see the photographer walk out of his life for good.

“I…I'm done,” the photographer repeated, his shoulders dropping in defeat as he spun on his heels and walked away.

Asami, on the other hand, remained still. He felt his feet had merged with the concrete under the soles of his expensive Italian shoes.

“Suoh,” he whispered, turning his head to look at the blond man standing next to his first assistant. “Go keep an eye on him.”

Regardless of their current relationship status, he had no intentions of letting Akihito be killed by his enemies.

Not now, not ever.

“Looks like someone _did_ get castrated today, after all…”

Sakazaki’s sarcasm made Kirishima let out a horrified gasp, his eyes wide at the manager’s audacity, but Asami merely let a smirk curl the corners of his mouth.

That man had just volunteered to be at the receiving end of the scorching anger ravishing his system, and he would make very good use of that chance.

He grabbed Sakazaki by the collar of his shirt, and then pulled on his right arm until the other one, still attached by the wrist to the steering wheel, extended painfully, his elbow popping out of place after another violent pull.

He repeated that same procedure multiple times, waiting for the handcuffs to break, the steering wheel to break, or Sakazaki’s thumb to break, whichever came first.

Much to his entertainment, it was the third option, and he grinned when the manager howled in pain, holding his limp hand as he stumbled out of the car.

In no time, the two men were back in the alley where Asami had been minutes before, his knees resting on each side of Sakazaki’s body as he prepared to unleash a series of vicious punches upon his face.

“If you kill me, _he will never forgive you,_ ” he heard the manager stutter.

Asami’s nostrils flared.

 _So that had been the plan all along._ Of course, Akihito would never want to be responsible for another person’s death, even when they deserved it. That was why that repulsive pig had insisted on coming along - he wanted to be seen, because once he was seen, he knew the photographer would show mercy.

And to honor the other man’s wish, Asami himself would not be able to carry out his plans...

“You're right, I am _not_ going to kill you,” Asami whispered, his eyes gleaming with a silent threat. “But just so you know, there are worse things than death.”

And so, he proceeded to punching Sakazaki’s face with such powerful blows he felt two of his knuckles snap, blood spraying his face and shirt as the manager’s face slowly dissolved into an indistinct mass of broken bones and lacerated skin.

“Sir, that's enough.”

He only noticed Kirishima’s presence when the man held his hand mid air.

“He's barely breathing,” the secretary whispered. “If you go on, he will die.”

Asami's chest was heaving up and down when he got to his feet, covered in blood, sweat, anger, frustration.

He felt his morning, and his life, were spiralling out of control.

“Leave the country,” he said at last, after wiping his face with a hand towel Kirishima had passed him. “If you ever cross my path again, or his, I will finish what I started.”

He then tossed the towel on top of the other man, who was still whimpering in pain, and walked back to his car.

Where he was going next, he didn't even know.

++++

It was way past seven in the evening when Tanimura Masayoshi finally saw the notification he had been waiting for all day.

_**New message from Takaba Akihito** _

He swiped the screen to read its contents, wondering if it would be some kind of polite turn down...

_'Sorry, busy day. Your shift today ends at 7, yeah? Wait for me in front of the station.'_

He put the phone back into his pocket, his eyes darting around as he waited for the photographer to show up. Akihito's radio silence had made him think that perhaps he had taken things too fast the day before, although there was no doubt that they both had enjoyed it thoroughly.

He actually couldn't stop thinking about it. Akihito’s smile, his face, the look in his eyes…

It was very rare for him to feel like that. His had found himself spacing out during the hours in which he had not heard back from the photographer; the prospect of being with him again made his stomach flutter.

It was dangerous to soar that high, especially after the other man had told him he was not ready to be in a committed relationship, but he couldn't help himself.

It was too late for him to turn away now.

“Hey.”

The familiar voice made a startled gasp leave his throat.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Akihito asked, tilting his head sideways as he looked at him with a small smile on his lips.

His eyes, however, were puffy and reddish, irradiating the very opposite of happiness.

_Something was wrong._

“Are you alright?” Tanimura asked with a frown, his concerns about how to greet Akihito properly long forgotten.

“Yeah…” the photographer replied, staring at the ground as he scratched the only part of his neck not covered by a scarf.

“Are you cold?” he asked, a confused frown wrinkling his forehead, since Akihito seemed to be sweating buckets. “I can lend you my jacket, if you want.”

It was a warm night, anyway, which only made the scarf even more of a  disposable accessory.

“I'm good.”

The detective nodded at the short answer, wondering what to say next. Clearly there would be no point asking Akihito what was wrong - even though they had known each other for a very short period of time, he already knew the photographer tended to be very stubborn when he wanted to.

“So…” he said, after clearing his throat. “The Sengoku family is in Tokyo. There was a bit of a commotion earlier, in Nakamichi Boulevard,” he explained, hoping that the news would somehow pique the other man’s interest. “A shootout.”

“Did the police arrest them?” he heard the photographer ask, after a rather disheartened nod.

“No,” the cop replied, surprised at Akihito’s lack of enthusiasm. “Someone must have paid a lot of money to the people in the area, no one wants to tell us what they saw so work has been kind of difficult…”

There was a long pause, in which the photographer seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

“I was there,” he whispered, finally lifting his gaze from the ground to look at him in the eye for the first time. “What do you need to know?”

Tanimura blinked slowly. No wonder he had not been surprised at the news.

“I don't know,” he replied, trying to imagine what exactly had happened to make the other man look so miserable. “They are a tough bunch to track, always moving around, never settling… Other families usually stay in hotels, but they are more like nomads,” he added. “I was planning to put a gps tracker in one of their vehicles, but even the vehicles don't appear to go to the same place twice…”

“I might remember part of the license plates, if that helps,” Akihito said, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans as his face began to light up with interest.

“Sure thing.”

For the next couple of minutes, Tanimura entertained himself with taking notes of everything the photographer described, making appreciative humming sounds as he wrote.

“I need to call Central,” he said, picking up his phone after Akihito told him what he could remember from the cars he had seen earlier that day. “That's some nice info right there.”

“Why didn't you just send them an email?” the photographer asked a few minutes later, when he ended the call. “It's funny to see you taking notes, weren't you supposed to be all tech savvy and stuff?”

The comment made Tanimura tilt his chin upwards, a proud smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

“Most email servers are not remotely safe,” the cop replied. “I mean, most users have no idea, they think that the things they delete, for example, disappear into nothingness, but the truth is that they just get dumped in the cyberspace in the form of code…” he explained, his voice filled with barely contained enthusiasm. “For those that know the code there are no boundaries.”

“ _‘Those that know the code’_ ,” Akihito repeated. “You mean, hackers?”

“Yeah…”

“I almost forgot that about you.”

The two of them chuckled quietly, and Tanimura took that chance to move closer to the photographer, one arm carefully encircling his waist, their mouths only a few inches away from each other.

But, of course, his _damn phone_ took that precise moment to ring.

“You should pick it up,” Akihito whispered, his fresh breath bathing his lips in small warm puffs.

He let out a sigh at the uncomely interruption, but his annoyance was quickly replaced by a burst of excitement as he pressed the phone closer to his ear.

“Central located one of the cars,” he announced, after ending yet another call. “Surveillance cameras show they are in Shibuya.”

“Great, let’s go.”

The photographer was already heading to the police car parked ahead when Tanimura grabbed him by the arm.

“Akihito, wait, _wait_ ,” he said, eliciting a quiet gasp of confusion from the man by his side. “I can't… I can't let you join me on this one. It's too dangerous.”

Slowly, the confused frown on Akihito’s face gave way to a rather bitter glare.

“I see,” he saw the photographer mutter. “So let me see if I got this right… I give you the lead, and _you get the credit_?

“ _‘Get the credit?_ ’,” Tanimura asked, raising an eyebrow. “More like, get shot, stabbed… _chased,_ ” he explained, his eyes wide as he spoke. “Those guys are dangerous, Akihito.”

“I know that,” was the blond man’s response. “And I want to go with you.”

And there it was, the trademark obstination.

“Or you can leave me alone and I will think of something myself,” Akihito added, crossing his arms after a shrug. “Your call.”

“You're one tough cookie, aren't you?” Tanimura replied, frowning as he put both hands on his hips. “Well, fine,” he finally conceded. “How good of a driver are you?”

“Good enough.”

“Excellent,” the detective said, before walking past the police car and entering a parking lot across the street.

“Wait, isn't that your car?” Akihito asked, looking thoroughly confused as he glanced over his shoulder.

“If we want to get to Shibuya while the Omi is still there, we’ll need something faster,” Tanimura replied, quickly locating his target.

He saw the photographer's eyes go wide when he retrieved a rather fancy key from his pocket and unlocked the vehicle’s door.

“A fucking Lamborghini, _are you kidding me_?!” he squeaked. “You have a _fucking Lamborghini_?!”

“Nope,” the detective replied, biting his lip not to laugh. “But Prosecutor Kuroda does.”

“ _What?!_ ” Akihito’s eyes were about to pop out of his head. “We are _stealing Kuroda’s car?!_ ”

“Not stealing, _borrowing_ ,” the cop corrected, getting into the passenger’s seat and waiting for the other man to recover from the shock and join him. “And if you are really a good driver we will return it in one piece very soon.”

Akihito’s panicked expression made him chuckle.

“And if we don't… well, who cares,” he added, barely bothering to hide his contempt towards one of his superiors. “Ok, fastest route is through the 246, they were spotted somewhere around Sanno Hospital. Just take a left on Miyazaki Avenue and we might be able to intercept them in the freeway.”

++++

“Go ahead, Suoh, we’re listening,” said Kirishima, as he and his boss stared intently at the phone placed on the middle of the man's desk.

 _“Takaba and the cop just got into the freeway,”_ the bodyguard replied, his voice partially stifled by the quiet hum of his BMW’s engine as he sped down the 246 freeway. _“They appear to be chasing a car.”_

“What car?” the secretary asked.

 _“Looks like one of the cars involved in today's ambush,”_ Suoh answered, pausing for a moment before speaking again. _“Yes, I just got visual. They're Sengoku’s men alright.”_

“Any way you can intercept them?” their boss asked, his deep pronounce giving away his concern despite the calm in his voice.

_“Negative, they are in a Lamborghini, going impossibly fast.”_

Kirishima merely pursed his lips in response.

_That kid was going to get himself killed._

_“The cop just jumped out onto the enemy's car,”_ the bodyguard continued, after a surprised gasp. _“They just got out of the freeway. Tanimura’s down, the Omi is taking off.”_

The secretary lifted his eyes to his boss’s face, just in time to see the man perched at the edge of his seat, his eyes glowing with a mix of anger and fear.

“And Takaba?” he asked, his deep voice dangerously low.

_“He just parked. Getting out of the car now. And…”_

“And what?”

Kirishima saw one of the eyebrows go up as he spoke, one of the very distinct signs his boss was reading between the lines after the bodyguard’s untimely pause.

“Suoh?”

_“Uh… He doesn't seem to be injured.”_

The secretary let out a disheartened sigh when his boss’s eyes narrowed after Suoh’s response.

The man was clearly hiding something, and judging by the look in the golden eyes in front of him, his boss had every intention to find out _what._

“Where is he?”

_“An alley off Hinokicho Park.”_

“The cop?”

_“Apparently he hasn't suffered any serious injury either.”_

“Kirishima, go get the car ready,” the man finally announced, picking up his jacket and disappearing behind the door after prompting his secretary to do the same. “Suoh, send us the gps coordinates.”

_“Yes, sir.”_

Kirishima was about to end the call when a quiet whisper caught his attention.

_“Kei?”_

“Yes, Suoh, I'm listening,” he answered quietly, after picking up the handset.

_“Am I on speaker?”_

“No. Why?”

The ominous sigh on the other side of the line made him fear the answer.

_“Be careful when the boss gets here. He's not gonna like what he's about to see.”_

 


	44. Destroyer of Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanimura and Akihito take their relationship to the next level (or sort of); Kirishima and his boss have a heart-to-heart after some good ol’ brawling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to update: this chapter was more complex than I had originally expected! WARNING for slightly graphic sexual content - the good news is that tables will turn in the upcoming chapter. Expect Asami and Akihito to meet again really, *really* soon!

 

“Masa!” Akihito exclaimed, getting out of the car and quickly rushing to where the cop had landed. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” the man panted in response, using the dumpster by his side for support as he stood up. “The tracker’s in!”

The photographer chuckled, his heart still racing as he watched the detective dust dirt off his pants, a very noticeable tear in one of the sleeves of his shirt.

He still couldn't believe what had just happened.

Had he been really driving a stolen sports car at that speed down the freeway while chasing criminals?

He could still feel the blood pounding in his ears, the small electric shocks on his skin making his entire body throb with excitement.

“Let's see if it works,” he heard Tanimura mutter, staring intently at his phone screen. “Ha, we got them!”

“We did it?”

“We did it!”

Akihito watched as the cop grinned from ear to ear, his chest heaving up and down, the frenetic gleam in his eyes probably mirroring his.

“That was…” the photographer whispered, his breath still heavy and shallow as he looked at the other man.

“ _Hot?_ ”

Akihito nodded his agreement, hands unconsciously reaching for the man’s torso and pulling him closer.

“Hot,” he replied, before their mouths connected.

It felt like the detective had grown an extra pair of hands - he had no idea how the slender fingers managed to be so on many places at the same time but he was not going to complain, oh no.

He needed that. He needed to feel good.

And judging by the solid erection pressing against his belly as they kissed as if there was no tomorrow, Tanimura had _exactly_ what he needed.

“Masa?” he whispered, his lips throbbing after very long seconds of sucking and nipping, as his lower back connected with a thud to the side of the car.

“Hmm?”

Before replying, though, he made sure to sneak a hand under the man’s shirt to graze his blunt nails along the taut muscles of his stomach.

“I want to go all the way tonight,” he said, his voice no louder than a murmur against Tanimura’s ear.

The man’s startled gasp almost made him laugh.

“Uh…o-ok,” he stuttered, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he blinked rapidly, as if unaware of what to do next. “Ok.”

At last, Akihito saw him nod energetically, taking a step back with his light brown hair completely disheveled.

“Let's go,” the cop said, grabbing him by the wrist as he prepared to move away from the car. “I think there's a hotel-”

“ _Now_ ,” Akihito interrupted, giving Tanimura’s hand a pull strong enough to make the  man stagger backwards.

The detective’s eyes were about to pop out of his head.

“ _Now?_ ” he asked, a mix of panic and arousal transpiring in every line of his delicate complexion. “I'm not sure I want our first time to be here…”

“You can have the second time wherever you want,” the photographer whispered back, one of his hands pulling down the zipper of the other man’s pants to make it clear he had no intention of wasting time getting to a hotel.

“But-”

“But what?”

“B-But...I don't have any lube,” Tanimura muttered, his face once again showing signs of distress although his body was responding very well to Akihito’s insistent caresses. “I'm gonna end up hurting you.”

“I can take it.”

That answer elicited another gasp that the photographer also ignored.

_He was not to be detained._

One of his hands had slid past the elastic band of the cop’s underwear to give his backside a firm squeeze. Was that enough to clue him in?

He raised an eyebrow.

 _Apparently not_ , since the man still made no motion to undress him, looking far too confused and hesitant for his own taste.

“Fine, I'll help…” Akihito muttered, unbuckling his own belt before unzipping his jeans without missing a beat.

“Akihito, are you okay?”

The question made his eyes shoot up.

“You look a bit…”

“What?” the photographer asked, an angry frown wrinkling his forehead as his hands stopped midway of pushing his pants down.

“I…” the cop replied after a shrug and another series of rapid blinks. “I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

On any other day, Tanimura’s concern for his wellbeing would probably warm his heart.

That night, though, that was _the very last thing_ he needed.

“Fine,” he hissed, zipping his jeans back up as he pushed the cop away. “Forget it. I should just go home.”

He was about to turn on his heels when the other man spoke.

“Home? In Yokohama?”

“That's the only home I have, so yeah, Yokohama.”

 _‘Dumbass,’_ he completed mentally, as his level of annoyance reached new heights.

He just wanted to blow off some steam - since nothing was going to happen, was it so surprising that he wanted to leave?

“No way, I'm not letting you wander around, the curfew is on, it's-”

“Not _letting_ me?” Akihito asked, his eyes narrowed and with the same amount of anger as his voice. “You don't get to make that call. I am not a damsel in distress, I am not a child, I can look after myself,” he snarled.

He was already moving away when the cop grabbed him by the arm.

“I know all that.”

“Do you?” the photographer asked, taking one step closer as their eyes fought a silent battle darting back and forth, neither of them blinking. “Are you sure?”

Without uttering a single word, Tanimura turned him around and shoved him against the car so suddenly that it was his turn to gasp.

Before he knew, his jeans and underwear were already pooling at his ankles, the other man’s muscular body pressing against his back, his fingertips tilting his head to the side so that their mouths could connect again in a wet, deep kiss that sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock.

Now _that_ was what he was talking about.

“Do you have protection?” Akihito panted, as soon as they parted for air.

“Yes,” the cop whispered in response. “I never leave home without my bulletproof vest.”

The photographer let out a surprised gasp, partially because of the unexpected joke, partially because a wet finger had just slipped into his hole.

“Open this for me, will you?” he heard Tanimura’s husky voice whisper, after passing him a laminated square and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

His fingers were shaky as he pulled the condom out of its pack, and he knew he was not relaxing enough for Tanimura to prepare him properly. The racing heartbeat and uneven breathing pattern were not doing much to hide his nervousness either.

“You are too agitated…” the detective whispered, before capturing his lips into another kiss, much slower and softer. “I need you to relax, ok?”

Akihito nodded quickly, a nervous smile curving his lips as he parted his legs wider, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe when he felt the familiar pressure at his entrance.

“Just tell me if it hurts.”

++++

When they were finally able to spot the Lamborghini parked in an alley just across the street, Kirishima couldn't help but gasp.

He hoped his disheartened reaction would go unnoticed by the man on the backseat, but whether that was the case or not, he would never be able to tell, not if the stony, deceivingly calm expression of his boss was the only thing to go by.

Suoh should have briefed him better.

He had prepared himself for a live rerun of the photographer's last encounter with the cop, but to see Takaba Akihito with his pants down, bent over a car that looked an awful lot like Kuroda’s, with the cop half naked behind him, panting over his shoulder… That required a completely different level of mental preparation.

A quick glance at Asami Ryuichi’s reflection on the rear view mirror of the BMW only confirmed what he already knew.

For quite a while, his boss had been treading a dangerous line between sanity and full-blown mental disarray, his fair amount of concerns piling on top of one another and rising dangerously high above their heads.

Seeing Takaba Akihito, his lover of three years, having sex with another man, on the day of his birthday, was bound to be the final straw.

A rather punishing final straw at that.

He clutched the steering wheel when the man reached for one of the guns stowed in his shoulder holster. The golden eyes had that distinct glow that was one level above murderous, and he knew exactly what was coming next.

Normally, he would simply step out of the car and open the door so that the man could fulfill his plans, which in that case very obviously consisted of murdering one of the men across the street, and dragging the other back to his penthouse.

Over the years, he had learnt not to question his boss’s decisions, not even when he didn't understand them in the slightest. At the same time, though, it was his duty to keep that man safe from harm, even - _and especially_ \- when it was self-inflicted.

And that was why he stepped on the gas pedal, speeding away after making sure all doors were locked.

“Stop the car, Kirishima.”

He ignored the command, just like he ignored the very obvious threat in the man’s voice and the gun that all of a sudden was pointed in his direction.

“Stop. The damn. _Car._ ”

When a bullet flew past his right ear and bounced off the windshield, the BMW swerved off the road and came to a sudden halt upon hitting a fire hydrant.

“Unlock the door.”

The secretary let out a small sigh before pressing a button on his own door and unlocking all others. Sure, there would be a price to pay for such an unpopular decision, and he realized what it would be the moment Asami Ryuichi got out of the car and stood silently next to his door, his eyes ablaze with fury.

“Get out.”

He was about to get the lecture, or the beating, of a lifetime.

_Maybe both._

He had barely made it out of the vehicle when the first punch hit his jaw, and his expression was a mixture of surprise and outrage when he stumbled towards the wall covered in graffiti next to a noodle shop.

How juvenile of that man, to engage in a street fight with his own first assistant, in some shady corner of Shibuya!

He straightened his tie, clearing his throat as he removed his glasses and carefully put them inside the pocket of his jacket.

Game was _on._

++++

He was quick to discard his shirt as soon as his hips started moving.

The effort to cause as little discomfort as possible had made him so hot that his entire body was covered in a sheer layer of sweat - he could feel drops of it running down his back.

But regardless of his best efforts, Akihito’s body remained as stiff as a rock, his knuckles going white as he held himself against the hood of the car.

It worried him that the photographer had not uttered a single word to ask him to stop, although the insane amount of friction their bodies were getting at the spot where they were connected, had to be extremely uncomfortable.

He could see Akihito’s expression reflected on the polished surface of the black hood, his face alternating the occasional wince with a small smile of pleasure. The mixed signs were making him fear that he was hurting the blond man bent over before him, despite the hardness that throbbed in his hand every time he moved his fingers up and down the photographer's length.

Still determined to make the other man feel better, Tanimura bit his lip and sneaked a hand under Akihito’s T-shirt to tease his nipples, watching his face closely and seeing the hazel eyes still distant and glassy, despite the deep moan that had left his throat.

A throat that he would have loved to kiss and bite, by the way, if only the photographer were not so adamant in keeping the damn scarf on.

He let out a sigh.

For days on end, he had spent a great deal of his time wondering what it would feel like to be inside Takaba Akihito. He had envisioned many things for their first night together, he had planned to make him an unforgettable dinner first, perhaps even wear a g-string to remind them both of their first time working together. He was absolutely sure he would look ridiculous but at least he would make the other man laugh, and he loved Akihito’s laughter.

He stilled his hips, and looked at the precarity of their current circumstances.

That was _not_ how it was supposed to happen.

“Akihito... I'm...I'm sorry,” he muttered, taking a step back before helping the other man stand straight and turn around. “I’m sorry, but I can't.”

The photographer looked positively shocked, eyes wide as he frowned.

“What?” he asked. “Why?”

“It feels wrong.”

“Wrong?”

It was not even the fact that doing that in a dark alley a mere block away from a park was almost like asking to be arrested for public indecency. That, he could live with, it would just be another chapter of a lifetime of misconduct.

“You are not well,” he explained.

Akihito let out in unhappy chuckle.

“I've had a full day, I just want to... feel good. And I don't know about you, but sex makes me feel _great_ ,” he said, his eyes still sporting the same ferocious look of when they started to make out. “Ok? That's all.”

“There are other things that can make you feel great,” the cop replied.

“Yeah, but I want _this thing_.”

The photographer’s words were followed by a very firm squeeze that made his waning erection throb back to life.

_Damn it!_

A more primal side of himself was clawing his way to the surface - he needed to walk away _now_ or he would only let go of that man after they both were completely spent.

After inhaling deeply, he moved the photographer’s fingers away from his crotch and spoke again.

“You deserve better than to be fucked in a dark alley like a wh-”

He paused, but he knew it was too late.

Akihito’s lips had curved downwards, his forehead wrinkled in a frown that was both angry and sad at the same time.

“Like a _what_?” he asked, his voice strained and low.

He was about to apologise for the unfortunate line when a fist connected painfully to one of his cheeks, the surprise making him lose his balance and trip on his feet, landing on the ground with a thud.

“You fucking jerk, is that what you think of me?” he heard Akihito scream. “That I'm a _whore_?”

“Of course not, I didn't mean-”

“Yeah, right, of course you didn't,” the photographer snorted, before pulling up his jeans and walking away as fast as humanly possible.

“Akihito, wait.”

“You don't know shit about me, Tanimura,” the other man replied, picking up his step when the cop finally stood up and fixed his pants as well. “And it's better if it stays like that.”

“Listen, listen,” he managed to say, after grabbing Akihito’s arm. “I didn't mean to say that.”

The hazel eyes, however, showed no sign of relief or amusement.

“You are not a whore,” Tanimura continued, his eyes darting back and forth, as he tried to catch his breath.

Those two steps he had taken to reach the other man had made him feel he had just run a marathon.

“I just... I got nervous, ok?” he explained, eyes dropping to the ground as he spoke. “You are so upset, so riled up, I don't think it's a good idea to...to…”

“To what?” Akihito asked, his voice still angry although his face looked troubled. “It's just sex. There's nothing to think about.”

The way the corner of his mouth twitched as he uttered those words made his heart skip a beat.

“Is that what you really think?” the cop asked quietly.

There was a moment of silence in which the only sound between them was a scoff, followed by a very quiet sniffle.

“Yes, that's what I really think,” the photographer finally answered, and for a second Tanimura could have sworn his eyes were glistening with tears.

If that was the case, though, they were quickly replaced by another fierce gleam of contempt.

“Ok?” the blond man continued. “And don't make me say this again, I am not ready to play the boyfriend game, so stop making everything so damn complicated.”

The ragged breath at the end of that outburst was the cue he needed to move closer.

“Akihito,” he whispered. “Please let me take you to a hotel.”

The hazel eyes averted to his face looked terribly confused.

“You can take a bath, eat, sleep,” he explained, rubbing the photographer’s shoulder with a small, melancholic smile on his lips. “I won't ask any questions.”

And he had many. But for the other man’s sake, he would file them all away, and give him the comfort he seemed to be so desperately in need of.

“Why are you doing this?” he heard Akihito ask quietly, his expression finally void of anger although his eyes were still gloomy. “What do you want from me? I already told you that-”

“I know,” he interrupted, after a long sigh. “And I'll take what I can get. I just...don't want to be the guy you regret having sex with when you wake up tomorrow.”

He saw Akihito’s jaw slacken slightly, his eyes studying his face as if still trying to make sense of what was going on.  
“Let's go,” he said, offering a hand and trying to look calmer than he actually was.

When the slender fingers finally wrapped around his, Tanimura let out a relieved sigh.

Perhaps he could do with some rest and comfort too.

++++

Not far from there, sitting on a stool facing the grubby kitchen of a noodle joint, Kirishima Kei held a dish towel to his nose, one of his eyes horribly more swollen than the other.

“You have to let him be," he whispered to the man by his side, who was sporting a rather deep cut below his chin. "Enough of this madness, stop trying to drag Takaba back into your life."

Asami Ryuichi merely scoffed, pressing a bag of ice against one of his temples.

"When so many things are happening…” Kirishima continued, after returning the bloodied towel to the lady behind the counter. “You can't afford to be this out of yourself."

The secretary let out a satisfied grunt when the other man winced. Yes, he was a very well-behaved accountant but he was also trained in a number of martial arts, and his boss’s already severely bruised knuckles from earlier that day had ended up giving him a considerable advantage in combat.

Not that he had come out of that fight unharmed, oh no. There were chances one of his ribs had cracked; most of his joints felt out of place.

But if brawling was what the man needed to get sober again, then be it. Better to get a fair share of contusions than to see his boss regret a crime committed in the heat of the moment.

"Plus, that cop is one of Maya's friends,” he added, just to feel the other man’s fierce glare scorching his face. "He helped hack the Omi. It was in his file, in case you don't remember."

There was a moment of bitter silence, in which Kirishima finally seemed to make sense of their current whereabouts.

“Wait…” he said, with a confused frown as he looked at the peeling walls around them, and the scarce, worn out furniture scattered across the greasy tiled floor. “Is this a restaurant? What are we doing here?”

“I convinced the owners to send the other customers away and close the shop for our use,” he heard Suoh reply, as he sipped his beer.

How and when the bodyguard had gotten to them, he was in no condition to tell.

“Not that I needed to,” the blond man continued. “Most customers were already running away when the boss threw you headfirst into one of the windows…”

And _that_ explained the headache.

"Suoh, which of our operatives is in charge of Takaba's security?" they both heard the baritone voice ask.

Kirishima let out a quiet sigh.

There was really no point trying to convince that man to get his mind off Takaba Akihito.

"None," the secretary answered before the bodyguard had time to open his mouth. “I contacted Makoto after this morning’s incident, and asked for her assistance."

  
"Are we that short on personnel?" his boss asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That have been trained for the task at hand? Yes,” Kirishima replied, after pinching the bridge of his nose. “And who knows when Shinada will be back, he was in surgery earlier today,” he added, turning around to look at the blond man by his side and wincing painfully when his ribs protested. "Suoh, any news about Shinada?"

"Surgery went well, but the doctors said he has to stay in for at least another two weeks,” the bodyguard explained. "And then there's physical therapy... it's gonna be a while until he is back in the field."

The secretary nodded silently as he looked at their frowning boss.

“So, to keep your mind at ease,” he said, “since you really don't seem to trust Tanimura's ability to keep Takaba safe even though he is a cop-"

"He is a reckless amateur,” the golden-eyed man interrupted, his lips pursed in a clear expression of annoyance. “Because of him Takaba was again in danger, chasing after the Omi."

"We both know Takaba needs no help to get into trouble," Kirishima replied, rubbing one of his eyes tiredly. "Anyway, if that puts your mind at ease, Makoto assigned Wei Shen to keep an eye on him,” he added. "It looks like he has been training Takaba in martial arts, they have developed some kind of bond so it seemed like a wise choice."

He could see, just from a quick glance towards his boss’s determined face, that he had no intentions _whatsoever_ of simply letting the photographer drift away like that.

“Suoh, can you give us a moment?” the secretary asked, waiting until the blond man had left to speak again.

Having been a part of Asami Ryuichi’s life for so many years certainly granted him some privileges - one of them was providing personal advice when the occasion called for it.

“Sir, with all due respect…” he whispered, “...it's time to move on.”

The other man, however, seemed to have barely acknowledged his words, still staring intently at the bottle in front of him.

“‘Move on?’” he finally heard his boss ask, just when he was about to speak again. “Like you moved on from Mirai?”

The secretary let a saddened smile curl the corners of his mouth.

“Is that why you are still alone?”

“I married my career,” Kirishima replied, trying not to let his own personal predicaments get in the way of his reasoning. “Not long ago you used to be married to your career too.”

“I am still married to my career, Kirishima,” the other man replied, and his tone carried the resignation and bleakness of someone who had fought many hard battles to get to the top, and lost many things along the way. “Do you remember what you told me that night, the one time you refused to work overtime because you had promised to meet Mirai on her birthday?”

Kirishima took a large gulp of his drink, feeling his throat constrict slightly.

“That she was my only exception,” he replied, his eyebrows arching upward as he stared at his own hands.

Now _that_ had to be the pinnacle of his career as an assistant and as a friend, to have a drink at a filthy noodle joint with his boss while the two of them pined for lovers they could not have, after throwing punches at each other like two school kids.

“We can't always get what we want,” he whispered, after opting out of a lengthy revival of his own lost battles. “I never shot Kazuki because she married him instead,” he added, with a bitter chuckle. “I could have. Well, given the current circumstances I probably _should have_ , but it wouldn't bring her back to me.”

“Any news of Kazuki, by the way?” he heard the other man ask.

“None,” Kirishima replied, shaking his head slowly. “He disappeared again.”

After a very long sigh, the secretary decided to bring that conversation to an end by making one last point.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say your comparison is flawed,” he said. “The thing about me and Mirai is that the timing was right, but I was not the right person,” he explained, fully aware that his feelings for the woman were never quite reciprocated. “Takaba… I think he is the right person, but the timing is off.”

And that was the reason why he wished his boss would just _let go_. He had his own issues to sort out, he needed time to breathe and to fight a number of other threats… Insisting on a relationship he had no conditions of salvaging right now would only wear him down some more.  

“Maybe you two will meet again farther down the road...” he concluded.

“It's not the timing, Kei,” was the other man’s response, and his usually fierce golden eyes seemed to lose some of its spark for a split second. “It's me.”

That rare moment of openness was quickly cut short when Kirishima’s eyes drifted to the wall behind the man’s head, just in time to see a cockroach disappearing towards the exit.

“Sir, I don't think you should be eating that…” he whispered, frowning when his boss grabbed his chopsticks and prepared to take the first bite from the bowl of seafood lamen that had just been placed in front of him.

“Kei, given how this day has been so far,” the man said, while munching on a large shrimp, “food poisoning would be a breeze.”

“Eat, eat.”

The female voice urging him from behind the counter made Kirishima's raise his eyebrows.

“Sewage outside, yeah?” said the woman, who did not appear to be Japanese. “Lots of bugs,” she explained, through very energetic gestures. “But kitchen, _clean!_ ”

“ _‘Kitchen clean…’_ ” he muttered in response, looking at his own bowl with a suspicious frown. “Ok... If you say so…”

Many minutes later, when Suoh was already back, the secretary pushed his nearly empty bowl aside, and made room for the packages the bodyguard had just brought with him.

“Happy birthday, sir,” he said, passing the other man a rectangular box he had wrapped himself the day before.

He saw Suoh order another round of beers as the owners carried out their cleaning chores - he had no idea what time it was, but they had clearly stayed for longer than expected.

“A hunting knife,” his boss whispered, with a smirk on his lips. “Good choice. We need to go hunting one of these days.”

“We will,” Kirishima's replied, with an energetic nod. “When things go back to normal, a trip to Hokkaido will be the first thing I will add to your schedule.”

“This one is from me,” Suoh said, pushing forward a rather large brown paper bag.

_Ah, the infamous wellness kit._

Kirishima watched when their boss’s eyebrows shot up while he studied the contents inside.

“Well, Suoh, I concede that I am getting old, but not that old,” he heard the man say, before lifting a very large purple package. “I don't think I need _diapers_ just yet.”

Before he knew, there was beer coming out of his nose, as he coughed profusely.

By his side, Suoh looked like a man whose soul had just left his body.

“It's… this is…” the bodyguard mumbled, looking horribly pale. “It’s for someone else.”

“Oh?”

“F-For… for my sister. Yeah.”

Kirishima shook his head. Kazumi was such a _horrible_ liar.

“Your sister?” their boss asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, sir. She is having a baby.”

“Your _58-year old_ sister?”

The secretary almost winced at Suoh’s disgruntled whimper.

“Science these days, huh?” the other man asked, apparently finding it very amusing that his own bodyguard thought he had a chance of lying to him and not get caught. “Boy or girl?”

“We don't know yet,” Suoh replied, his eyes going wide at his own _faux pas._ “I mean, _she!_ She doesn't know yet.”

“Is she happy?”

“I don't know…”

There was such honesty in Suoh’s response that Kirishima couldn't help but smile sadly.

“Worried?” their boss asked, his voice low and calm as he looked at the bottle in his hands.

“Yes...”

“Book an appointment with Human Resources, will you?”

“Sir, I-”

“Not today, Kazumi…” Kirishima heard the man whisper. “Not today…”

When Suoh’s desperate gaze shifted to his face, the secretary nodded quietly, as if trying to soothe the other man’s nerves.

Better save that talk for another day, indeed.

“Ok…” the bodyguard muttered, looking thoroughly defeated but regaining his composure after taking another sip of his drink. “I will… I will go get the right package, it's in the car.”

When the blond man exited the small restaurant, Kirishima noticed a series of notifications on his phone, all of them text messages from the same person.

_Maya._

His heart skipped a beat, when he realized the day had been so chaotic with the Omi hit and the subsequent hunt for Sengoku’s men and Kazuki that he hadn't even touched base with Mine.

“Oh no, please, no…” he whispered quietly. “This day is bad enough as it is…”

“What is it, Kirishima?”

He could feel the heat of the prying golden eyes scanning his face as he gathered the courage to look at the last message, sent only half an hour prior.

**_‘Dude, srsly? Been texting you and him all day, NO ONE answers. It's almost 10. Whatever, I'm sending the gift I bought through Mine.’_ **

The wave of relief that swept his body almost made him fall off the stool.

“Kirishima?”

“It's Maya, sir,” he replied, with a smile on his lips. “She got you a gift, should she send it through Mine?”

The fierce golden eyes went wide for a moment, and within seconds he saw his boss get to his feet, putting on his jacket as he walked towards the exit.

“No,” he said. “I'll head to her hotel, tell her to wait for me at the bar.”

The first assistant nodded quietly, ignoring the glares from the owners that were probably dying to go home at that point.

He hoped that would be the last trip of the day for Asami Ryuichi, and that his day would end better than it started.

++++

Tanimura Masayoshi was still wide awake when Takaba Akihito fell asleep, sheets pulled high enough to leave nothing but his eyes in view.

It was not a five star hotel, but at least they had gotten a decent hot meal, a shower, even watched some TV before calling it a night. When the two of them woke up in the morning, they would find their clothes washed, ironed and folded, waiting for them on one of the chairs.

He normally would not spend his money on the abusive laundry fees those places charged, but given the circumstances…

Wearing nothing but his boxers, the detective approached the other man, who was sleeping so soundly that he barely objected when the sheets were slowly pulled down to reveal his naked body.

Tanimura had to stifle a gasp when the white lines of a moon-shaped scar on Akihito’s back came into view.

“That son of a bitch…” he whispered, so quietly that his voice was barely audible.

He had no doubts, at that point, as to whom had been responsible for those injuries, as well as for the huge bruise on the man’s neck.

No wonder the photographer had been wearing a scarf all night long, he probably didn't want him to see it.

He had been with Asami Ryuichi again.

The detective pulled the sheets back up, and cleared his threat before getting up and walking towards the window.

_That had to end._

He picked up his phone from the bedside table, and tiptoed his way to the small balcony near the exit.

 _“Ando speaking,”_ said the male voice on the other side of the line.

“Ando-san,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure Akihito was still asleep. “Could you contact judge Sasaki?”

_“Ah, Tanimura. Yes, I was about to call you.”_

“So?”

_“He is about to retire, did you know that?”_

“Yes.”

 _“Well…”_ the man continued, after a particularly long sigh. _“He agreed to issue the warrant if you submit all the evidence, although he doubts you will be able to get the Prosecutor-General to initiate prosecution without Kuroda’s consent.”_

“I know,” the detective whispered in response.

_“The photos you have, does that photographer even know you are using them as evidence?”_

Tanimura looked over his shoulder again, and swallowed a knot in his throat when his eyes fell on the sleeping figure of Takaba Akihito.

“No.”

_“He can sue you for that, you know?”_

The detective chuckled.

A lawsuit would be a blessing, given the circumstances - he suspected Akihito’s reaction would be much worse than that.

_“Tanimura…”_

He remained silent when the other cop said his name.

_“You are aware that this goes beyond throwing away your career, right?”_

“Yes.”

_“That man will come after you, all guns blazing.”_

“I know that too.”

_“Then why? Why on earth would you arrest-”_

“He deserves to be arrested,” he quickly interrupted.

_“He won't be in prison for a full hour, when Kuroda finds out-”_

“Ando-san.”

Again, he had no option but to cut the other man short. He knew he meant well, but his mind was made up.

“Thanks for your help,” he added.

The man on the other side of the line sighed again.

 _“Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?”_ he asked.

“I don't think so.”

 _“I see…”_ Tanimura heard him whisper. “ _Well… good luck, then.”_

When the call ended and he re-entered the small hotel room, the seriousness of what he was about to do finally hit the he detective for the first time.

His career, his relationship with Akihito, his life… Everything would burst into flames the moment judge Sasaki issued that warrant of detention.

But if that meant the photographer would finally be free from that _plague of a man,_ then everything would be worth it.

“I hope you will forgive me,” he whispered, before pressing a soft kiss to Akihito’s hair and heading to his own bed.

++++

As usual, heads turned when Asami Ryuichi entered the Sunroute Plaza Hotel, not a single hair out of place after a quick stop at the penthouse for a shower and a change of clothes.

His confident stride and the alluring combination of beauty, elegance and power ensured that no one dared to stand in his way as he headed to the bar; few had the nerve not to drop their gaze when the golden orbs landed on them.

None of them would ever suspect that underneath the exclusive Italian suit, his chest carried some rather gnarly wounds, some visible in the form of bruises; others many layers below his skin.

His eyes were heavy when he finally took his seat at the bar, waiting for his daughter to show up.

The day had been long and more draining than he was willing to admit.

“A mojito, please,” said a familiar female voice, just when he was about to order his whisky.

He turned his head to find the girl sitting by his side, fingers laced together on top of the counter as she looked ahead.

“Same for me,” he said, eliciting a silent nod from the bartender.

His daughter, however, looked thoroughly surprised.

“Didn't take you for a mojito kind of person,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked.

“I'm not,” he replied, before turning to look at her again. “But girlish drinks make a good palate cleanser.”

And then, he saw it: his very own smirk, reflected on his daughter’s lips.

“Oh, I see, I see…” she chuckled.

Asami took that moment to study her features - her dark, shoulder length hair sneaking out from under a beanie, the golden eyes made even more eloquent by a heavy layer of mascara and eyeliner, the eyebrows and nose sporting small punctures that were the only reminders of the jewelry that used to adorn them.

His eyes darted nervously back and forth. She had had her piercings removed, probably because of his heartless remarks the last time they had talked.

“What?” she asked, shifting on her seat as she smoothed her hair and adjusted her beanie, frowning.

“Nothing...” he whispered in response, taking a sip of the cocktail when it was placed in front of him, and trying not to wince at the overtly sweet taste the concoction left on his mouth.

“Do you drink whisky?” he asked, after a long minute of silence.

“Nah,” Maya answered, with a shrug. “Whisky is an acquired taste.”

After she had stolen a quick glance in his direction, Asami once again found himself seeing similarities between them he had never really bothered to notice. The way she bit the inside of her lower lip when she was lost in thought, the tension in her shoulders that made her back look too straight for comfort...

“Maybe when I'm older,” she said, before sipping her Mojito.

“Fair enough.”

He heard the girl clear her throat before retrieving a square package from her handbag.

“Here,” she whispered, pushing the gift in his direction while carefully avoiding his eyes.

“You didn't need to bother,” he replied, untying the elegant bow before tearing the gift wrap, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth as a package of dried mushrooms slowly came into view.

“Smoked _matsutake_ …” he whispered, after a quiet chuckle. “Did your mother tell you?”

The girl finally raised her eyes to look at him, a mix of indifference and anxiety clouding the golden orbs as she spoke.

“We were shopping for groceries back in Sapporo and she saw those…” the girl explained, “...she said they made her think of you.”

Asami nodded slowly, lost in his own memories. Of course they had made her think of him - back in the day, when they were still kids and too broke to afford two hot meals a day, let alone some of Japan’s most expensive delicacy, they had more than once stolen those mushrooms from the shelves of fancy shops, never to be caught.

“I imagine it is because you like them?” the girl asked.

“I like them very much, yes,” he said, before opening the package with a nostalgic smile on his lips. “These are some special mushrooms. Very rare, too. They only grow under the base of very few trees, and never in the same place twice.”

“They smell like cinnamon.”

“Want some?” he asked.

Maya shrugged, and perhaps out of sheer politeness, agreed to give the mushrooms a try although their appearance clearly seemed to offend her aesthetic sensibilities.

“Ugh!” she exclaimed, making a face as she took a large gulp of her minty cocktail to wash down the strong-flavoured delicacy. “That’s...ugh.”

“They're better in sukiyaki, with some dashi and sake,” Asami explained, before closing the package, still smirking. “It's a good winter dish.”

He watched as the girl nodded, her eyes once again averted to the bottles and glasses on the other side of the bar.

It was no wonder the two of them felt so strangely uncomfortable with what was supposed to be a harmless, uncomplicated exchange between father and daughter.

After so many years of absence, Asami now realized, they were strangers to each other. All he knew about Maya’s life had been brought to his attention in the form of a narrative told by others, in which his only participation, if any, was of a distant, inconstant spectator.

“Do you smoke?” he asked quietly, wondering if the girl had inherited her parents’ passion for cigarettes.

“Nah. The smell bothers me,” the girl replied, scrunching up her nose. “I mean, my mother never smoked inside the house but the smell just stays, you know,” she explained, her lean fingers and long, well-manicured fingernails tapping the rim of the glass.

_She had her mother’s hands._

“She smelled like you,” she whispered.

“Dunhills…We started smoking around the same time,” Asami explained, as once again memories of his teenage years filled his mind, “... and we agreed that we would both quit when we turned 40.”

A quiet sniffle made him turn his head, just in time to see the girl pursing her lips, her eyes clouded with sadness.

“Yeah…” she said, her voice slightly shaky as she blinked back tears. “I would have liked to see that happen.”

Asami downed what was left of his Mojito, ordering a single scotch right afterwards.

He was not good at comforting people.

“How is school?” he asked, after a long sigh.

“Good,” Maya replied, her eyes already dry, her face void of any emotion. “Classes haven't begun yet.”

He nodded quietly, hunting for another topic for conversation as he stared at the amber liquid inside the glass that had just been placed in front of him.

“You look tired.”

He let out an unhappy smirk.

“It's been a long day,” he said, choosing not to fill her in on the specifics of his birthday misfortunes. “Why did you move from your apartment?”

He averted his gaze to her face, her deceptively calm expression making it obvious that whatever answer she was about to give would not explain the real reasons for her decision.

“Living with two guys can be...kind of a pain in the ass,” she said, raising her eyebrows and trying to sound casual despite the obvious strain in her voice.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah…”

“I see…” he whispered, accepting the fact he would not get any further details. “But I bet you had excellent meals, Akihito cooks very well.”

When their eyes met again, Maya’s expression was a combination of fear and apprehension.

“Yeah... uh... he does,” she said, staring at her own hands. “A-About him... I... I'm sorry.”

His expression showed no emotion, although his heart seemed to have missed a couple of beats now that their conversation had reached that point.

“I think he's with Tanimura now,” the girl whispered.

“How is that your fault?”

“I introduced him to Akihito.”

This time, when their eyes connected, Maya’s expression had regained its usual fierceness, as if she was ready to be told off, screamed at, or simply given the cold shoulder.

He didn't feel like any of the options.

“What can I say…” he whispered instead. “You're an Asami. The passion for retaliation runs in your blood.”

His words elicited a small, nervous chuckle.

“That being said, don't take too much credit for what is happening,” he continued. “Tanimura might be a roadblock but he is not the main reason why Akihito and I are not together.”

And that, he thought, would be a good time to end the conversation.

He was too tired to go over the latest developments of that story, too tired to think about their future, or lack thereof.

“You should go to bed,” he said, after standing up. “It's late.”

“Can I-?”

“No,” he replied, buttoning up his jacket as he walked towards the exit.

“I didn't even finish the question!” the girl exclaimed.

“You cannot leave the hotel.”

“That is not what I was going to ask!” she interjected.

“Oh,” he muttered, before turning around to look at her. “Then what was it?”

The rosy blush that had crept up her cheeks made it clear that was exactly what she was going to ask.

“Never mind…” she whispered, crossing her arms.

He was about to leave the lounge when her voice made him stop on his tracks.

“Wait!”

He turned around, and saw the girl stop in front of him, with a very deep frown on her forehead.

Next thing he knew, her arms were around him, her delicate hands pulling him into an embrace he didn't know he was expecting – or needing.

“Happy birthday,” he heard Maya whisper, before pulling away with the same fierce gleam in her eyes, forehead still wrinkled as if that move had been the result of a very serious internal battle.

As he watched the girl reach the elevator, where Mine was already waiting for her, Asami felt his heart flutter.

For all he knew, that hug might have lasted less than two seconds, but it was enough of a balm to relieve him of an entire day of disaster.

 


	45. Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a tough morning for Takaba Akihito.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I did it again! Another chapter that went above 10.000 words so I am breaking it into two parts. =O Expect Chapter 46 to be uploaded very soon! 
> 
> PS: the meaning of “blue canary” in the Kirishima/Matsui exchange will be explained later on. XD

 

 

The sun had barely risen when Akihito woke up the next morning, the light passing through the blinds on the opposite side of the room making him wince quietly.

Even though he had no recollection of drinking the night before, he felt terribly hungover.

The thought gave him pause.

_He had not been drinking, had he?_

“Oh no…” he whispered, noticing the semi-naked cop sleeping on the other bed.

He was struggling to remember when and how they had gotten to that place, which he assumed was a hotel judging by the minibar and the receipt lying on top of their carefully folded clothes on top of one of the chairs near the door.

And then, very slowly, the memories of how the previous night had ended started unraveling inside his brain, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place and making him blush fiercely.

Now he wished _he had_ been drinking - at least he would be able to blame the alcohol for his malfunctioning, and for the very poor choices that had resulted in him being tucked into a bed of some 3-star hotel in Shibuya, wearing nothing but his underwear.

“Shit…” he hissed, his hand automatically moving to the very visible bruise Asami had left on his neck.

He closed his eyes as soon as his fingertips touched the darkened spot.

_Asami…_

So many things had happened in the past 24 hours that it was a tough task to organize the events in a coherent timeline… All he knew was that, at some point of his day, he had looked into those deep golden eyes and smiled internally, ignoring all the problems that still stood between them, just relieved that just like him, the other man seemed to have come to the conclusion it was best to just let their bodies do the talk.

After all, when they were joined by the hips, nothing could stand in their way, nothing could go wrong. He remembered it clearly, how in his state of mild delirium, pressed against that wall, he had fast-forwarded to the moment when he, on the brink of orgasm, whispered a “happy birthday” into the man’s ear as their sweaty, naked bodies slid against each other.

He let out an unhappy chuckle.

Maybe that was the problem. Asami was good at keeping sex in a small compartment of its own, while he, Akihito, kept letting his emotions take over, even when his mind was far too blurred by pleasure to think straight.

He spoke too much; Asami didn't speak enough. A perfect formula for mutual heartbreak.

He sucked in a breath as he revisited the few words the two of them got to exchange before he stormed out of the scene, his heart beating irregularly when the conclusions from the day before clutched at his chest.

_‘There will never be a time for us, Asami.’_

Oh, how he wished he was wrong.

With a startled gasp, he found himself turning his head to look at the detective still fast asleep a few metres away from him, and a combination of guilt and shame made his stomach churn.

He should not have let the cop become a part of that equation. Now he felt like he was cheating on both of them - Asami, by being with Tanimura, and Tanimura, by thinking of Asami.

As fast and silently as he could, he grabbed his clothes and headed towards the exit.

He knew that there would be a lot of explaining to do, especially now that he was pretty much running away like a fugitive, but that talk would have to wait.

He let out a relieved sigh when the morning breeze swept his hair as soon as he stepped outside the reception, but the refreshing sensation of freedom didn't last long.

Within seconds, he was able to spot a familiar face inside a car parked on the other side of the street.

“Wei?” he whispered, frowning as he watched the other man take a bite from a sandwich, and then glance at his watch. “The hell is he doing here?”

Whatever the answer to that question was, he did not intend to stick around long enough to find out. When a bus stopped at the traffic light, blocking him from sight, he set off on a run until he was able to turn left and disappear among the small crowd walking down one of Shibuya’s busiest boulevards.

++++

Maya cracked her knuckles not for the first time that morning, looking out of the window of her hotel room.

The sky above couldn't possibly be clearer, but to her everything looked strangely out of place, as if a storm was hiding in some distant point beyond the horizon, just waiting to catch up with her the minute the person she had been on the phone with entered her room.

She had finally grown the courage to call Akihito, and asked him to come see her.

No further details provided.

_No small talk._

Her eyes were still fixated on some imaginary point next to a skyscraper, when a soft knock on the door made her heart jump.

“Come in,” she said, her voice strained but loud and clear enough to prompt the photographer to walk past the semi-open door.

“Maya?”

“I’m here.”

She turned around when the soft footsteps announced Akihito’s presence.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead slightly wrinkled. “You sounded worried on the phone.”

The girl merely nodded in response, her eyes dropping to the floor as she leaned against the wall.

“I'm sorry I didn't call you after that day, my life has been a legit mess,” the photographer explained, and she raised her eyes just in time to see him rub his neck nervously. “By the way, why are you staying in a hotel, did any-”

“He called you,” she said, her pitch slightly higher than usual. “Asami.”

There was no easy way to start that conversation, so she might as well just skip all the preambles.

“The night you met Masa, he was trying to reach you,” she continued, before Akihito had the chance to respond. “I deleted the call logs. Blocked his number.”

She forced herself to keep looking at the photographer’s face even after his jaw dropped slightly.

“Then he called me,” she muttered, crossing her arms as she spoke. “He called Kou. He even called Takato,” she said, feeling one of her eyes twitch as confusion clouded her friend’s face. “I convinced Kou not to tell you. I…”

She paused when a knot in her throat made her stutter.

“I… I t-told him...what had happened to you,” she managed to say, still staring at the photographer, the palms of her hand clammy and cold as she tried to steady her voice. “Why you had ended up in a hospital.”

When the hazel eyes began filling with tears, however, her gaze dropped once again to the ground.

“How-”

“When you were gone,” she replied, before he had the chance to finish his question. “At that time, I… I called Masa. I asked for his help to find you,” she continued, still staring at the ground. “When I said your name, he… He told me. About the hospital.”

Somehow, the lack of visual contact, combined with the absolute silence that followed her words, made it easier for her to imagine that conversation was just a rehearsal, that there was no one in that room but her and that when she raised her eyes again, she would not have to see the photographer’s reaction.

“He was there, they called him in,” she concluded.

“Are you telling me… that _all this time…_ ”

Akihito’s incredulous tone forced her to raise her gaze to his face, just to see he hazel eyes still filled with tears that he appeared to be stubbornly trying to hold back.

“And you told Kou?” she heard the photographer ask, his despair showing in his voice as well as in every line of his face. “He must be thinking…”

His voice faded into an unintelligible whisper, fingers raking the blond strands of hair nervously as he started pacing the room.

“And Asami…”

And then, he stopped, his back still turned to her.

He saw his shoulders grow stiff, his stance changing dramatically as he straightened his back, hands closed into fists by his side.

“Do you have any idea of what you've done?” he hissed, before turning around. “Just say it.”

“Say what?” she asked, a confused frown clouding her expression.  
“You won't say it?” he replied, his voice strangely low. “Then I will.”

When he finally turned around and walked towards her, Maya found herself taking a step back, one of her heels connecting with the wall as she tilted her chin upwards.

The wrinkle of his forehead made it clear he had surpassed any initial stage of grief, and was quickly entering the territory of more contemptuous actions.

“I hated you the moment I met you,” he whispered.

Maya clenched her jaw in response, the visible pulse on her neck and the darting back and forth of her golden eyes betraying the calm and indifferent facade she was trying to put up.

“Because you meant that someone else had given Asami something that I would never be able to give him,” she heard the photographer continue, all the anger in his hazel eyes quickly dissolved in tears that finally rolled down his cheek. “ _A family_.”

She looked away when her chin started to tremble, forcing her own eyes and her mind to find some sort of distraction in one of the many items scattered around the room: her computer, a pile of clothes on an armchair near the bed, the breakfast she had not finished eating.

“ _I hated you_ ,” he repeated, his voice uneven and shaky. “The way you looked just like him, the way you acted just like him.”

The photographer paused, and let out a nervous chuckle that was cut short by a sob.

“And then I hated your mother too.”

Her nostrils flared.

She wanted to believe those words were being uttered in the heat of the moment, in a moment of temporary rage, that they were not true; yet something inside her was telling her _they might as well be_ , and soon enough, they were seeping through her skin like a toxic, cold liquid.

“When the two of you showed up out of nowhere, I wished you would both _disappear_ ,” Akihito continued, and Maya had to bite the inside of her lip not to scream. “That neither of you existed.”

The brief moment of silence that followed made Akihito’s sniffles sound ten times louder.

“Because I was jealous,” he whispered. “I was...so jealous.”

When his voice broke, Maya felt the first tears roll down her face, and quickly used the hem of her T-shirt to dry her eyes.

She thought the worst thing that could possibly happen that morning was Akihito throwing a fit, calling her names, getting pissed off.

But that blunt assessment of their relationship hit too close to home, and she felt her heart was being squeezed by regret, guilt, _shame._

That was so much worse than being yelled at.

“What you have, Maya… There is no ex-parent. No...ex-child,” the photographer continued, his voice much more amiable although still bleak. “You two will always be connected, until the very end. No relationship can ever compare to that.”

Those words, however, made her roll her eyes and let out a bitter, nasal chuckle.

_If only that were true._

But she knew, better than anyone else - or at least, better than the man in front of her - that even that kind of bond could be put to the test after so many years of indifference.

“I can't compare to that,” he continued, and she finally gathered the nerve to raise her gaze to him again.

His eyes were reddish but dry, his cheeks slightly pink as he spoke.

“I know that is low, but… it happened. I felt it, I felt that you were a threat,” he explained. “But then it was gone, it was gone so fast, because… the fact that you are a part of his life is not a problem. There is room for the two of us.”

Maya drew in a long breath when Akihito paused again.

For some reason, she had a feeling he was nowhere near done yet.

“But _you…_ ” he whispered, a strange smirk curling his lips. “ _You_ wanted me out, didn't you?”

She wanted to say that _yes_ , that in the beginning the only reason she had even bothered to stalk him was to give her father a bit of a headache, she wanted to say that yes, she had been jealous back then too, but that it all had changed the moment she understood why her father had fallen for him in the first place, and that he was one of the funniest, kindest people she had ever met, and that she had started liking the idea of them being a family just for the stupid old man to throw everything out of the window and she had gotten angry, yes, and now she truly wished she had done a lot of things differently…

But despite the multitude of thoughts running through her head, not a single word left her mouth.

“Well, you win,” she heard him say, his voice once again tear-choked. “I'm out. The way things are now, I… I don't stand a chance.”

“Akihito…”

She knew he was expecting to hear some kind of explanation, but her own thoughts seemed to have frozen somewhere in the back of her head. At the very least, she owed him an apology, but even that seemed to have gotten stuck in her throat.

“Shit…” he chuckled bitterly, shaking his head with a mild look of disbelief in his eyes. “You really are _just like him_.”

What exactly that was supposed to mean, he did not explain.

Instead, he walked slowly towards the door, turned around to look at her one last time, and left.

++++

Kirishima Kei had no complaints as to how the day had begun, given the disastrous evening that had preceded it.

His boss seemed unusually refreshed, his eyes sharp and alert since the very first moment the secretary set eyes on him that morning. He had stopped at the usual place for breakfast, visited suppliers on his way to Sion, arrived a good hour before his first appointment of the day, worked out, signed reports.

It was almost as if the day before had never existed.

Whether that was a good thing or not, he did not know.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, to announce his presence while his boss typed a rather lengthy comment in one of their balance sheets. “Minister Tamiya is here.”

“Good,” he heard the other man reply simply. “That will not take long.”

After a click, the screen of the fancy laptop went dark, and Asami Ryuichi laced his fingers on top of his desk, his golden eyes a sea of deceptive calm.

“Has Dojima confirmed the location of today’s meeting?” he asked.

By “meeting”, of course, he meant the offensive the two of them had organised before the sun rose, as soon as details of their target’s location were confirmed.

“Yes,” the secretary replied. “His operatives received intel that Sengoku’s men are holed up in Minato.”

“How many men am I taking?”

“Twenty of our most qualified tactical staff,” Kirishima answered, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “But I am leaving other operatives in standby in case more of the Omi shows up.”

“Fine,” he heard his boss reply, his expression showing no emotion. “Let Tamiya in.”

After excusing himself, he did as he was told, and headed back to his desk after a relieved sigh.

They surely had a full day ahead, but it was almost as if things had gone back to... _normal,_ or something remarkably close to it.

And so, he spent the next couple of hours finalising reports that had been sitting on his desk for a while, as he sorted out other urgent matters. The pile of nonprofits applying for financial support was particularly intimidating, what with orphanages from all over the country submitting increasingly detailed files to ensure they complied with their audit terms.

He wouldn't let that discourage him, though.

After clearing his throat, he reached for the next folder awaiting his approval, and was about to open it when his phone rang.

“Kiri-”

_“Kirishima-sama!”_

He immediately recognised the suave, elegant female voice of the team leader of Sion’s front desk, and raised an eyebrow at her unusually shrill tone.

“Katsura-kun…”

_“The police...the police are here.”_

The fountain pen that had been firmly secured between his fingers seconds prior rolled to his desk and from there to the floor.

“The police?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth as he frowned. “What do they want?”

_“Asami-sama… They have a warrant for his detention!”_

Kirishima blinked slowly, as if waiting for his senses to rectify the information he had just received.

_A warrant of detention?_

_“I have instructed the other receptionists not to say a word but people are getting agitated…”_

And indeed, he could hear the muffled sounds of many voices whispering with different levels of excitement coming from the other side of the line.

“Is there any chance you can stall them?” he asked.

_“My apologies, sir! The detective in charge is very pushy, they are already in the elevator!”_

Kirishima felt his jaw drop slightly.

Whatever joke that was, it was really happening.

_“I didn't want to cause any more commotion so-”_

The secretary hung up and jumped from his chair, nearly knocking over his desk in the process.

He had to think fast.

“Matsui,” he said, after speed dialling his assistant on the floor right below them.

_“Yes, sir?”_

“Come to my office, right now.”

_“Yes, sir!”_

“And don't take the elevator, use the stairs,” Kirishima hissed, casting an apprehensive glance towards the elevator and noticing it was reaching the upper levels of the building incredibly fast. “ _Now._ ”

He had barely hung up when clumsy footsteps in the fire escape staircase echoed loudly from the other side of the hall.

In no time, he found himself looking at the plump figure of his assistant, beads of sweat glistening above his upper lip as he tried to catch his breath.

“Sir?”

“Matsui, pay attention to everything I am about to say, I have no time for repetitions,” Kirishima said, looking from the elevator to his assistant's face, and then back to the elevator. “I take it you have Sacchi’s phone number?”

“Yes, sir,” the other man replied, after an energetic nod.

“Good. Here's what I need you to do,” the secretary explained. “Call him, put him on speaker, say that Asami-sama would like to offer Minister Tamiya a gift to show appreciation for their partnership over the years, and suggest a _blue canary_.”

The assistant, who up until then had been nodding with the same amount of energy at each instruction, looked at his boss in confusion.

“A _blue canary_?” he asked.

“You don't need to know what that is,” Kirishima replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He didn’t have time for further details, and the other man was far too impressionable for them to have that kind of conversation, anyway.

“Just let them negotiate the terms,” the secretary quickly added, his eyes once again drifting to the elevator. “If the call ends before I return, offer tea, offer a meal, do whatever it takes to keep that man in that room, and under no circumstances, Matsui, _under no circumstances_ , let him get past that door, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

After another energetic nod, Kirishima saw his assistant straighten the tie around his neck as they headed to Asami Ryuichi’s office.

“Blue canary,” he heard the man whisper. “Ok.”

Under any other circumstances, he would follow the usual preambles and knock on the door before bursting in like a lunatic.

“Sir, I apologise for the interruption,” he said in a rush, his blood growing cold when the elevator across the hall let out a faint beep, “but a shipment has just been delivered to Warehouse 17. They need to confirm a few codes with you.”

Both his boss and the Minister, who had nearly fallen off his chair at the sudden interruption, stared at him with a mixture of shock and curiosity for what felt like the longest two seconds of his life.

Luckily for him, his boss seemed to have noticed his distress, and allowed a smirk to curl the corners of his mouth as he stood up.

“Minister, my apologies…” he said, his voice calm and collected although his golden eyes were shining with a very distinct gleam of concern.

“No, no, go ahead, Ryuichi,” the older man replied, after a hearty laughter. “I know you are a busy man.”

“We appreciate your understanding, Minister,” Kirishima quickly added, taking a respectful bow. “As a token of Asami-sama’s gratitude, my assistant Matsui will arrange an exclusive gift for you.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, the tiny brown eyes filled with very obvious greed.

“Oh…” he whispered.

After shoving his assistant into the room and closing the door behind him, the secretary finally turned around to address his boss, who was positively fuming at his obscenely unprofessional behavior.

“Kir-”

“Outside,” he interrupted, urging the man to get as far away as he could from his own office, especially now that the heavy footsteps of at least half a dozen men approached.

“Asami Ryuichi?”

He did not have time to open his mouth, though. Behind his boss, holding a badge in one hand and a warrant in the other, Tanimura Masayoshi had been faster.

“You are under arrest.”

++++

Takaba Akihito barely realized the exact moment he had stepped out of the Sunroute Plaza, his mind a cloudy, confused jumble of images and words, both his and Maya’s.

Perhaps he had been too harsh.

He felt he had gotten carried away at some point - his frustration with the latest developments of his life, especially with Asami, were making him far too bitter. It didn't feel right to blame the girl for his current situation, although her participation in that imbroglio could not be ignored, obviously.

If he had know Asami had been looking for him before he even met Tanimura Masayoshi…

And also, if he had known Tanimura were the cop in the hospital that day…

His breath got stuck in his throat.

Had that man approached him out of pity? Had he been keeping tabs on him?

_What was his angle?_

He barely noticed where his feet were taking him until he found himself staring at the entrance of Sion.

That time, though, what made him gasp in surprise was a very different view than the one he always expected to find upon reaching the fancy reception.

Police cars, police officers, police everywhere.

_What the hell was going on?_

++++

_Click. Click._

The sound of the handcuffs snapping around his wrists was amplified by the absolute silence surrounding the three people standing in the middle of the hall.

Ahead of him, he could see other cops guarding each exit, their expressions filled with the subdued tension of people that had been trained to expect the worst, always.

The old lady that usually brought him tea in the morning stopped dead on her tracks, the loud clanking of her heels suddenly muted and replaced by the strident noise of china crashing as the tray and all of its contents landed on the ground after a shocked gasp.

“I want to see your warrant,” he heard his secretary say, the words coming out clipped and angry.

“Are you his lawyer?” the detective replied, and his sarcastic tone made Asami raise an eyebrow.

It was the first time he was seeing his rival up-close.

The young face was delicate, but there was something both jaded and challenging in the light brown eyes that every now and then drifted to his face, loaded with undistilled contempt.

Something in the way that harebrained detective held himself reminded him of Akihito, of his obstination and overall recklessness, but he seemed to lack the goofy, sweeter side that had always been, in his opinion, one of the photographer's most captivating qualities.

“I don't need to be his lawyer to see the warrant, you-”

“Be careful as to how you address an officer, sir.”

The cop and his fiercely protective first assistant were far too entertained arguing to hear the soft beep coming from the elevator on the far end of the hall, but Asami’s eyes were already fixated on the chromed doors, as if he could see right past them, as if he already knew who he would see when they opened.

The corners of his mouth curled into a smirk when the always-enticing figure of Takaba Akihito stepped out of the elevator, and he took the time to savour every inch of that sight. The vintage jeans clinging snugly to his hips, the white tank top and checked shirt that only someone like him could afford to wear without looking dumb, the thick leather bracelet around one of his wrists and the chains tied to his belt rattling quietly as he moved forward.

His gaze then shifted to the photographer's parted lips, as he looked around with a confused frown on his face, his eyes darting nervously back and forth until hazel met gold.

And then he saw it, that look that was neither contemptuous nor affectionate, a look that he had grown to recognise so well over the years, of a man who had fallen into a gray area he could no longer get out of.

_‘I will never be your ally, Asami.’_

_‘But you will never leave me either, will you?’_

He suspected they were both fated to keep crossing each other’s paths, no matter what. At least he, Asami Ryuichi, could not longer envision a future without that man, without his soothing presence, without those eyes, even when they were so confused - and now he noticed - _bloodshot_.

The realisation made his brow furrow.

Akihito had been crying.

“Unbelievable…”

Kirishima’s voice as he paced the hall with his phone glued to his ear made him snap out of his thoughts for a moment. Neither his assistant nor the detective had realized they were no longer alone, but judging by the determination on the photographer’s face, it wouldn't be long before they did.

“Tanimura?” the blond man snapped, his tone far from amused. “What the hell is going on?”

His assistant took that moment to take one step closer to him, after letting out a very audible gasp upon almost bumping into the photographer.

“Kuroda is not answering the phone,” he whispered.

“He is not in Tokyo,” Asami replied, his voice calm and collected despite being aware of the catastrophic implications of that statement. “He is attending a general meeting in Okinawa.”

Kirishima’s eyes were two dark balls of fury behind his glasses.

“This _son of a bitch!_ He had it all mapped out!” he hissed, glaring daggers at the detective who seemed far too busy now chewing on his own tongue, while Akihito still waited for a response to his question.

“I should have let you shoot him yesterday…” the secretary whispered, his back turned to the other two men who were still staring at each other in silence.

“Yes…” Asami replied, with the same small smirk on his lips. “Yes, you should.”

What an interestingly unexpected situation.

Put aside the fact he was minutes away from being taken to a police station, and that his first assistant would have to work very hard and fast to prevent that fact from reaching the media and anyone in his circle of VIP contacts, he had a feeling the odds might not be stacked against him, after all.

“What am I being accused of?” he asked, his eyes finally drifting from the photographer to the detective’s face.

“Arms trafficking.”

It was Kirishima who responded. Apparently, he had finally managed to get hold of the obscure warrant.

“Wait, these pictures…”

When the man’s eyes shifted to Akihito, with a mixture of disbelief and contempt, Asami felt his heart skip a beat.

_Could it be that Akihito…?_

With a frown that he was not able to omit, he snatched the papers from the hands of his secretary, and his eyes almost went wide when he saw pictures of a weapon trade that had taken place in Club Sion a bazillion years ago, that Akihito had been unfortunate enough to witness and reckless enough to register.

He had made sure the pictures were deleted and the mini camera destroyed - how was it even possible they were now being used against him?

“What have you done?” he heard Kirishima ask, his tone just as confused as his face as he looked at the photographer.

“Done what, what are you talking about?” the blond man asked, before snatching the papers from Asami’s hands, who were still holding them so tightly the pages almost tore in half.

The genuinely horrified gasp that left Akihito’s lips was all the confirmation he needed.

Those photos were being used without his consent.

“Tanimura, h-how…” he stuttered, his hazel eyes darting frantically from the papers in his hand to the detective's face. “How did you…”

“Akihito, you should leave,” was the other man’s curt response.

His jaws were clenched so tight they seemed about to snap.

“I always knew you would be my downfall…” Asami whispered, gauging the younger man’s reaction when he whipped his head around to look at him.

“Asami, I didn't…” he replied, shaking his head as words seemed to insist on escaping him. “I didn't…”

The hazel orbs were clouded with shock, the fierce honesty that had always been one of his trademark traits transpiring in every line of his face.

_Those were not the eyes of a traitor._

“Akihito, you really need to leave, _now_ ,” the detective snarled, one of his hands reaching for Asami’s lower back in an attempt to steer him towards the exit.

He, of course, did not budge.

“He is _not going anywhere_ without his lawyer!” Kirishima retorted, starting a brand new round of argument between him and Tanimura.

“He can wait for his lawyer in prison _like everybody else_!”

“Asami…”

When Akihito moved past the two other men to get closer to him, he wasted no time touching his face, gently tilting his chin upwards so that he could take a better look at his eyes.

“I didn't, I don't know how… I swear-”

“Have you been crying?” Asami quickly interrupted, his voice calm and low.

The photographer let out a startled gasp.

“What?” he whispered.

“Your eyes are swollen.”

He saw Akihito’s Adam’s apple bob up and down nervously, as if swallowing a knot in his throat. His eyes had softened, looking into his much more peacefully than he expected, but when he was about to open his mouth to speak, Kirishima’s thunderous voice echoed in the hall again.

“ _He will not leave through the front door_!”

Tanimura, who seemed to have just cast a glance in Akihito’s direction a second prior, did not tone down either.

“He will leave through whatever door I choose, and if you insist on stopping me, _I will arrest you for obstruction of justice!_ ”

He could see the tension in Akihito’s body as the two men screamed at each other, and chose to bring that ridiculous situation to an end.

“Kirishima…” he said, and his tone was soft but final. “That's enough.”

He was about to take a step forward when Akihito grabbed him by the arm.

“He is not leaving through the front door,” he said, his fierce eyes just as determined as his voice as he stared at Tanimura.

“Basement 4 has restricted access, right?” the photographer continued, turning to look at Kirishima.

“For the CEO’s use only, yes,” he heard the secretary reply.

“Then you and him leave through basement 4, in a civilian car,” Akihito announced, once again looking at the cop.

“What?” the detective replied, with an irritated chuckle. “I can't do that, that goes against the rul-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Akihito’s hand connected with his cheek in a powerful slap that echoed through the hall and made the other cops take a step forward, ready to intervene.

“ _Basement 4_ , Tanimura,” the photographer hissed, and his voice and eyes had that unstoppable quality that made him look ten times stronger and even more attractive - as if that was remotely possible.

The detective raised a hand to prevent the rest of his team from jumping into action, his eyes glowing with anger and discomfort.

“All units dismissed,” he finally said into his shoulder microphone. “I am taking the suspect on my own.”

After another disgruntled sigh, he addressed the other men waiting for his instructions.

“You are dismissed too.”

Asami was not sure as to how much time had passed between Kirishima passing the cop the keys to one of the company’s BMWs, and the three of them finally entering the elevator towards Basement 4.

It had felt like eternity, as he and Takaba Akihito stared at one another in silence, before the chromed doors closed and they disappeared from each other’s sight.

 

 

 


	46. Threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for taking the time to leave a comment - I know I am very late with my answers but I intend to respond to all of them very soon! It's just that the last scene of this chapter and the chapters to come have literally drained me so I'm feeling rather sluggish. #ThinkOfExhausted.
> 
> That being said, let's get the unpleasant stuff out of the way. Warnings for this chapter and the next 4 to come are as follows: rape, suicide, serious injuries, traumatic situations, torture (both physical and psychological) and death, involving minor and major characters as per advised in tags. If those themes might trigger you, please proceed with caution (heavy scenes will be marked with a ++++++++ prior to their beginning).

 

Tanimura Masayoshi cursed silently every time a traffic light turned red. It had been less than ten minutes they had entered the black BMW and left Sion, yet he felt like he had been locked in the car with the other man for hours, days, years of his life, each second passing way too slowly.

He clutched the steering wheel, the white knuckles and constantly clearing of throat probably giving away his discomfort. Even without looking, he knew Asami Ryuichi was staring at him, the amber eyes fixated on some point of his face like a tiger getting ready to pounce.

A dangerous man, that one.

He pressed the gas pedal as hard as he could when the lights turned green, forcing the automatic transmission to shift into a higher gear. The sleek, smells-like-new BMW did not protest, though, and simply glided forward gracefully, making him wonder how many other cars that man had if that was, apparently, the one the valued the least.

From the corner of his eye, he could see how the fabric of the man’s suit clung perfectly to every inch of his body, not a single spot too loose or too tight. It looked like the kind of exclusive, high-quality suit a cop like him would have to work months to afford, and he knew that because he could wear suits too, he could wear suits very well, thank you very much, but not that well because only tailor-made suits he could not afford looked that perfect.

He stole a quick glance towards the CEO’s face when he turned to look out of the window after a bored sigh.

_What kind of luxurious life did Akihito use to have as that man’s lover?_

The detective pursed his lips as the image of the photographer covered in jewels and a fur coat eating caviar in a yacht filled his mind, but he was quick to dismiss it with a very subtle shake of his head.

What a stupid thought… people did not wear fur coats in yachts, unless they were sailing in the Arctic or something. And who would want to sail in the Arctic when they could go to Fiji, or Indonesia, or-

_‘Focus, Masayoshi.’_

He blinked rapidly when his own mind put him back on track.

No. Akihito was _not_ that kind of man. He knew the photographer well enough to know he enjoyed the simple things in life, and not that kind of superficial, conspicuous bullshit.

Just then, his stomach churned when another image flashed behind his eyes: Akihito’s face, so full of disappointment and confusion, as he stared at him. That had been more painful than the slap, even though that too had stung like a mortherfucker.

He knew it would happen, he had known it all along. Of course Akihito would be pissed. What he had done, if anything, qualified as major betrayal. The photographer had once mentioned how some of his cameras were connected to his phone by bluetooth, so that he would have a backup in the event something happened to his equipment, and what had he done with that information? Hacked the man’s phone and scavenged through a pile of deleted data until he found what he was looking for.

Goodness, he was such scum.

He moved his head from side to side, feeling the muscles stretch painfully. As if to relieve some of the guilt now weighing on his shoulders, he forced himself to remember that one day when he was called to check on a young man that had just been admitted to a hospital with a concussion, bruised ribs, sprained muscles, lacerations on his back…

He had heard all about Asami Ryuichi’s penchant for torture and physical abuse - in the force, there were all sorts of rumours surrounding the CEO’s very specific sexual preferences and the unique tactics he would deploy to retaliate against his enemies…

Back then he had not connected the dots.

He had thought Akihito had been in the sex industry, he had thought many things, except that the photographer had been Asami’s lover. That, he had only realized the day Akihito had almost been kidnapped, and even then, it had been hard to believe.

Those two represented such polar opposites… One was the human equivalent of a black hole; the other was the embodiment of joyful, healing light. And judging by the way they had looked at each other minutes prior…

He drew in a long breath.

He had been unfortunate enough to find other deleted pictures in Akihito’s phone, which had made him come to the conclusion that what connected those two was mere lust and some strange fixation on bondage, but the look in their eyes when they met that morning had nothing to do with sex.

_Takaba Akihito and Asami Ryuichi were in love with each other._

How? _Why?_

He was gritting his teeth so hard that his face was beginning to crumple, but he would not give the other man the joy of seeing his misery.

Not that the CEO looked remotely interested in his thoughts, though. If anything, his derisive smirk let out a very clear message: that he couldn’t possibly care less about what was going on in his mind, and that it was a matter of time until he got sent to kingdom come along with his warrant, his handcuffs, and everything in between.

Well, _let him try._ He would end up finding out Tanimura Masayoshi was not an easy man to kill, and that many before him had tried and failed, especially after he had uncovered the corruption network involving big names in the Diet and crime syndicates, both national and international…

Of course, that was a story that had never made it to the news, largely due to Prosecutor Kuroda's meddling in his businesses.

That guy…

The detective bit his lower lip, a frown of concern wrinkling his forehead.

Speaking of whom, it was a matter of time until Kuroda got back to Tokyo. It was a given that he would drop the general meeting in Okinawa as soon as word got to him that his beloved Asami Ryuichi had been arrested, and the entire case would be torn to pieces unless he found more solid evidence tying the CEO to the country’s weapon smuggling routes… Only a bunch of pictures of a weapon trade was not gonna cut it; if they had to go to the General Prosecutor, he was positive Kuroda would claim those photos were fake, bribe some expert to confirm it, and the case would be closed with no further questions asked.

That, of course, before he got kicked out of the force, in the very best case scenario.

Once again, and this time for a different reason, he felt his stomach drop…

What would happen to the kids in his orphanage now that he was certain to lose his job? It was not the first time he thought of it, but whereas before a part of him had convinced him there was no way their application for financial support would be rejected, this time darker thoughts took over and showed him a completely different set of possibilities… What if the mysterious benefactor were not Dojima Daigo, but some old man struggling with health issues, willing to do good to redeem himself before he kicked the bucket?

What if they had been too late, and the man had already passed?

What if the man were still alive, but for some reason they had forgotten to sign something, attach some sort of receipt, failed to meet one of the requirements…?

He felt like throwing up.

_“Tanimura?”_

Perhaps because he was still so lost in his own thoughts, he barely heard the male voice coming out of his earpiece.

_“Tanimura?”_

He blinked rapidly when the voice finally registered in his brain, and spoke into the microphone attached to his shoulder.

“Yes, Ando-san?”

 _“Just to let you know it's a real circus out here,”_ the man said. _“Word must have gotten round that you are bringing Asami Ryuichi in, there are photographers and reporters everywhere…”_

“Shit…” he whispered in response.

He could already imagine Akihito feeling ten times more betrayed if Asami Ryuichi’s arrest became a headline after his efforts to make the whole thing as low-profile as possible.

“Get rid of them,” he muttered, ignoring the curious stare he knew he was getting from the man by his side. “I will be going in from the parking lot in Sanryo, wait for me there, make sure the path is clear.”

He drew in another long breath, feeling his entire face go red when the other man scoffed quietly after the radio communication was brought to an end.

“Getting cold feet, are you?”

The CEO’s deep voice made the detective’s nostrils flare.

“I am not doing this for you,” he hissed, his eyes still on the road although he was very close to becoming blind with anger. “It's for him. If anything, this is his scoop, not anyone else's.”

“It's his scoop and yet you forgot to invite him to the main event at Sion…”

“He was not ready,” the detective snarled, the sarcasm etched in the other man’s voice crawling under his skin and prickling him like a million tiny needles.

“But you did it anyway,” the CEO continued. “How very considerate.”

Tanimura felt both of his hands shake with anger at the sound of another derisive scoff.

“Shu-” he began, feeling he was a step away from slamming on the brakes and dragging the man out of the vehicle to punch him in the face - which, of course, was exactly what Asami was expecting him to do, judging by the ferocious look in his eyes.

Luckily for him, they had just reached the parking lot, which meant that trial of a journey had finally come to an end.

“I… I am not playing your game,” Tanimura replied, after forcing himself to breathe away his fury. “I don't owe you an explanation. Him, yes. _You?_ ”

He turned off the engine, and glanced at the CEO as he reached for the door handle.

“Go fuck yourself,” he said, before getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

++++

“Suoh…”

“Don't,” the bodyguard interrupted, as soon as the blond man by his side opened his mouth to speak for the first time since they had run into each other at Sion. “You have no idea of how bad this is.”

“I… I…”

He stole a quick glance towards Takaba Akihito as he drove.

For the outspoken photographer to have run out of words like that...maybe there was a chance he grasped the gravity of the situation, after all.

“Where are we going?” Suoh heard him ask.

“I am taking you somewhere safe,” he replied.

He could see the photographer open his mouth to protest, but a timely, irrevocable glare made the young man change his mind and let out a resigned sigh instead.

“The last thing I need is to have to worry about you too,” he explained quietly. “I've got enough on my plate already...”

In no time, the black BMW had reached the gates of Majima Makoto’s house.

By his side, he saw the photographer’s shoulders go stiff, his eyes wide as a very angry Wei Shen came marching towards them, hands curled into fists.

“Takaba Akihito!” the assistant spat out, his face crumpled up in a scary frown. “Where the hell have you been? I have been look-”

“Not now, Wei,” Suoh replied, his voice low and tired as the two of them got out of the car.

“Not now?” Wei Shen sounded positively out of his mind. “'Not now?' Suoh, this guy-”

“ _Not. Now_ ,” the bodyguard repeated.

He was relieved when the photographer allowed himself to be dragged into the house, his unusually cooperative behaviour meaning he would be able to save all his energy - both mental and physical - for the harder tasks ahead.

One of them had just come out of a room, and stopped right in front of them.

“What happened?” Suoh heard Li Jiao ask, her fierce, dark eyes shifting from his face to Takaba Akihito.

“This is for you,” he replied, passing her a rather large paper bag.

“What is this?” she asked.

“I mean, for the baby.”

The stifled, slightly hysterical gasp behind him made the two of them whip their heads around at the same time, just to find the photographer staring at Li, completely awestruck.

“B-Baby…!” he muttered, his eyes shining as he spoke. “Suoh’s b-”

“What happened?” the woman asked, ignoring the younger man.

“Asami-sama was arrested,” the bodyguard replied, watching her face intently as she clutched the bag. “I am going to meet the Tojo without him, I am taking qualified staff with me but-”

He paused, and allowed himself to take a long, deep breath, probably for the first time that day.

He couldn't pinpoint what was worrying him, and maybe his overall discomfort was only a result of the latest, unexpected event of that morning, but still...

“I have a bad feeling,” he whispered.

He gulped when Li Jiao narrowed her eyes, as if trying to read his mind.

“I'll go with you,” she said, after very long seconds of intense staring.

She was already getting ready to walk away when he grabbed her arm.

“Did I-” he muttered, keeping her in place even when she tried to break free from his grasp. “Did I get the right vitamins?”

When she finally turned around to look at him, her eyes were filled with surprise.

“Did I?” he asked again, hoping she would understand the silent message hidden in that question.

Apparently, she did, her eyes going soft for the fraction of a second as she studied the labels of the the bottles she had just retrieved from the bag.

“No,” she replied shortly after, dropping the bottles back into the bag and placing it all on top of a shelf next to them.

After drawing in a long breath, she continued.

“I want Sengoku and Ochida dead much more than you do,” she whispered, reaching for the gun tucked inside her belt.

“That doesn't matter.”

“You can't stop me.”

Suoh felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

They had not even had a proper conversation about what would happen to them from now on. Her last phone call to him had been brief and straight to the point. She was pregnant with his child, and she was going to keep it whether he wanted it or not.

His eyes slowly took in her lean figure as she tied her long black hair in a ponytail.

He wished he knew her better.

After months of very physical encounters, he had learnt very little about her past, about what she liked and what she didn't, about what would make her laugh.

That was something they had in common, by the way. They hardly ever laughed.

“Takaba-san?” Suoh whispered, his eyes still fixated on the woman in front of him.

“Yes?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

The bodyguard finally blinked and looked away, his eyes landing on the doorknob of the closest room.

“Go into her room,” he said, tilting his head towards the wooden door, “...and get the box that is inside the first drawer of the dresser.”

He waited until the photographer had reached the opposite wall where the dresser was, to pick up Li Jiao and throw her over his shoulder.

“I don't see any-”

Akihito’s sentence was interrupted by a very loud shriek.

“Put me down, Suoh!”

“No.”

Without another word, he dropped her on the middle of her bed, and walked past the door while her body was still bouncing on the mattress.

_Bang._

With enough strength to make the door hinges creak, he slammed he door shut, locked it, and took away the key.

“What the hell was that noise-”

When Wei Shen stopped by his side, the bodyguard grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, his eyes holding a very silent threat as he clenched his jaw.

“This door doesn't open,” he hissed. “They don't come out, and no one goes in, right?”

The other man’s eyes were just as hard and dangerous, but he was wise enough not to start a fight.

“Right…” Wei Shen replied, breaking free from his grasp.

Without another word, Suoh stole a final look at the heavy wooden door and walked away, ignoring the protests of the two people behind it.

++++

He suspected it had been over three hours since he arrived at the police station. The offensive against the Omi in Minato should have begun at least two hours prior - he wanted to believe it had begun regardless, and that his Head of Security would be able to follow through with their plan even without his presence.

Suoh Kazumi was a very capable man, after all.

He let out a sigh, after pacing the small interrogation room where he had been locked in. He was positive that the brainless cop was neglecting all the procedures that should have been applied to the circumstances, but at least he had managed to leave his belongings with Kirishima before leaving Sion… that is, before being taken from Sion.

Asami Ryuichi frowned.

Even if no pictures of his arrest made it to the press, the mere hustle and bustle was certain to make Sion’s shares in the stock market plummet. The rumours would worry his allies in business, and give his adversaries something to build upon.

_When had he become that soft?_

His usual procedure was to erase anything and anyone that tried to get in his way, no questions asked, no second chances given. Tanimura Masayoshi had bolted into his territory, handcuffed him in front of his own personnel, dragged him to a police station that seemed like a ghost town, locked him in a room. He could have snapped that idiot’s neck at any given point, but he hadn't. Not even during the excruciatingly long drive that had taken them there, when he could have easily broken free from the handcuffs and choked the man before he even blinked. It would have been easy to get rid of the body and cover his tracks; it was not as if Tanimura was much of a beloved figure in the force, anyway.

_Why hadn't he?_

His frown became deeper, and his eyes slowly narrowed.

What bothered him was not the question itself, but the fact _he knew the answer._

The footsteps coming from the corridor brought him back to reality, and in a matter of seconds, he found himself once again looking at Tanimura’s face.

In silence, the man pulled a chair and sat, waiting for him to do the same.

“Where is my lawyer?” Asami asked, still standing.

“Outside,” the detective replied, taking a rather large gulp from a brown paper cup.

“Let him in.”

He saw the younger man raise an eyebrow, before drawing in a long breath and drinking more of his coffee.

“I will, in a minute,” he finally replied. “Take a seat.”

A menacing smirk curled the corners of Asami's mouth as he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

As if he would take orders from anyone else other than himself...

“Or don't, I don't really care…” the cop whispered, before lacing his fingers on top of the small table that separated them.

There was almost a full minute of silence before he continued, his eyes fixated on the cup of coffee in front of him.

“You know, even though I have access to his medical file, there is no way I can associate you to it unless Akihito presses charges.”

Asami felt his nostrils flare.

When Tanimura’s eyes met his, they didn't seem to be intimidated by the glare he knew he was giving. On the very contrary - instead of fear, there was just contempt in the light brown orbs, and now he understood exactly what had brought them to that situation in the first place.

It was personal, yes, but on a much deeper level than he had anticipated.

“I was at the hospital that day.”

_That day._

Asami tilted his chin upwards, feeling those words stir a strange fire inside him, one that had been consuming him relentlessly for the past two months or so, one that made him want to toss that detestable human being in front of him into a meat grinder just for having the nerve to remind him of what had happened back then.

“I found it odd when Kuroda showed up, I should have known you had something to do with it,” he continued, after a mirthless chuckle. “Ever since I joined the force, he's been covering your tracks…”

Tanimura’s gaze had dropped to his coffee, and his voice was low when he spoke again.

“I wonder how long you two have known each other for?”

“Stick to the point,” Asami quickly interjected.

His relationship with Kuroda was none of his business, and now that the cards were on the table, they might as well get to the bottom of it. That he had been arrested as a means of that man punishing him for hurting Akihito, he had already understood. _What Tanimura’s goals were from them on_ , however, still remained unclear.

“People like you know no limits,” Tanimura continued, his eyes still fierce but dimmed by some sort of bleak resignation. “I don't know what kind of relationship you and Akihito had, but it clearly wasn't good for him, not if he ended up covered in scars.”

And then, Asami saw the exact moment in which the cop dropped his mask, his lips slightly curving downwards as he stared blankly at the cup of coffee in front of him.

That profound sadness etched in his features could only mean one thing, and the realisation of the cop’s undeniable feelings for Akihito only inflamed the fire burning inside his chest.

“I saw them. The scars...” the detective whispered. “How could you…”

The man’s voice when he uttered the end of that sentence, however, was far too low for him to hear, and he didn't need to, really.

He had seen the reports, he knew when and how Tanimura and Akihito had gotten together, but he had always entertained the thought that what was happening between the two of them was nothing but a temporary infatuation that would sooner or later die down.

And so, the moment Tanimura showed up in Sion to arrest him, he had known the man’s reasons were personal. He had assumed the cop saw him as a threat, and he now realized he was partially right.

The part he had failed to see was that Tanimura saw him, Asami, as _a threat to Akihito himself,_ one that he now felt entitled to remove to protect the photographer from harm, even if it meant losing his career and his own life in the process.

“I know it is a matter of time until you get out,” the detective said, standing up after a long moment of silence. “But I swear, if you try to get close to him ag-”

There was always a line that, when crossed, was guaranteed to result in disaster.

Pointing a finger to Asami Ryuichi’s face was one of them.

Within seconds, Tanimura’s forehead had collided with the wall, prompting blood to ooze from a cut right above his eyebrow, while Asami’s skilled hands moved fast enough to lock the man’s head in a rear choke before he even had time to grunt in pain.

“If you know that I am getting out,” he hissed into the cop’s ear, “then why did you go through all the trouble of getting me here in the first place?” he asked, tightening his grip around Tanimura’s neck, but carefully controlling the pressure to prevent him from losing consciousness far too soon. “Just to give me that half-baked warning?”

His breath was heavy as he spoke, but nowhere near as laboured as his counterpart’s, whose face was contorted in pain as he struggled to break free from his grasp.

Asami waited until the light brown eyes began to flutter closed to let go, watching the younger man struggle to keep his balance after his brain had been deprived of blood for enough seconds to make him dizzy.

“This might have been the last mistake you made in your short, pathetic life, Tanimura,” he whispered, the anger of moments prior carefully tucked behind a much more controlled facade. “You have my file and I have yours too,” he continued, straightening his jacket with a malicious smirk. “You will lose everything, _including him_.”

“He will understand,” the other man croaked in response, his voice raspy as he rubbed his neck.

“Understand what? That you used his pictures without his consent?” Asami asked, raising an eyebrow. “That you went behind his back because you thought you could intimidate me?”

“That I am trying to protect him from going back to a man that does not deserve him,” Tanimura replied, his voice hitting a crescendo of anger frustration.

Asami averted his gaze to the table, with the usual smirk on his lips as he finally pulled a chair and sat. He took as much time as he could to sort out his thoughts, knowing that his controlled reaction was a test to the other man’s nerves.

 _How long had that idiot been with Akihito?_ Three days, one week?

It was really rich of him to even think he had the right to intrude in their private affairs, although his assessment of the whole situation had been remarkably accurate.

Still, he had no intention of letting Tanimura see his true feelings regarding the matter.

His eyes were cold and lifeless when he spoke again.

“You still have a lot to learn about Takaba Akihito,” he said. “But if you're willing to sacrifice your career and everything else for him, then you might be on the right track.”

“I don't need advice from you,” the detective replied, after a snort.

“My only advice is to walk away while you can.”

His threat, however, only seemed to inflame the man’s spirits.

“I have no intentions of giving him up,” Tanimura snarled, his hands curled into fists on top of the table.

“He doesn't love you,” Asami responded, his voice calm and indifferent despite the urge to submit the man in front of him to a very slow, painful death.

“I can wait. I _will_ wait,” the detective said. “He will forget you at some point, you know that, right?”

Despite the blood dripping down his cheek, Tanimura’s eyes were full of defiance, and his face showed no fear, no pain, _no hesitation_ , only that fierce determination of a man willing to go to great lengths to pursue what his heart desired.

It all made Asami hate him even more.

“He might not be ready to let go yet, but he will, eventually,” he continued, and his voice carried the slightly insane confidence of a man who had a single trump card up his sleeve, had already used it, but wanted to raise the bet regardless. “And you will be nothing but a bad memory, of a time when he settled for less than he deserved.”

Asami let out a cold, almost inaudible scoff.

So that was it. The man was in it for the long run.

Once again, he voided his face of whatever hint of emotion it was threatening to give away. From a temporary roadblock, Tanimura Masayoshi had just ascended to the position of a real contender, one that apparently believed he was much more qualified to make Akihito happy than he was. A rather bold conclusion to come to, considering the fact he had just gone behind Akihito’s back himself.

Asami wanted to believe that act in itself would burn any bridges between them, but he knew the photographer far too well to understand his relentless desire to see the best in people and give them a second chance.

If anything, the fact Akihito had allowed him to be a part of his life for three years was proof that man could forgive the most unimaginable mistakes.

“ _You_ 'd better walk away,” he heard the detective conclude. “ _Your_ time has passed. I'm not going _anywhere_.”

“Oh yes, Tanimura, yes, you are.”

The familiar voice coming from the door made the young cop whip his head around, but Asami merely averted his eyes to his own hands, a smirk curling the corners of his lips at the barely contained fury in Kuroda’s tone.

When he finally averted his gaze to the prosecutor’s face, he knew he would not have to worry about getting rid of the younger man, at least for the time being.

Judging by the insanely furious eyes behind the glasses, Kuroda Shinji had plans of his own.

++++

Akihito wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees, leaning against the door as he watched the woman in front of him pace the room like a wild animal in a cage, hands firmly placed on her hips and mouth pursed in an expression of anger and concern.

“I'm hungry,” he said, after his stomach grumbled loudly to remind him he had skipped lunch.

After casting a quick glance in his direction, Li Jiao marched to the door, and knocked on it with three powerful blows.

“Wei, the kid needs to eat,” she snarled. “ _Open the fucking door!_ ”

“I'm not a kid…” the photographer whispered in response, frowning.

 _“No can do, sunshine,”_ said the man guarding the door, his voice casual and unaffected. _“You heard your boyfriend… this door doesn't open.”_

Akihito raised his eyes to the woman’s face just in time to see her eyes budge a little, a very light blush creeping up her ears.

“He's not my boyfriend, goddamit…” she whispered, before crossing her arms with an even angrier frown.

The photographer had just gotten to his feet and walked towards the window when the sound of the door being unlocked made their heads turn.

Without warning, they saw Wei Shen open the door, his voice now serious and urgent.

“They just got back.”

Akihito rushed downstairs, with Li Jiao closely behind, and by the time he reached the kitchen he had already forgotten his own hunger, his eyes quickly scanning the area as if searching for a very specific target…

Who, obviously, was not there.

He felt his heart sink.

For the past hours, he had been ignoring Tanimura’s calls, texts, emails, and hoping instead that another name would show up on his phone screen. The fact that it hadn't made him wonder if Asami was indeed in prison; if he were, how long would he be there for, and if he weren’t, _where the hell was he?_

“We wiped them out,” he heard Suoh say, as Li Jiao assessed his injuries with a concerned frown.

Other than a large bruise around his left eye and a deep cut in his shoulder, which seemed to be bleeding profusely, the bodyguard seemed to be doing just fine.

“You don't sound pleased.”

He turned around just in time to see Majima Makoto join them, her usually serene face clouded with apprehension.

“Sengoku was not there,” Suoh replied, wincing when Li Jiao pressed a clean cloth to his injured shoulder, after pulling his shirt down. “Nor Ochida. If anything that was just an outpost.”

“Then where are they?” the counsellor asked.

“One of his operatives said they headed back to Osaka yesterday, but that was all I could extract from him before he died,” the bodyguard explained, his eyes distant and worried as he spoke. “There's something wrong…”

A quiet snort made the photographer turn around to look at Kirishima, both eyebrows raised as he cleaned the lenses of his glasses.

“ _‘Something’_ ,” he whispered, after a long sigh. “That's one way to look at it...”

When the secretary put his glasses back on, Akihito noticed he had dark bags under his eyes and his face looked thinner and slightly paler.

He had never seen that man look so exhausted.

Kirishima’s gaze slowly drifted to the pile of folders lying on the table next to him, and the photographer’s eyes followed suit. He pondered that the ever-so-efficient assistant was probably falling behind with his work, why else would he-

His mind drew a sudden blank when an envelope covered in stickers caught his eye.

He knew that envelope. He had seen it before.

_‘I just need to drop this at a mailbox...an application for financial support…’_

The photographer felt his jaw drop a little.

The mysterious benefactor… the one that Tanimura thought was Dojima Daigo...was actually…

“Asami?”

It was only when all heads turned to look at him, that he realized he had said the man’s name aloud.

“Oh...” he gasped, trying to reorganize his own thoughts as the people around him stared intently at his face. “What… I mean, where-”

“Thank goodness!”

Kirishima’s sudden exclamation was a very welcome distraction.

“He was released,” the secretary explained.

Akihito felt his chest fill with relief.

“Kuroda is taking care of the paperwork now,” Kirishima continued, putting away his cell phone and getting to his feet, with all the folders firmly secured in his arms. “Suoh, we have to go.”

The words prompted Suoh to get up, after finally letting go of the slender fingers he had been clutching for the past five minutes, his lips pressing a light kiss to the knuckles and eliciting the faintest smile from the usually stoic Chinese woman by his side.

“You coming?”

The bodyguard’s voice made him jump slightly, and his eyes darted around for a moment, as if looking for some kind of lifeline.

When his racing heart finally gave him a break, Akihito drew in a long breath to soothe his nerves.

A part of him wanted to just storm out of that kitchen and go with them, so that he could see Asami again and they could finally get the record straight between them.

Another part of him, though, knew the man was right when he had said that was not the time. The tension in the air was thick and suffocating, and it was obvious Asami was nowhere near done with the Omi just yet… He didn't want to be a distraction...

He was still pondering his options when his phone started buzzing again.

_**Masa** _

Oh yeah. And there was that, too.

His face was wrinkled with concern when he raised his hazel eyes to look at the bodyguard, shaking his head quietly.

“But tell Asami I'll be waiting for him when this is over,” he said, his heart nearly jumping out of his throat as he clutched his phone, torn between the need to _stay put_ and the desire not to.

He watched as Suoh nodded his agreement, before he and Kirishima walked past the front door and left.

++++++++

_Meanwhile, in Osaka..._

**Sengoku Hiroshi's Headquarters**

He was not sure if the bugs crawling up his skin were real or not - at that point, everything looked like a diffuse nightmare.

Why was his body so different… covered in scales…

He giggled, the frenetic pounding in his ears stopping him from thinking straight.

It would come and go, the delirium, the paranoia, the high. And when he reconnected with his senses, the nauseating pain spreading from his jaw to the top of his head made him cringe.

“Are you ready to talk, now?”

He lifted his eyes to the bald man in front of him.

“Heh, Kazuki?”

Everything in Sengoku Hiroshi made him disgusting - his croaky voice, his cheap clothes, his stupid oily scalp, the sweat running down his temples, he was always sweating, that pig.

It could be snowing in that damn basement, and the fucking pig would be sweating.

He giggled again, Russian lullabies dripping from his injured lips as memories of another basement filled his confused, hyperstimulated mind.

“Fuck, Ochida, how much cocaine did you give him?” he faintly heard the man ask other person in the room. “He's no use to me if his brain is fried…”

“What do you want, Sengoku?”

The voice that left his throat could not be his. It sounded so strong, so...powerful.

It was almost as if there was another Hayashi Kazuki residing inside himself, one that feared nothing and no one, one that could kill without a second thought.

Yeah...there had to be someone else hiding inside that carcass, someone that was not as weak as him… as powerless as him...

“No one can defeat Asami Ryuichi, he will crush you,” his lips had moved again, and he raised his eyebrows at the coherence contained in that sentence. “You might as well give up.”

“You'd think…” Sengoku replied, after a snort. “You are really ballsy, to try my patience like that after all the times you screwed up, you piece of shit.”

Kazuki’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he was getting ready to surrender to another moment of oblivion when blunt fingers wrapped around his hair.

“Let's try this again,” the bald man whispered, before slamming his head against the wall with so much strength he felt his skull would break in half.  “The girl, Hayashi Maya, that little bitch of a hacker…” he hissed, while one of Ochida’s feet descended upon his left hand, eliciting a piercing cry of pain, “...the one that was seen sipping drinks with Asami Ryuichi…” he paused, just to slam his head against the wall again. “What is…” and again, “... her connection…” and again, “… to him?”

When Sengoku finally let go of his hair, there was an insistent buzz in his ears. That, combined with the throbbing, warm pain spreading across his scalp, seemed to have given him another moment of sobriety, and his lips curled into a lifeless, menacing smirk.

“Fuck you,” he hissed.

The bald man in front of him seemed taken aback for a moment, but soon his look of surprise was replaced by a bitter, disgusted glare.

“It's not me who's going to get fucked, you stupid whore,” Sengoku replied. “Ochida.”

The mere mention of that name made his hair stand on end.

Slowly, he averted his eyes to the man towering next to him, his diabolical grin holding the promise of a sequel to the previous night.

He winced as he swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling it had not yet recovered from the brutal treatment it had been submitted to.

“He's all yours,” the older man said. “Do your worst.”

“Oh no, not that again…” Kazuki muttered, his eyes glassy and unfocused as Ochida unbuckled his belt.

Now that man was a different sort of disgusting. If it weren't for the demonic shadow in his black eyes, for the inhuman cruelty and brutality contained in every movement of his body, Lieutenant Ochida would be a rather handsome man, with sculptured muscles and the strong features of a mysterious samurai.

No… unlike his boss, Ochida had the looks, but his psychotic makeup tainted them in such a way that at that point Kazuki could see nothing but a deformed, hideous, cruel, soulless putrefying carcass in front of him.

“Don't worry, sugar…” he heard the man reply, before turning him around so that he was on fours, facing the wall. “I'm giving your mouth a break tonight…”

When his pants were brought down with a violent, merciless pull, Kazuki felt the first tears run down his cheeks.

_Mirai, I'm so sorry._

He didn't know how much more he would be able to take before he finally shattered.

 

 


	47. No hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail and Tanimura make their pitches, leaving Fei Long and Akihito to consider their options.
> 
> At Sion, Asami receives an unexpected visit, and learns that his journey through hell is just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! That is it, I officially broke the 10k barrier and I did not cut this chapter into two parts this time! So grab what's left of your eggnog and Christmas cookies, because this is going to be very, *very* long!
> 
> (And yes, once again I am leaving you with a cliffhanger, but it was important to set the tone for Chapter 48, so please don't hate me *too much* XD)
> 
> Happy holidays, y’all! =D

 

  

Somewhere in Osaka, a tall, beefy bald man nudged the semi-naked body on the floor with the tip of his shoe.

“Is he dead?” Sengoku Hiroshi asked, when the slender man sprawled on the dirty concrete showed no reaction.

“No,” he heard his lieutenant reply, while cleaning the blade of his pocket knife with a handkerchief. “He's more resistant than I thought.”

Impressive.

“It's been what, almost four days?” the older man asked, just to elicit a nod from the man by his side.

Four days enduring that type of torture… That whore of a junkie had been a tough one to break, but after so many hours of sleep deprivation, combined with the drugs and Ochida’s relentless rough treatment, Hayashi Kazuki had finally let that filthy tongue loose.

“So the little slut is Asami Ryuichi’s daughter,” Sengoku whispered, reaching for one of the pistols tucked under his belt. “Things just got ten times more interesting…”

“What are your orders, sir?”

“Gather everyone, go personally to the families that have not confirmed their support…” the older man continued, glancing at the muzzle of his gun with a look that transpired malice and insanity. “We are hitting Tokyo with all we've got.”

Ochida was about to leave the room after a respectful bow, when his boss made him stop on his tracks.

“And Ochida…”

The taller man quickly turned around, waiting for his instructions like a well-behaved watchdog.

“When we get the girl, she's _mine_ ,” he hissed through his yellowed, crooked teeth. “You can have the photographer if you want, but no one touches that bitch until I'm done with her. Tell all our men.”

He paused, and let out a hateful scoff.

“’No one can defeat Asami Ryuichi…’” he muttered, before turning on his heels and walking towards the door.  “We’ll see about that.”

“What about him?” Ochida asked, tilting his head towards Kazuki’s immobile body.

“Have one of your men finish the job and get rid of the body,” the bald man replied simply, barely bothering to look over his shoulder before leaving the room.

++++

A part of him was ready to embrace death. As a matter of fact, he had been waiting for a while now, dreamed about it, seen it as a good friend that would show up eventually to take him somewhere better, safer, without so much noise.

He closed his eyes and smiled when the cold muzzle of a pistol touched the back of his head, ready to embrace that final journey.

And then his smile faltered, his eyes filling with fear when the familiar sensation made his mind foggy for a split second. He could feel it bubbling inside his chest, like an entity ready to take over of his consciousness, his body, his very soul.

He didn't want to, but he had no choice.

That other half of himself would not let go, would not stop.

He wished he would go away, he and all the others, but he didn't have time to finish his prayer, not even to start it.

Before he knew, his own limbs were moving with incredible speed, one of his elbows hitting his executioner in the crotch and making him shoot the wall instead; his other arm reaching for another pair of hands and slamming them against the doorframe.

_You are too much of a weakling, Kazuki…_

If anything, his years of training in Russia had turned him into a soldier; not the hero kind of soldier, of course, but one that was way too good in eliminating targets and surviving to simply succumb to Kazuki’s will to give up.

He breathed contently when the agile fingers that had not been broken during torture located and retrieved a knife from one of the men’s pockets.

Two slashes later, and there were two limb corpses on the ground, resting in a pool of their own blood, which oozed profusely from the cuts in their necks.

There was no pain. There was no despair.

In a way, it was a relief to have nothing left to lose.

After a quick inspection of his whereabouts, he realized he would have to walk past the kitchen to reach the door that separated him from the world.

He didn't even bother to try to sneak out unnoticed.

As soon as he managed to lay his hands on a cleaver, he knew he was not going to be stopped. Bottles, fire extinguishers, cooktop burners, everything turned into a weapon the moment he reached them.

As he moved forward, the floor that had just been washed with bleach turned red, a trail of bleeding bodies bent over counters and scorched human flesh marking his path.

When he finally reached the exit, he still had the presence of mind to search the cupboards for a clean uniform, and to take a pack of cigarettes and a bunch of yen notes from the pockets of one of the dead men at his feet.

Not even the footsteps coming from the adjacent room were enough to make him hurry. Instead, he calmly studied his reflection in one of the shiny pots hanging from a hook in the ceiling, and covered one of his eyes with his greasy, dirty hair, so that no one outside would see that his eyeball had been nearly carved out of his face.

It would be a long journey back to Tokyo, after all, and he couldn't afford to look like a monster when he tried to hail a cab.

After lighting up a cigarette in the flames that now began to spread from a burning body to the counters, he pushed open the fire exit door and left.

For the first time in his life, he was ready to descend into hell, but that was a trip he would not take alone.

++++

When Takaba Akihito left his room on the fourth day of his stay at Majima Makoto’s house, his mind was made up.

_It was time to meet Tanimura for a talk._

Everyday, his phone would be beep religiously at 8 in the morning and at 8 in the evening, with some sort of variation of the same message.

_‘Akihito, we need to talk.’_

They did, indeed.

He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, the same one that he had been wearing for half a week now that he was technically forbidden to leave the mansion, the strong smell of laundry detergent and fabric softener making his nose itch a little.

He was about to go down the stairs when what sounded like a heated argument behind one of the closed doors in the hall caught his attention.

 _“...and that is out of the question,”_ said a very strong female voice, which he quickly recognised as being the counsellor’s.

_“Okaasan, but-”_

The word made Akihito’s eyes go wide.

 _Okaasan?_ Did Majima Makoto have a son?

 _“Those people came to me for guidance, to get their lives back,”_ she continued. _“I can't tell them to rejoin the Tojo, we have already talked about this, Daisaku.”_

 _“What other choice do we have?”_ the male voice that followed sounded strangely familiar, but he could not exactly tell whom it belonged to. _“I'm telling you, thousands of our men are gonna bail the moment the Omi tries to bribe them, I can smell those fucking rats from a fucking mile away, we ain't covered for that kind of sh-”_

“Looking for something?”

Wei Shen’s voice behind him made Akihito jump.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he muttered.

“Are you ready to train?” the Chinese man asked, after throwing him a bottle of mineral water.

Akihito had to force himself not to wince.

 _Hells no._ His muscles were still sore after all the sit-ups the man had demanded from him the day before; his arms were so tingly after an equally devastating series of push-ups he had barely been able to raise them to wash his hair properly earlier that morning.

“Uh, actually, Wei…” he said quietly, rubbing his neck as he prepared to make a request he was absolutely positive the other man would turn down. “Is there any chance you can drop me off at Little Asia?”

“No.”

As expected, Wei Shen didn't seem remotely inclined to listen to his pleas.

“Wei, I- Look...” the photographer muttered, trying his luck nevertheless. “It's some personal business, I really need t-”

“I am sure it is,” the older man interjected. “The answer is still no.”

Akihito bit his lower lip, his jaws clenched tight in frustration.

“I could have just found a way out of this house and you wouldn't even-”

“Takaba, my orders are very specific,” Wei Shen quickly interrupted. “Namely, to keep you out of trouble, and I am not taking any chances.”

“But I need to meet someone,” he insisted.

“Tell them to meet you here.”

“I...I can't,” the photographer mumbled, his voice stifled and low.

Technically, he could, but he didn't want to. He knew there was someone watching his every move in every corner of that house, inside and outside, and that was the kind of conversation he wanted to have with Tanimura in private.

“Then you're not meeting them,” Wei Shen replied, after a dismissive shrug. “Period.”

The photographer let out a defeated sigh, his eyes shifting from the man’s face to the door behind them.

The loud voices from before could still be heard, but the heated argument seemed to be over.

“Does Majima-san have a son?” he asked.

“Kind of,” said the older man. “Minami used to her husband’s protégé. And hers, by default.”

Wei Shen had barely finished his sentence when the door opened to reveal the angry face of a young man with multiple piercings in his ears, eyebrows and chin, wearing nothing but baggy pants and a large golden chain around his neck.

When his eyes drifted to the word tattooed on the man’s chest, Akihito narrowed his eyes.

_Honor_

Where had he seen that guy before?

“Wait a minute…” he whispered, when memories of a very distant day filled his mind. “You're Maya's bodyguard!” he raised an eyebrow, noticing the man didn't seem to be on duty. “Or...were?”

The expression on the other man’s face was still fierce and hostile, but his pursed lips seem to relax for the fraction of a second.

“I was, yeah,” Minami mumbled in response. “Ain't you Asami Ryuichi’s lover?”

Akihito blinked rapidly at the words, partially because the mere thought made his heart flutter, and partially because of the ferocious glare that came attached to that question.

“I… I wouldn't use that w-”

“That fucker had a hit with the Tojo two days ago but didn't show up,” the other man interrupted, his face contorted in an angry frown. “Was he with you?”

Akihito had just opened his mouth to respond when an idea crossed his mind, and a small smile curled the corners of his lips.

“He ran into some trouble,” he answered, his voice calm and unaffected. “You might want to talk to detective Tanimura about it.”

He saw the young man’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Tanimura?” Minami asked.

“Yeah,” Akihito replied, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I have a meeting with him in a few minutes, wanna come?”

Behind him, Wei Shen let out a gasp.

“You have no meeting with-”

“Yeah,” Minami said, oblivious to the debate that had taken place between the two men minutes prior.

“Hell no.”

Wei Shen’s words made the Tojo lieutenant tilt his head to the side, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

“Pardon?”

“He can't leave the house,” the Chinese assistant replied.

“Not even with me?” Minami asked, sounding terribly offended.

“Especially not with you.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“The Tojo is in the middle of a war, Minami. What if you get attacked on your way there?”

“You calling me a pussy?”

“I ain't calling you shit.”

“Yo, you're pretty cocky for a _former_ red pole, Mister Wei Shen.”

“Stop, the two of you.”

Majima Makoto was the one to step between the two men before they took their argument to the next level.

“For crying out loud, this is not the time for the two of you to-”

Her words died in her throat, when her acute sense of hearing made her realize there were only three people standing in the hall.

“Wait,” she said. “Where is Akihito?”

“Oh fuck...”

Wei Shen frustrated grunt quickly turned into an angry scream.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

++++

It was a sunny day in Hong Kong.

With a lazy glance, a long-haired man let his eyes drift to the fountain on his left, the sound of water cascading down rocks gently lulling him into a profound state of mindfulness and tranquility.

After breathing in the scent of jasmine coming from the waters around him, Liu Fei Long pondered that it had been a good idea, after all, to build that small outdoor bath for his private use. The miniature _sento_ could not compare to the _onsens_ in Kusatsu, obviously, but the carefully aligned rocks, the fog surrounding him and the perfect temperature of the water made for a combination that his body and mind were extremely grateful for.

He tilted back his head until his neck was resting on top of the small cushion behind him, the loose bun that had been holding up his long, sleek dark hair coming undone as he moved his head to the side. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, and allowed memories of his favourite visit to an _onsen_ to fill his mind.

He was still unable to pinpoint what exactly had aroused him the most. Much as Akihito had become extremely competent in his front service, he was never much of a good actor, and it had been obvious from the get go that the only reason why he had put so much effort into his oral ministrations was to put on a show for Asami.

Judging by how heatedly he had been fucked in return, it had worked.

He tried to avert his thoughts when his heartbeat increased in speed, the muscles of his lower belly twitching slightly as he remembered the lust in the golden eyes as the man’s hips slapped loudly against the photographer’s backside, the intensity of his desire so obvious that he, against his best judgment, had found himself _wishing it was him instead_ , at the receiving end of Asami’s attentions.

He still remembered how his breath had caught in his throat the very moment the man had risen in his naked glory to walk towards them, every inch of his body a promise of endless, unknown pleasures, his glistening erection jutting proudly between his legs… and he hated the fact he couldn't stop thinking about it, thinking about him, even after so much time, even after everything.

The faint sound of footsteps behind him was a welcome distraction.

One more minute thinking of Asami, and his relaxing bath would begin to feel like a bitter, stifling sauna.

“Fei Long-sama…”

He slowly turned his head to look at Yoh.

“Where is Tao?” Fei Long asked, upon noticing his silk robe folded over the man’s arm.

“He is out, shopping for groceries with the chefs.”

With a resigned sigh, he stood up and stepped out of the bath, just to see his usually composed assistant draw in a sharp breath, his usual emotionless face betrayed by the slowly dilating pupils of his dark eyes as his gaze dipped to his crotch.

“You don't have to look away,” he whispered, staring at Yoh’s face as he wore his robe. “It's not the first time you see me naked, is it?”

_Or with an erection…_

When their eyes met, he could see Yoh’s pulse throbbing in his neck.

“And yet, you always get so flustered…” he added quietly.

“Mikhail Arbatov is waiting for you at the main house,” Yoh replied, trying to regain some of his composure, despite the still very notable strain in his voice.

“Mikhail?” Fei Long asked, his delicate features wrinkled with a frown of surprise and concern. “What does he want?”

“He didn't say.”

He was still frowning many minutes later, as he strolled down the main hall of his mansion after getting into a dark blue _changshan_ , his hair flowing behind him graciously despite the noticeable irritation marking his steps.

As soon as he reached the lounge, his eyes feel upon a very relaxed blond man sprawled in one of his armchairs, sipping tea as he talked to one of his servants.

“Ah, Fei Long,” he heard Mikhail Arbatov exclaim. “What took you so long?”

“It's not as if I was waiting for you, Mikhail, I had other things to do,” the Chinese man replied, taking a seat across from his counterpart. “Showing up uninvited is really your specialty, isn't it? What brings you to Hong Kong?”

His cold, uninterested tone was not enough to dampen the other man’s enthusiasm.

“You smell fantastic,” Mikhail whispered, his artic blue eyes shifting from Fei Long’s face to his chest, and then back to his face. “Is that jasmine? So pungent and delicate at the same time... Suits you,” he added, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. “How's business going? “

“Very well, as we discussed in our last meeting,” Fei Long responded, showing no signs of being amused. “Why don't you save us both time and tell me the reason for your unexpected visit?”

“Antsy, are you? What happened to the cool Fei Long I used to know?” Mikhail replied, putting away his cup of tea and leaning forward, so that his face was only a few inches away. “So stressed…” he continued, pressing the tip of his index finger against his own lower lip for a moment. “Looks like you could relieve some… tension.”

Fei Long raised an eyebrow, wishing his blank expression would be enough of a response to the man’s insistent flirting.

“I would love to help you with that…” the blonde continued, either oblivious to his disinterest or deliberately ignoring it.

After another long minute of silence, Mikhail finally spoke again.

“No?” he asked, picking up the cup again and leading it to his lips. “Oh well, you are always worth a shot.”

“I can't believe you came all the way from Russia just to make small talk, Mikhail,” Fei Long said, his eyes narrowed as he waited for a response.

If the intel he had gotten from his men in Tokyo was accurate, though, Russia _was not_ the place where Arbatov was coming from.

The blond man replied with a smirk.

“I take it you heard things have been somewhat convoluted in Japan?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Has Asami filled you in on the specifics?”

Fei Long’s nostrils flared.

The truth was, Asami hadn't contacted him in months, which only made him think that perhaps the man was serious when he said his relationship with the Baishe had been officially strained by the situation in Dotonbori.

Of course, Asami Ryuichi would never admit he had come to the wrong conclusion when it came to his intentions, and it had been silly of him to expect the man to show some kind of gratitude for his intervention. Hadn't it been for him, the Omi Alliance would have hijacked one of Asami’s main routes and brought the Korean Mafia to their side… Still, all he got in return for his actions was almost two months of radio silence.

“No?” Mikhail asked, with a rather amused expression in his face. “Interesting. And here I was, thinking you were his strongest ally…”

Fei Long felt the muscles in his jaw were about to snap.

“I guess things change, huh?”

“Mikhail, you are making me waste my time.”

“I'm sorry, I'm…” he heard the other man continue, the corners of his mouth trembling slightly as if he had been making a tremendous effort not to laugh. “Fine. Since Ryuichi is too busy to give his crush a call, let me do the honours.”

The leader of the Baishe flexed his fingers, ready to strike the man in front of him should he choose to taunt him again.

He actually found it rather surprising that the Russian leader was still alive, considering the fact his favourite pastime seemed to be poking other people’s wounds without a single care in the world.  

“Did you know Asami has a daughter?”

Fei Long felt his heart stop for the longest seconds of his life.

 _‘Asami’_ and ‘ _daughter’_ were two words he never thought he would hear in the same sentence, and the implications behind that single line were so immense his mind was spinning.

“Asami?” he muttered.

“Yes. The one and only Asami Ryuichi.”

The look of triumph on Mikhail’s face, though, forced him to regain his composure after that brief moment of confusion.

“So what?” he asked, his voice once again void of emotion.

The other man scoffed in response.

“ _‘So what?’_ ,” Mikhail repeated, after throwing a rather condescending glance in his direction. “Fei Long…”

After shaking his head and crossing his legs with the same casual demeanour, the blond man continued.

“OK. Let's _pretend_ you are not curious,” he said, smoothing an inexistent wrinkle in his white jacket. “She's 21 years old, and she currently resides in a hotel a few blocks away from Sion.”

“How does that have anything to do with the crime syndicates in Japan?” Fei Long asked, with an annoyed frown.

“Everything,” Mikhail replied. “You see, the girl’s stepfather happens to be an acquaintance of mine. Not that I knew of that until very recently, but…” he paused, and his gaze was distant when he spoke again. “Well, looking back everything makes sense…”

“Anyways,” he continued, after a nonchalant shrug. “When he came to me asking for help to pull one on Asami Ryuichi, I found it amusing. He told me it was because he had banged his wife at some point in the past…”

Fei Long watched as he raised both eyebrows, a small smile of amusement curling the corners of his mouth.

“And I thought, why not?” he continued, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he spoke, his deep blue eyes never leaving his. “It always amuses me when people decide to do the dumbest things out of jealousy. Right?” he asked, after a quiet chuckle. “I mean… _right?_ ”

After another pause, he drew in a long breath, raking his fingers through his sleek blond hair.

“That time in Hong Kong, oh man…” he whispered.

“Mikhail,” Fei Long quickly interjected, and his tone carried a very distinct note of threat.

“Fine, fine…” Mikhail replied, after another shrug. “Well, now I realize he was probably terrified by the idea of the girl and her mother going back to Asami. As if he would throw away that hottie of a photographer for a cereal packet family…” he pondered, his voice showing very little interest or amusement as he looked at his own nails.

“Long story short, I agreed to help,” he continued. “Turns out his stepdaughter, that now we know is actually Ryuichi’s daughter, oho, my mind is still blown…” he said, after another chuckle. “She is a hacker, and managed to steal some info on a few of Asami’s most profitable routes. Good stuff. Too bad the data was corrupted, but he had found it in the girl’s computer and asked me if he could use it in any way…”

Fei Long couldn't help but notice that the man in front of him narrated every fact with a great deal of enthusiasm, even though he could already tell that story was not heading towards a happy ending.

But then again, to Mikhail, everything was entertainment. If it involved other people’s personal drama, even better.

“Well, as you know, I have some influence in some branches of the Omi Alliance…” the Russian leader continued, his beautiful face showing the same calm as always, as if they were talking about something as trivial as the weather in their respective home countries. “All I had to do was introduce the guy to the right family leader… and give that family leader some ideas of my own.”

“What family leader?” Fei Long asked, just to be greeted by a long pause, in which the blue eyes staring at him seemed to gleam dangerously.

“Sengoku Hiroshi,” the man finally replied.

A less informed person would look at Mikhail Arbatov and see nothing but a pretty face with the casual demeanour of a playboy who was very fond of parties, money and sex.

However, one did not become a respected name in the Russian underground by accident.

The fact he had brought a man like Sengoku Hiroshi into the picture, whose crimes were well known for their brutality, only proved that Mikhail Arbatov’s carefree, flamboyant facade hid an extremely manipulative man with a particular taste for deception and _blood_.

“Why would you do that?” Fei Long asked quietly.

“Why would I not?” the blond man replied. “I have nothing to lose.”

“You are way more sadistic than I imagined.”

“Well, so are you,” Mikhail replied, with the calm, satisfied expression of a man who had seen firsthand of the atrocities he, Fei Long, was capable of.

And that was a place he had no intentions of revisiting.

“Are you sure you wanna go there?” the blond man asked, his voice serious and low as he leaned forward. “We are no heroes, Fei Long. Not me, not you, not Asami.”

“I understand,” Fei Long quickly replied, his face showing no emotion. “So you were the one that triggered the clan war, using a man’s grief as your tool. Congratulations.”

“You are getting judgmental again…”

“Why?”

Instead of answering, Mikhail Arbatov got to his feet, and walked towards the window with a thoughtful smile on his lips.

“Isn't that obvious?” he asked, hands shoved in the pockets of his sleek white pants. “You see, it was not such an airtight plan. Sengoku was clumsy. Kazuki, the stepfather, was clumsy too. He left hints everywhere. It was not a clean job, but Asami didn't suspect him until the very end.”

When he turned around to look at him, his eyes were once again serious and menacing.

“You know what that means, right?”

Fei Long remained silent, allowing himself to go back to his earlier musings.

It was not so much the fact Asami had a child that stunned him. Some men were fated to carry marks of their past regardless of the decisions they made later in life, but if anything, he would have expected a cunning man like Asami Ryuichi to have sent the girl away to a place where no one would ever be able to find her, to connect her to him.

Keeping his own daughter in Tokyo was careless, to say the least, and he had never thought the man would eventually offer such an opening for his enemies to strike.

“Asami's days are over,” Mikhail continued. “He has surrounded himself with liabilities - a lover, a daughter. I began to suspect he had gone soft after Hong Kong, but this? He is not the man we all used to fear, not anymore,” he added, walking back to his armchair, but still standing. “The man with the heart of iron is gone. And as a result, Japan is about to go up in flames,” he concluded, with a malicious smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “Because he failed.”

Fei Long, who had been staring at the ground as the man spoke, finally lifted his gaze when Mikhail took another long pause.

“It is time for him to step down.”

“So you are doing all this…” Fei Long whispered. “To test him?”

“Maybe,” he heard the blond man reply, after taking a seat again. “I don't side with weaklings, Fei Long, you know that. If Asami can no longer be Japan’s number one, then I am jumping that ship before it sinks, and you should do the same.”

“Is that what you're here for?” he asked. “To convince me to… _jump the ship_ as well?”

“Not to convince you, no. You are an intelligent man, you need no convincing.”

“Don't try to use flattery to score points with me, Mikhail,” Fei Long replied, with an angry frown. “You, of all people, should know that does not work.”

“Fine. No sugar coating, then,” the other man said, showing no signs of being offended by the less-than-subtle turndown. “I am here because I could do with your help.”

Fei Long squared his shoulders, drawing in a long breath as he leaned back on the chair.

_Of course it would come down to that._

“There will be a final offensive very soon,” Mikhail continued. “It will… wipe out the Tojo and Asami’s men, now that they are fighting on the same side. I'm sure the Omi will be severely weakened as well but even that works in our favor.”

He had to raise an eyebrow at Mikhail’s excessive confidence.

That all sounded way too easy.

“We can be the ones to create a new order once Asami is out of the picture. The routes he controls, all of his side businesses… We can figure out a transition plan, fill the power void before someone takes advantage of it,” the man went on. “I have plenty of cells infiltrated in all prefectures, I know you do too.”

“Shared control of his routes?” Fei Long asked.

“Yes. And whatever else you want.”

For the first time, the leader of the Baishe allowed a smirk to curl the corners of his lips.

“I think you are underestimating Asami, Mikhail,” he said, his voice calm and collected after a dismissive chuckle. “Regardless of his private affairs, he has a very influential network of contacts everywhere. I don't think you are taking that into account.”

When he lifted his gaze to Mikhail’s face, he realised the blue eyes were now shining with a very odd combination of serenity and anger.

“Even after all this time…” he heard the blond man whisper, “...you still can't let him go, can you?”

Not for the first time since that conversation had started, Fei Long felt an uncontrollable desire to rip Mikhail’s vocal cords out of his throat.

“Things have changed, Fei Long,” he said, his face showing no amusement as he spoke. “I can see where your...unexplainable need to protect him comes from, but do you think he would do the same for you?”

“I think our meeting is over,” he replied, looking away with what he hoped would be the best rendition of his bored, uninterested face. “I have other businesses to take care of, if you don't mind.”

“Absolutely,” he heard the other man reply, before the sound of his footsteps grew fainter by the moment, and the click of a doorknob indicated he had just passed the threshold that separated the room from the main hall. “I will be waiting for your answer, just give me a call when you make up your mind.”

With another soft click, the door closed, and the leader of the Baishe was left alone with his own thoughts.

++++

He made it to Little Asia without much of a problem, looking over his shoulder every now and then to make sure he was not being followed, his face hidden in the shadow cast by his baseball cap.

It didn't take long for him to notice Tanimura Masayoshi waiting for him at the entrance of a particularly narrow alley, which didn't look as threatening during the day as it had looked at night, the first time he ever set foot in there.

“Wei Shen called,” the cop announced, his voice low and tired as he took a final drag off his cigarette. “You could have asked me to meet you at Majima’s headquarters.”

“I thought I could do with some privacy,” Akihito replied, his tone also somewhat cold and indifferent, which only contributed to the tension between them.

“Right…” Tanimura replied, studying his face for a long moment before opening the door behind him. “Come on in.”

They both took off their shoes and headed to the man’s bedroom, the sound of kids playing and a dog barking in the background the only sounds as they walked down the hall. When Akihito finally found himself standing in front of the small futon laid on the ground of a room that was half the size of his own tiny bedroom in Yokohama, his palms were already clammy and cold.

He averted his gaze to the man wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt as he closed the door behind him, noticing that it was the first time he had ever seen Tanimura in clothes that were not a suit or his police uniform.

The change of outfit, combined with the dark bags under his eyes and his pale lips, made him look strangely fragile.

He cleared his throat to prevent his already conflicted feelings to do a number on him.

“So you knew all along,” he said, after sitting on the floor, and pulling his knees closer to his chest. “Is that why you went out with me? Out of pity?”

He saw Tanimura’s light brown eyes shift to him immediately, nothing but confusion showing in his tired face.

“What are you t-”

“What, you thought I was an _abused spouse_?” Akihito continued, his voice coming strained despite his best efforts to sound calm. “Or maybe a _sex slave_ , is that what you thought? That I needed to be rescued by a...hero like you?”

“No. Akihito-”

“Were you ever planning on telling me?” he asked, averting his gaze to the ceiling to ensure he would be able to say everything he wanted to say without letting his own feelings get in the way. “That you were at the hospital that day?”

There was no answer, but even then he refused to avert his eyes to Tanimura’s face.

“I'll take that as a _no_ ,” he whispered.

“Akihito...”

“How did you get those pictures?”

After a long, deep sigh, he heard the detective move closer to him, and take a seat by his side.

“I can only answer one question at a time.”

“I'm listening,” Akihito responded, his eyes still fixated on a crack on the wooden surface above their heads.

“No, I was _not_ planning to tell you I was at the hospital that day,” the other man finally replied. “I did have access to your police file, yes, by the time we first met I already knew a lot about your life because up until then you were just another case.”

Akihito felt his lips curl into an unhappy half-smile.

_Just another case._

“But I did not go out with you out of pity, I did not go out with you to rescue you, I just... I just wanted to learn more about you, about who you were,” Tanimura continued. “When Maya set us up I recognised your name, that's the only reason why I went, in the first place. I am not used to... dating, if she was trying to set me up with anyone else I would have passed on it.”

“Did you know about Asami and I, all this time?”

“No.”

Akihito frowned. That response sounded terribly insincere, since he doubted a detective wouldn't have made the connection between a photographer’s convoluted track record and the infamous crime lord that always seemed to be involved in those events.

“I mean…”

When Tanimura spoke again, the photographer felt the corners of his eyes prickle.

He really didn't want to hear that the only reason the man had gotten close to him was to find a way to get Asami arrested; he really didn't want to believe he had been used like that, not by the first guy after Asami he had been bold enough to trust.

“His name shows up in your file a couple of times but I did not make the connection, I knew there were rumours but I didn't think you had that kind of relationship with him,” Tanimura explained. “Only that day, when you were almost kidnapped.”

Akihito nodded in silence, withholding any judgment until he got the answer to his other questions.

“And I know you are expecting me to say I am sorry for using your photos to-”

“How did you get them?”

Even without looking, Akihito could tell that the man by his side was struggling to hide his nervousness, judging by his heavy, unsteady breathing.

“I hacked your phone.”

With a shocked gasp, the photographer finally averted his gaze to the detective’s face.

“Oh, for fuck's sake!” he exclaimed. “ _How?_ I didn't even have this phone when those pictures were taken!”

“Your image files are linked to your email account. I decoded the deleted files.”

“I…”

His mouth was parted, but no sound came out of it. He had suddenly realized that there were no words to express his frustration.

“I don't even know what to say right now,” he finally managed to mutter, many seconds later. “What you did was...you went behind my back.”

“I know.”

“And what for? What was your goal?”

“I wanted him to pay for what he did to you.”

Akihito’s eyebrows shot up.

“ _Pay?_ ” he asked, his voice loaded with disbelief. “By staying in prison for three hours?”

“I thought I would be able to gather more evidence-”

“Bullshit,” the photographer promptly interrupted. “You knew you didn't stand a chance but you wanted to intimidate him.”

The muscles on Tanimura’s jaw were tense, his eyes darting back and forth as he pursed his lips, as if he were chewing on words he was not sure he should let out or not.

“Did it work?” Akihito asked, his eyes still wide. “What about Prosecutor Kuroda?”

His question was met with a nervous chuckle.

“He was pretty pissed,” the detective replied, his eye twitching slightly as he spoke. “But he knows he can't do much until the heat dies down or he will draw too much attention to his connection to Asami.”

Akihito shook his head in response, after letting out an unhappy chuckle himself.

“What happens now?” he asked, his voice lower as he averted his gaze to the floor.

“I was transferred to the International Crime Division,” the detective replied, and the photographer couldn't help but notice the ragged intake of breath that followed his words. “In Thailand.”

When Akihito looked at the man’s face again, his light brown eyes were a mix of resignation and despair.

“With half wages for an entire year, as disciplinary penalty,” he added.

“What about the orphanage?”

The photographer watched as Tanimura opened his mouth to answer, his chin trembling slightly and forcing him to swallow before trying again.  
“I am still waiting for the outcome of our application for financial support,” he whispered.

Akihito gritted his teeth. He felt like slamming Tanimura’s head against a wall for being so tremendously stupid - it was obvious the man had no idea the “nameless benefactor” his orphanage now depended entirely on was Asami, _the very same person he had arrested two days prior_ and who at that point had thrown their application in the garbage bin without batting an eyelash.  

“What if you don't get it?” he asked quietly, already knowing, by the bleakness in the cop’s eyes, that there was no plan B. “Then what?”

“Come with me,” the detective replied.

_“What?”_

“To Thailand.”

The words didn’t immediately register in his brain, but when they did, Akihito’s jaw dropped.

“You can't be serious,” he mumbled.

“What is keeping you here?”

Tanimura’s face, for the first time that day, was sporting his usual fierce determination.

“We've only known each other for a week, and you want me to move to another country with you?” Akihito asked, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “After what you did?”

“We both could do with a fresh start.”

“We barely know each other!” the photographer exclaimed.

“We know enough.”

“You're insane.”

“Maybe. How long would I have to wait to make it less insane?” the cop replied, after a casual shrug. “One month? One year?”

Akihito shook his head, his mouth still gaping slightly. It was probably the pressure that was making Tanimura’s brain short-circuit - he couldn’t possibly be serious.

“I don't need that long to know that you're different. That you're _special_ ,” the man continued, after kneeling in front of him, the faint smile on his lips matching the genuine affection in his voice. “I know I messed up, but… I just want you to have the life you deserve. And I want to be a part of it.”

“You are not thinking straight…”

“I am,” the detective replied, his voice slightly shaky. “Please give me a chance to make things right.”

Akihito realized that he still hadn’t stopped shaking his head. With another unhappy chuckle, he realized that when it came to romantic relationships, he seemed to be doomed to start off on the wrong foot.

It was a good thing he was living with a counsellor, after all.

“I know you’re still in love with him,” he heard the other man whisper. “But what makes you think that going back to him will make you happier than trying... with me?”

The words made Akihito’s eyes drop to his own feet.

“Why would you forgive what he did, what makes you think he won't do it again?”

He could have easily dismissed the man’s questions - after all, he owed him no explanations of any kind. The trials and tribulations he and Asami were going through would never be understood by someone who knew so little about him, and even less about Asami.

Still, at that point he could not deny Tanimura meant well, and the least he could do to honor the good times the two of them had together, was to give him an honest answer.

“Because that's who I am,” he said, with a small smile curving the corners of his lips. “I forgave him because that’s who I am, and I will forgive you too, for what you did.”

He saw the light brown eyes fill with tears as he spoke.

“Maybe not right now, but I will, at some point,” he continued, after a quiet chuckle. “And not because I'm dumb, or because... I don't have self-respect,” he added. “I do.”

He felt his own throat grow tight as the words left his mouth.

Back in the day, even he had a hard time understanding why he had forgiven Asami, Fei Long, and so many others who had done him harm.

But now, he finally understood it had never been about them.

“But because we have to keep fighting,” he explained, or at least tried to, as he reached out to touch the other man’s face and wipe away the tears falling down his cheeks. “All of us, all of us have our own battles.”

Without looking away, he was able to fish a packet of tissues out of one of his pockets and pass it to Tanimura.

“Hold that thought,” the man announced, laughing heartily before blowing his nose.

Akihito chuckled as well, watching the detective’s bloodshot eyes as he sniffled. He could only imagine the amount of stress the man was probably dealing with, now that his life was falling apart at the seams.

No wonder he seemed so desperate to take him to Thailand. Tanimura Masayoshi had that gloomy aura of loneliness that was probably beginning to feel like too much of a burden to carry.

“Ok, go on,” he finally said, after drawing in another deep breath.

“There is not much left to say, really,” Akihito replied, his voice calm and friendly as he shrugged. “It's just that after everything I’ve been through, it would be a waste to become a cynic, you know?”

The detective nodded quickly in response.

“So I won't stop being who I am,” the photographer concluded. “Even if that means I might fall flat on my face more often than not.”

He saw the reddish eyes in front of him glisten again.

“I will still choose to believe that there is something better…” he whispered, once again touching Tanimura’s face, this time to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “For all of us…”

They both jumped at the sound of three hurried knocks on the door.

 _“Masa?”_ said a familiar female voice. _“It's here.”_

“What is?” the detective asked, after a particularly loud sniffle.

 _“The answer,”_ the woman replied. _“To the financial support.”_

In a matter of seconds, Tanimura had sprung to his feet, and Akihito felt his stomach sink.

“Oh no, please no…” he whispered, bracing himself for the huge blow the man in front of him was about to take.

And, indeed, as soon as the detective ripped the envelope open to read the contents of the letter inside, he sank to his knees, sobbing so loudly his entire body shook.

“Masa, I’m so sorry…” he whispered, one of his hands resting on the other man’s lower back.

When the cop lifted his tear-stained face to look at him, his expression was a mix of relief and elation.

“We got it,” he whispered, his smile as shaky as his voice. “We got the grant.”

 _“What?”_ Akihito asked, snatching the letter from the man’s hands with a look of the most absolute shock on his face.

“It's twice as much as we applied for,” Tanimura continued, and his words elicited a heartfelt sob from the other manager, who had been waiting patiently by the door.

Akihito’s eyes rushed to read the contents of the paper in his hands, certain that he would find some kind of error… But contrary to his wildest expectations, everything seemed to be in perfect order, with both the managers’ names on top of the page and a very clear message of approval right below, next to initials that he recognized very well…

He handed the letter back to the cop, but he was too busy hugging the woman by the door to pay him any mind.

“I… I need…” the photographer muttered, slowly getting to his feet. “I need to get going.”

His mind was spinning when he stepped out of the small room.

“Akihito.”

With his mouth still gaping, he turned around, just to find Tanimura staring at him.

“Please think about it.”

Still too surprised to form coherent sentences, the photographer merely nodded in response, and left.

++++

Many hours after Mikhail Arbatov had left his house, Fei Long was still sitting, his shoulders stiff and tense, as if his back had been glued to the back of his armchair. _Do you think he would do the same for you?_

He wished he could dismiss Mikhail’s poisonous words, but they seemed to have nestled in the very core of his being, an uncomfortable itch of doubt making him restless and irritable.

“Did you know that Asami has a daughter?” he asked the man who was standing somewhere behind him, and to whom he had confided every single word of his earlier exchange with the Russian leader.

“No.”

Fei Long let out a long sigh, staring blankly at the marble floor before speaking again.

“It's strange to realize…” he said, his voice low and void of emotion, “...that even after so many years being a part of someone's life, you still don't know who they truly are.”

“Are you thinking of accepting Mikhail’s proposition?” Yoh asked.

“I was not planning to, no. But the more I think about it…”

“Asami-sama would never betray you like that,” his assistant was quick to say, and his tone of voice, along with the use of that specific honorific, did not go unnoticed.

“You still treat him with great respect,” Fei Long replied.

“He is a man that deserves to be treated with great respect,” Yoh continued, his loyalty and admiration for Asami Ryuichi evident in every word that left his mouth. “Besides, he has come to your aid in multiple occasions. The last time not that long ago.”

“I know,” the long man replied, his gaze still fixated on some invisible point ahead of him. “But that's because he was defending his interests as well.”

And that was the way it happened to be in their world. One was measured by how much of a good deal they could offer down the line; he was fully aware that was pretty much the only thing that ever made him and Asami cross paths in the first place.

Everything that had happened in the in-between had been accidental, and now he fully understood why Asami had always been so adamant in not letting emotions get in the way. Business was business, and moving on from one business partner to another when the situation called for it was nothing but good management skills.

_Just business._

He wished he could convince himself of that.

“As long as I have something to offer, I know our alliance with Asami will remain unchanged,” he said, still deeply immersed in his own thoughts. “And yet it had been brought to my attention his closest subordinates are in contact with Wei Shen. You remember him, don't you?”

“Yes…”

“From the Sun On Yee…” Fei Long continued. “Baishe’s greatest rival.”

“I hear he is no longer with the triad,” Yoh replied.

“Maybe. Or maybe he still is.”

 _How was he supposed to know?_ Asami could easily convince the man to go back to being a red pole, if he wanted to. With him, things were always up in the air, and at the end of the day, Mikhail was right in at least one point.

Things _had_ changed since Hong Kong, a lot… and he was not sure they had changed for the better.

“Yoh...”

“Yes?”

“If I ever went up against Asami…” he said, his eyes finally averted to the other man’s face. “Would you stay by my side, or would you go back to him? Be honest.”

For almost a decade, Yoh had been a constant in his life, and even after discovering the man had been working for Asami the entire time, his loyalty and devotion had been his safe haven in some of his darkest hours.

He needed to know.

The deep dark eyes studied his for a very silent, very intense moment.

“Even though I would not agree with your decision…” Yoh finally replied, “I would fight by your side. I have no intentions of leaving you.”

Fei Long let out an almost inaudible, relieved sigh, before averting his gaze to the floor again.

“I'd like to be alone for a moment, Yoh, if you don't mind.”

++++

The sun had already set when Majima Makoto finally approached him in the patio.

“I hear you have been looking for me, Akihito?” she said, with her usual amiable tone.

“Yeah…” he replied, pulling a chair and waiting for the counsellor to take her seat. “But I can wait, if you're busy.”

“Nah, we’re good,” he heard the woman reply, after a dismissive wave of her hand. “I could do with some talking, if you're up to it.”

He nodded in silence, only to realize with great delay that his gesture could not be seen.

“So…” he said, after clearing his throat. “I didn't know you worked so closely with the Tojo…”

“That is because I don’t,” the counsellor replied. “Not usually, at least. I have always been more of a consultant than anything… And my home is in Tsumino, not here,” she added. “I hardly ever come to Tokyo. As a matter of fact, I think it had been at least 10 years since I last stayed in this house for more than a month straight…”

“Right…”

“But given the current circumstances, it would be a crime not to help the Tojo as much as I can. I know that is what he would want me to do.”

Akihito nodded again, drawing in a long breath as he shook his leg and laced his fingers together. He had been planning that conversation in his head for a while, but for some reason, the question he wanted to ask seemed to be stuck in his throat.

When he opened his mouth to speak, the counsellor continued.

“I never told you how I met my husband, did I?”

“No,” he replied, after overcoming his initial surprise with the sudden topic. “Not really.”

“I was 21, working in a massage parlour in Osaka. My parents had passed away, I had quit school, life was not easy,” she said. “What I didn't know, at that time, was that I had inherited a piece of land of extreme value in Tokyo.”

He remained silent, and waited for the woman to continue.

“Anyhow… One day, I got to work, and he was waiting for me,” the counsellor explained, and Akihito couldn't help but notice her slightly nostalgic tone, as long as the small smile on her lips as she spoke. “I couldn't see him, obviously, but I heard him. Majima Goro. The man the Tojo had sent to kill me.”

The photographer felt his eyes go wide.

“Wow…” he whispered.

“Yeah… That's how we met. With him trying to slice me with a knife,” Majima Makoto replied, nodding quietly as her vacant eyes stared into the distance. “Later on he would say that he didn't go through with it because I tripped him with my cane,” she chuckled. “A lie, obviously. He didn't go through with it because he felt sorry for me.”

Akihito let out a hesitant chuckle as well, unsure as to whether that story was really funny.

“Not very romantic, is it?” she asked at last, with a smile that was both understanding and defiant at the same time. “Not all stories have a great beginning.”

He felt those words resonate inside his very soul.

“Yeah…” he whispered.

After another moment of silence, the counsellor spoke again.

“What has been troubling you, Akihito?”

He chuckled again.

It was almost as if he didn't actually want to voice his concerns, because he suspected that if he did, they would become more real than they already were.

“After what happened with Asami, I…” he paused, and shifted on his seat. “I started seeing someone else. All kinds of weird stuff have happened, it has been some really...intense days.”

He wondered if he should fill her in on the specifics of how they met and what Tabimura had done, but the truth is that none of that mattered.

What was truly bothering him had nothing to do with any of that.

“Well…” he continued, after clearing his throat. “The truth is that everything is going very fast, he… haha….” he paused again, this time to laugh nervously. “He actually invited me to move to Thailand with him, and it is such a crazy idea…”

“Do you want to go with him?” the counsellor asked.

“ _No_!” he exclaimed, before he actually couldn't stop himself. “I mean… I don't know. I don't think I want to, but…” he felt his nostrils burn when the question he wanted to ask finally caught up with him. “I was wondering if I should? If… if it's the right thing to do?”

His eyes darted back and forth as he waited for the woman to say something, anything, that would force some sense back into his head.

He knew he was probably just tired, just overwhelmed by the latest events in his life. That absurd invitation just happened to occur in a very bad moment, when he was still bitter about too many things to think straight, so he needed someone else to guide him, since he apparently was unable to do so himself.

“Why would you think that might be the right thing to do?”

He shifted on his seat again, his heart beating faster now that he knew he would have to say it aloud.

“Because…” he started, rubbing his clammy palms on his jeans, “...I think I have nothing to lose at this point.”

He bit his lip when his eyes started prickling again, the tears he had refused to shed earlier that day finally rushing back to his eyes.

“I want to believe that Asami regretted what he did, that things can work out between us…” he said, feeling his voice falter every couple of words. “I want to believe many things, but… I can't go on like this.”

He paused again, this time to wipe away tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I don't want to spend my life worrying about what he thinks, or trying to guess what he is feeling,” he whispered, trying to stifle a sob.  “Maybe it is time to let go?”

He watched as the counsellor let out a faint, saddened smile.

“You sound very tired, Akihito,” she finally replied, reaching out to hold his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “And tired minds never make the right decisions.”

The photographer squeezed her hand back, finally allowing the tears he had been holding back to run freely down his face.

“You should cry it all out, and then go to bed,” she added, after gently patting the hand squeezed between hers. “Get some rest, and we’ll continue this talk tomorrow, what do you say?”

Again, he nodded his agreement, and he had the feeling that even though the woman by his side couldn't see it, she had definitely understood.

After saying his goodbyes and thanking her for listening, Akihito excused himself and headed back to his room, unaware that behind him, the counsellor had just reached for her cell phone and dialled a familiar number…

++++

At Sion, another man was awfully tired and overwhelmed by the recent events, even though he would never let it show in his chiseled face and piercing golden eyes.

Asami Ryuichi let out a sigh after returning to his own office, following very complicated hours of conference calls, meetings and negotiations to ensure that the impending offensive against the Omi would have as much operational backup as possible.

He poured himself a glass of whisky after taking off his jacket, and walked towards the window as he took the first sip of the amber drink.

When his phone vibrated quietly inside his pocket, he picked it up and frowned when his counsellor’s alias showed up on the screen, wondering why she was contacting him at that time of the day.

He was about to answer the call when his hands went numb, and the device slipped to the ground, the glass of whisky following shortly after.

When his sight blurred, he leaned against the wall, blinking quickly as he loosed the tie around his neck, hoping it was not another panic attack, not again.

But there was something wrong.

It just didn't feel the same.

When numbness started spreading to other parts of his body, his instincts made him reach for his Beretta, but at that point his arms were not responding to his commands anymore.

He felt his head fill with fog as he slid to the ground.

“You're fine, it's just Rohypnol.”

He tried to locate the source of the voice, but it seemed to be coming from a part of his office hidden by darkness.

“With some additional sedatives, but don't worry.”

The nausea and dizziness made his head heavy and his eyelids even heavier, but he could keep them open long enough to see the tip of very expensive leather shoes, and the fabric of mauve suit pants.

“You might feel funny for a while, but the paralysis is temporary.”

He waited until the man talking to him to step out of the shadows so that his eyes could finally take in the familiar figure of Hayashi Kazuki, half of his face covered by long strands of blond hair.

“Hello, Ryuichi,” he said, his voice dangerously cold and low.

 

 


	48. Future, Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tough evening for the Asamis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back, after a ridiculously long hiatus! My apologies. Season holidays + Two extremely long chapters = late update! But, the good news is that I am uploading two chapters instead of one! \o/ (and yes, I added more chapters to the grand total, lol)
> 
> Warning for this one: Maya centric, although we get to explore other POVs (Asami, Kirishima, Kazuki). Her scene with Kou might initially look irrelevant but I needed it to be there so that the events that will soon follow make more sense later on.

 

When Kirishima got into the black BMW waiting for him outside, he was prepared to spend the rest of his day sorting out the last, most inglorious task in his to-do list.

Convincing Hayashi Maya to leave the country.

He had express orders to make arrangements for her departure regardless, but he knew the girl well enough to understand that if she somehow didn't agree to her father’s plans, she would sooner or later succeed in sabotaging them.

None of them needed that kind of stress at that point.

“Ready?” Suoh asked, as soon as he entered the car.

“I don't have any other options, do I?” he replied, after a disheartened sigh. He was not exactly good at sorting out family issues, even though he had been doing that for more than a decade now.

“Do you think you will be back before eleven?” the bodyguard asked as the two of them drove away from Sion. “I have to meet with Dojima Daigo but I don't want Asami-sama to be out of proper surveillance.”

“Who is checking on him now?”

“Katsuki and Mitagawa. They are senior team members but…” the blond man paused, “I'd feel better if you were with him, you are better acquainted with his habits.”

By his ‘habits’, of course, Suoh meant the man’s penchant for doing his own thing without communicating his security team of his itinerary, whereabouts and equally _unimportant details._

Kirishima nodded, frowning.

He would try his best to be fast.

After saying his goodbyes to his colleague, the secretary headed to the presidential suite of the Sunroute Plaza, only to find Mine perched on the doorstep like a guard dog.

“Kirishima-sama,” the young man was quick to say, bowing reverently.

“How is she doing?”

“Hasn't left the room in two days.”

The secretary’s eyebrows went up.

_“Two days?”_

The bodyguard confirmed the information with a silent nod.

With an annoyed sigh, Kirishima retrieved a card from one of his pockets and opened the door, after knocking on the wooden surface to announce his arrival.

He should have paid more attention to the reports he was being sent. _Two days_ without leaving the room?

That was not like Maya at all.

“Hayashi-kun?” he called out, searching for the girl in the living room, and then knocking on the bedroom’s door.

After a long minute of wait, in which his sense of alarm began to intensify, he decided to go in.

“Hayashi-kun?”

“ _In the balcony!_ ”

The faint voice coming from behind the glass doors made his shoulders drop in relief.

“What are you doing?” he asked, after walking outside and seeing the girl doing a handstand with her back against the wall, while music blasted from the iPod dock next to a lounge chair.

“Meditating.”

“Oh, really?” he snorted.

If there was one thing that girl had never been good at, at least according to her mother, was meditation. The physical, combative aspects of martial arts in general, yes. The spiritual pursuit of peace and self-awareness?

_Not so much._

“If you say so…” he added, watching as the young woman deftly got back on her feet.

“Yo,” she said, slightly out of breath. “What's with the ‘Hayashi-kun’ bullshit?”

The secretary pushed his glasses farther up his nose. He tended to fall into the habit of addressing people by their family names and their respective honorific whenever matters were too serious to be taken lightly, even with those closest to him.

“Are you here to lecture me or something?” she asked, after wiping her sweaty forehead on a towel.

“No, not exactly,” he replied, following her back into the bedroom, and from there to the dining table. “Should I?”

“I ain't done nothing wrong,” she whispered. “Been here all day.”

Kirishima narrowed his eyes as he watched the girl take a large full from a bottle of water.

_She seemed out of sorts._

“Yes, exactly…” he whispered in response. “What's wrong?”

Maya shrugged in response.

“Nothing.”

She continued to drink from her bottle, and Kirishima decided to give her the benefit of doubt. Chances were there was more to her low spirits than mere boredom, but stubborn as she was, he knew there would be no point pressing the matter.

“Okay, let's cut to the chase, shall we?” he said, after retrieving a considerably large folder from his suitcase. “Your father would like you to go abroad for a while, at least until things calm down.”

Her initial reaction, much to his surprise, was a lighthearted chuckle.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

She chuckled again, and let out a long sigh.

“What's in the folder?”

“Possible destinations,” he replied, squaring his shoulders as he prepared to show her a list of properties that would be available for her use in Europe and the United States.

“Okay,” she said, crossing her arms on top of the table, her gaze distant and resigned as she looked at the papers.

“I know you don't like the th-”

He stopped mid-sentence.

“Excuse me, what was that?” he asked.

“I said, okay. I'll go.”

Kirishima felt his jaw had dropped a little.

“You’ll go?”

“Yes.”

“That's it?” he asked, eyebrows raised so high they made his eyes look twice as big. “No questions asked?”

“I don’t need to ask questions,” the girl replied, shrugging. “He’s worried about the Omi, isn't he?”

He kept staring at her, trying to pinpoint at what moment she had started caring about what her father wanted, in the first place.

“Fine, I’ll go,” she said, with another careless shrug. “I was already thinking of leaving Japan anyway.”

Kirishima couldn't help but notice her voice was dull and distant, as if she was reading from a script.

“I see…” he whispered.

“I was accepted in a school in the US.”

“Are you going as a transfer student?”

“I can’t ask for a transfer on my first semester,” she said, while munching on a chocolate bar she had just retrieved from a basket on top of the minibar.

“I’m sure your father can arrange something, he’s one of the most famous alumn-”

“No,” she interrupted, after opening a can of soda. “Thanks.”

The secretary frowned again. Given the amount of candy wrap and cans in the trash bin, he began to worry the girl had inherited her mother’s tendency to stress eat.

“I don’t want to use his influence to solve my problems,” she said, resting her face on one of her hands. “Once was enough.”

Again, it was his turn to speak and he found himself at a loss. He had prepared a series of very convincing arguments in favor of his boss’s plans, and now that they had been so quickly accepted, he felt defeated.

It was obvious Maya was not doing well, and he really didn't know what to do to help.

“I applied for my visa already,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Now I just have to wait.”

“Good,” he replied. “I'll call the Embassy and speed things up, then.”

Finally something that made him feel useful.

“Hey,” Maya muttered, tilting her chin up with a semi-amused smile. “Why the sad face?”

“I’m not sad.”

“Well, if that’s your happy face, your sad face must suck big time.”

He chuckled.

 _Kids grew up so fast those days_.

Part of him was relieved that the girl was leaving - it was certainly a safer option than hanging around with the Omi tracking her every step.

But still...

“She would be very proud of you.”

The corners of his mouth curled into a friendly smile.

He didn't know why exactly he had said that, but it sounded like something the girl needed to hear, and something he knew was absolutely true.

Her golden eyes glistened with unshed tears, but they were quickly dismissed with a quick shrug.

“For running away in the middle of a battle?” she scoffed.

“She would understand,” he said, after a long pause.

The tears threatened to come back with a vengeance, but she was Asami Ryuichi’s daughter, after all.

In no time, all grief was tucked under a gracious, emotionless facade.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, before walking with him towards the main door.

As soon as he reached the elevator, he scratched his forehead with a confused frown.

Now that had taken much less time than he had imagined.

One of his assistants was already waiting for him in a black car parked by the main entrance, and in a matter of minutes he was back at Sion.

“Kirishima-sama!”

The usually composed voice of the reception’s team leader was as hysterical as it could get.

Looking around, he could understand why. There were crowds of people gathering at the main lounge, glancing at the elevators with confusion and worry.

“All elevators stopped working,” the woman explained.

“All of them?”

“Yes. I have already called for assistance, they are trying to locate the problem as we speak.”

“Are there people inside?”

“Yes, quite a few, but the rescue teams are on their way.”

He drew in a long breath before speaking again.

“Connect me with the surveillance team.”

++++

She really had to stop raiding the minibar, or she would be in serious trouble.

Lying on the bed, she contracted her stomach again, held her breath, pushed her hips upwards, and tried once again to zip up her jeans, this time successfully.

She let her body flop back onto the mattress before gathering the strength to get up and check herself in the mirror.

The jeans were too tight. The crop top looked ridiculous. So did her hair, brittle and dry.

Of all days Kou could have decided to pay her a visit, he had to choose a day when absolutely nothing in her was looking good.

Even her nails were chipped.

Maya checked her phone again to look at the message he had sent earlier in the afternoon, telling her he would show up as soon as he left work.

She was tempted to tell him to come visit another day, but as things were, it was not as if they had much time left, anyway.

She let out a sigh.

It was high time she got her groove back. It was not like her to feel sorry for herself like that.

Too bad that she just didn't feel she would be able to do so in her home country.

She had to go to a place where no one knew her, where she could start from scratch, without blaming herself for past mistakes.

She nodded quietly.

_Yeah._

That was the way to go.

When she heard the first knock on the main door, she rushed to get rid of the cans and candy wrap she had left in the dining table after Kirishima had left, only a few minutes prior, and checked her reflection on the metallic surface of a picture frame.

Still looking bad.

Before Kou could knock again, she opened the door.

“Hey,” he said, and Maya noticed he had probably literally headed to the hotel right after work - he was still carrying the backpack with his equipment, his hair held up in a ponytail and a very, very tired expression on his face.

“Hey…” she replied, holding the door open so that he could come in. “How are things?”

He shrugged, and the girl took that moment to retrieve two bottles of water from the minibar.

“Strange,” he muttered, after putting down his backpack and pulling a chair to sit. “It actually sucks to have the apartment to myself,” he continued, before making a strategic pause. “I miss you.”

Maya pursed her lips, and took a large gulp of water so that she could intentionally skip her turn to speak.

She missed him too, but at the end of the day he had been the one to push her away.

“I miss Akihito…” the designer added, morosely. “He hasn’t returned my messages... I take it you told him?”

“I did, yeah…”

She scratched her neck as she remembered her extremely unpleasant conversation with the photographer.

“He was not happy…” she whispered. “But I made sure to say it was my idea and you were against it.”

She let out a sigh when Kou nodded, immersed in his own thoughts.

“Maya, uh…” he said, before clearing his throat. “Tanimura stopped by the apartment yesterday, looking for Aki.”

“I guess he decided to cut ties with the three of us, huh?” she whispered, with an unhappy chuckle.

“Maybe, but… The point is…”

She raised her eyes to look at the designer’s face.

His eyes were darting back and forth, his hands clutching the bottle of water for dear life.

“I was already feeling like a jerk before he stopped by, but after he did, I-” he said, just to stop himself and open and close his mouth multiple times, as if looking for the right words to say. “The Omi is after you? Is that why you accepted to have a bodyguard?” he asked, sounding surprised, scared and ashamed, all at the same time. “Are you in danger?”

“Did Masa say the Omi was looking for me?” she asked.

“No, but he said they are in Tokyo. That Asami was involved in a hit… I…” he paused again, this time to put both hands on his head, looking awfully concerned.

“I figured that they might as well have found out something about the hack,” he said, his voice trembling slightly as he avoided her eyes. “And if they did, it was my fault, because I was the one in their system, using your ID, and-”

“No, Kou, stop,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Don't. You did a clean job, they must have a very good cybersecurity team and that’s why they traced me.”

“Regardless,” he said, his dark brown eyes finally meeting hers. “That’s not even the point.”

And then he went quiet.

Maya thought of asking what the point is, but a quick glance towards designer made it clear he was using that time to organize his thoughts.

“The point is…” he finally continued, the tips of his ears getting slightly red as he spoke. “I should have stayed by your side,” he whispered, his eyes once again dropping to the table. “But instead I chose to be jealous of your bodyguard… And I said those things…”

“Kou…”

“No, I… I had no right to treat you like that, ok. I was w-”

“ _Kou_ ,” she cut him short when his blush had gotten so fierce his entire face was a deep shade of pink. “Listen to me.”

Before he turned the bottle of water into a disk of distorted plastic, she grabbed one of his hands and squeezed his fingers.

“I understand why you were frustrated,” she said, her voice slightly strained.

Looking back, she had messed up too.

“I...I guess I always knew you wanted more of a commitment and…” she paused, giving a somewhat careless shrug to hide her own nervousness. “I’m sorry if I made you feel I was just fooling around.”

She felt him squeeze her fingers back, and her heart jumped inside her chest.

She had missed that guy.

She had missed that guy _a lot_.

And it was not just because he was really willing and enthusiastic when it came to physical intimacy. She missed the other things too.

Like watching him work on his design projects, a big smile on his face every time he met a deadline in the nick of time.

Like illegally streaming their favourite shows together.

Like eating meals together, even when neither of them felt like cooking and the only option was the convenience store snacks that tasted like cardboard.

Everything with him was much more fun.

“Point is...Maybe we both screwed up, ok?” she said, after drawing in a long breath. “I’m not bitter or anything, I’m glad to put it all behind us if that’s ok with you.”

Slowly, she saw Kou’s face return to its usual color.

“About that… yeah,” he muttered. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Good,” she replied. “There’s something I want to talk to you about too.”

“Oh. You first, then.”

“No. That's okay. Go ahead.”

She then realised that the reason why he was no longer blushing was because the blood had been slowly draining from his face, until he was completely pale.

“Kou?” she asked, frowning. “Are you o-”

Her last word died on her lips when the designer retrieved a small box from one of his pockets.

_Aw hell no._

“Will you… will you be my girlfriend?” he asked, a drop of sweat sliding down his temple as he held out a set of two promise rings with trembling hands. “Like, _officially?_ ”

She felt her heart was about to jump out of her throat.

For a very long time - probably much longer than Kou had expected - she kept staring at the matching silver rings, her mind completely blank.

“I-Is that a yes or a no?” he asked, when a strangled whimper came out of her throat.

When she lifted her eyes to his face, she realised his skin was now turning into a strange shade of yellow.

“Damn, Kou. I... I can't.”

It was like watching a balloon deflate.

Across from her, the designer seemed to have slid a few inches down his chair, his eyes glassy and wide, as if his mind was still processing her response.

“I can't, because I’m moving to Michigan!” she explained, before he came to the wrong conclusion.

“ _Michigan?!_ ” A note of confusion and shock was added to his already strained voice. “In the United States?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Kou blinked several times, his eyes darting across the room like a drowning man looking for something to hold on to.

“Well…” he said at last, after letting out a rather nervous chuckle. “You should have definitely gone first!”

“I'm so sorry!” she replied, and her apology was genuine. “I had no idea you would…”

Maya gestured to the rings, her eyes darting back and forth as she opened and closed her mouth time and again, not knowing how to articulate the rest of her sentence.

She had never been asked to be anyone’s girlfriend before.

_Talk about poor timing._

“Things are… very strange,” she explained. “Have been, for quite a while now.”

She didn't really want to delve much into the reasons behind her choice to leave Japan, mainly because that would require revisiting all the things that had gone wrong in the past few months. Her mother, her father, the Omi, Akihito…

“I applied for a short program at Detroit Mercy and was accepted.”

“When are you going?” Kou asked quietly, trying not to sound too disappointed but failing miserably.

“As soon as my visa is approved,” she answered, after taking another large gulp from her bottle. “Probably next week.”

“ _Next week?!_ ”

“Yeah. Maybe sooner.”

Kou looked like he had just been hit in the head with a bag of bricks.

“B-But..What about your program at the University of Tokyo?” he asked, his eyebrows angled upwards making him look even more miserable.

She shrugged. There was nothing she could say, really, that would make dropping out of one of the best universities in the world a less daunting idea.

“I guess it's not the right time,” she whispered.

Her words were followed by a moment of the most absolute silence.

“I...I'm sorry, I don't know what to say,” Kou said at last, glancing at the small box resting sadly on the middle of the table.

She cracked her knuckles as she pondered her options.

If she was honest with herself, even if she _did_ stay in Tokyo, chances were she and Kou would not work out anyway.

Perhaps it was time to voice her concerns.

“Kou, listen to me,” she said, squaring her shoulders as she moved her chair closer to him. “Do you remember that day, when Akihito said you'd love to have kids one day?”

She saw the precise moment his expression changed from worried to annoyed.

“Oh please, that doesn't mean I want kids now,” he snarled, probably feeling that the whole deal was about to be used against him.

“I know. I know,” she replied. “But see, I don't want kids now or _ever._ ”

She waited for her words to sink in before continuing.

“The idea of… having a family, having kids, it's something I never even contemplated,” she explained, trying to get a read on his facial expression but finding it harder than usual. “I see many things for my future, but being someone else’s wife, or… mother? I just don't.”

Contrary to her own predictions, Kou did not look upset at all.

“You think I would break up with you because you don't want kids?” he said, a genuine smile curling the corners of his mouth. “You're 21 years old, of course-”

“Kou.”

She realised that maybe her almost soon-to-be boyfriend did not fully understand the situation.

“It's your dream,” she said, biting her lower lip before concluding her thought. “But it's not mine.”

Kou looked mystified. Apparently, the two of them were in very different wavelengths, if he continued to look at her as if she was out of her mind.

“You're right, it might change when I get older, or it might not. Then what?” she went on. “I don't want to build a future with you knowing that this might eventually ruin everything.”

Now that she listened to herself, she finally realised that maybe _she was_ out of her mind, thinking that far ahead. It was not as if she could actually tell what the future held for the two of them, but worrying about things that could happen was one of her specialties.

It was better to map out all the possible disasters than to be surprised by them further down the road.

_Right?_

Oblivious to her inner monologue, Kou smiled again.

“Well, I say we should give it a shot,” he said, after a casual shrug. “I mean, there's Skype and all, we can figure something out.”

It was her turn to look at him as if he had lost his marbles.

“No?” he asked, making an adorably dorky face.

_How could she say no to that?_

“Idiot,” she whispered.

“I'm trying my best he-”

Before he could finish his sentence, the two of them tumbled to the ground when she flung her arms around him, capturing his lips in a clumsy kiss.

They were still laughing on the ground when the insistent buzz of her cell phone made her reach for the device in one of her pockets.

When she looked at the screen, her smile disappeared.

“What's wrong?” Kou asked, still trying to catch his breath.

“It's my stepfather,” she said, her voice slightly shaky as she got to her feet. “I need to go.”

++++

His eyes were still heavy when he was finally able to open them many minutes, if not hours, later.

He really couldn't tell.

It took his brain a moment to register that he was in his own office at Sion.

More precisely, _chained to a chair_ in his office at Sion.

“You have quite a good life, don't you?”

The male voice addressing him from the other side of the room made him look up.

Hayashi Kazuki was sitting on his chair, with his feet crossed over his desk.

_The son of a bitch._

“Is everything here custom made?” Asami heard him ask, as he opened drawers and pulled out pens, letter-writing stationery, flash drives, running his thin fingers over the golden initials in each one of them. “Wow…”

Only when he tried to force the first word out of his dry mouth, did Asami realize he had been _gagged._

His entire body burnt with fury.

He would personally kill Kazuki as soon as he managed to get rid of his constraints.

“Sorry about the chains, by the way,” the blond man continued, “but I trust them more than handcuffs.”

Asami noticed that his brown eyes were unfocused, his voice alternating between two very different tones as he rotated his own glass of whisky on the desk.

“You never gave me much credit, did you, Ryuichi?” he said, without lifting his eyes from the papers in front of him. “Not when I was younger, not now… You still see me as a weakling.”

Asami watched as the man finally got up, and for the first time he caught a glimpse of the pistol tucked under his belt.

Judging by its design, and the trademark star on its grip panel, it was a Tula-Tokarev, one of the best known guns in the Soviet Revolutionary Forces.

“And yet, look at us ,” Kazuki continued, raising his hands as he walked towards him. “This is the second time I infiltrate your fortress, did you know that?”

The words made Asami grit his teeth, his eyes gleaming with anger, mainly at himself.

Of course, now that he looked back, everything made sense.

“I have the blueprints to this place, Ryuichi,” the man continued, turning on his heels and walking back to the desk. “To your castle. Drake, remember him?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as he retrieved a small packet from his pocket and a 1,000 yen bill. “He worked for me. A very ambitious man, turned number one host at the Majestic like this,” he snapped his fingers, before dumping the white powder on the desk, and arranging it in two lines with one of Asami’s business cards.

“And he wanted more, so... I gave him more,” he shrugged, before rolling the bill and snorting the first line of cocaine. He sniffled, his eyes immediately glowing with some sort of maniac satisfaction, and spoke again.

“I showed him the ropes,” he said, after clearing his throat. “He slept with one of your employees, blackmailed him, got the blueprints and a promotion, as in, a club of his own to manage.”

And then the second line was gone.

“Good stuff,” he whispered, letting out an overexcited chuckle as he looked up.

He was high already. Chances were that was not the first gram of cocaine he was inhaling that night.

“Did you ever find out who murdered Saejima Taiga, by the way?” he asked, with a smirk full of malice and madness.

_Of course._

Kirishima had told him Kazuki had been at Sion that day, Kuroda had told him the host that had been blackmailing one of his employees worked in a club managed by Hayashi Kazuki, and yet he never truly considered the man a threat.

He had clearly underestimated the man in front of him. Or, as it was, _overestimated._

The success and recovery he had thought Kazuki had experienced in the past few years were paper-thin, a farce, an illusion.

That man was broken beyond any chance of repair, and people like him were capable of the impossible.

And now, one of them - or maybe both - would have to pay the price for his poor judgment.

“Yeah… Who would have thought, right?” Kazuki continued, once again walking away from the desk, and this time reaching for the knife concealed in his suit pants. “Such a big, strong man… He didn't see the delicate, look-like-a-host man by his side in the urinals as a threat either. No one ever does,” he whispered, his gaze distant and vacant as he stared at the shiny blade with reverence. “One stab to the neck and he was choking in his own blood.”

A few seconds later, the blade was pressing against Asami’s chin.

“You wanna hear the funny part?” the blond man muttered, and his body temperature seemed to be so high that Asami could feel the heat seeping from his clothes. “I left through the front door of this building. A man had just been murdered, but no one suspected me,” he hissed. “No one ever does. No one gives me credit.”

And then, he was laughing again.

“Funny!”

From that angle, he could see that one of Kazuki’s eyes was terribly bruised and red, the white around the irises stained with blood. His lips had dark, deep cuts, and there were marks of nails and other injuries in every inch of skin that was not covered by his suit.

He wanted to ask what had happened to him.

 _He had to know_ what had happened to him, because he sensed that whoever had beaten him to such a bloody pulp wanted some kind of information, and Kazuki was one of the few people that knew the greatest secret of his past.

He felt his pulse race.

If there was one thing he had never regretted trusting Kazuki to do, was to take care of the girl.

He knew the man would take a bullet for her if he had to, but he also knew that a man with such fragile mental health could very easily dive into hell and take everyone else with him.

The blade of the knife traveled slowly from his chin to his chest as Kazuki spoke again.

“You know, I wasn't always like this. No,” he said, his eyes still vacant; his voice sounding strained and cold, as if it belonged to a different person. “That night, when you and Mirai left me alone and they came for me, I took it like a champ.”

His voice broke, the brown eyes suddenly filled with fear and despair.

“There were so many,” he whispered, trying to draw in a long breath. “Sometimes, I still hear their voices in my head.”

There were tears in his eyes, but it was the maniac laughter that followed that made Asami give a concerned frown.

_That would not end well._

“But I put up a fight,” he continued, after wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. “Yeah. Then in Russia, I kept fighting, I told myself I would rather die than let them rape me again, I still had that fire. That will to live, you know.”

For a brief moment, Kazuki looked just like the 13-year old he remembered.

Fragile, delicate, kind, his voice smooth and firm.

And then, in a matter of seconds, his face would change to a stone cold representation of his older self, jaded, broken, furious.

The mood swings were so extreme and sudden that looking at him made Asami feel like he was zapping through TV channels.

“I think it was the drugs that did it for me,” Kazuki continued, his eyebrows going up as he pursed his thin lips. “They fucked me up.”

And then he stopped, put away the knife, and walked back to the desk, humming different parts of different songs as he reached for his cell phone.

“Maya is on her way,” he announced gleefully, and Asami felt his eyes go wide.

He had not worried until that very moment, because he had figured that at some point Kirishima would notice the unusual silence in his office.

He could feel his phone vibrate in the pocket of his pants, but he simply couldn't reach it.

The phone on his desk had been disconnected.

Apparently, Kazuki was well acquainted with their surveillance schemes so chances were no one had even noticed he had come to his floor.

And now Maya was about to join them.

He, chained to a chair, and her stepfather, armed with a pistol and a knife and so high he could barely stand still in the same place for more than two seconds.

_That would not end well._

++++

Kirishima realised that something was wrong the moment he saw both Katsuki and Mitagawa in the surveillance room.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "I thought Suoh had assigned you for Asami-sama's private security?"

"Yes, sir," one of them replied. "But we were dismissed, for the rest of the night. Asami-sama said he was heading to an external meeting and that you would be with him."

Kirishima took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Maybe he was getting too paranoid, given their current circumstances, but at this point he would rather be safe than sorry. After all, there had been security breaches at Sion before, and until the conclusion of their new surveillance plans, they could not afford to be careless.

"Well, next time you contact me before abandoning your posts," he replied, his voice firm and showing absolutely no amusement. "Or Suoh. Just don't think that is the kind of decision you get to make on your own."

He dismissed the two men, and averted his attention to the other staff member that was currently reviewing the surveillance videos generated from the camera in one of their secondary security rooms.

"Anything unusual?" the secretary asked.

"Actually, yes," the young woman replied. "Our system shows an unauthorised attempt and then a permitted entry some minutes later," she explained. "Probably someone in infrastructure lost their badge... or had it taken from them."

"Have we got visual?" Kirishima asked, after putting his glasses back on.

"Partial."

"Let me see it."

He leaned forward to take a better look at the screen, and even though the image was not as clear as he would have wanted, he knew that face very well.

Without blinking, he picked up the phone and tried to contact his boss once, twice, three times.

When the man didn't pick up his cell phone either, he began to worry.

"Send reinforcements to the CEO's office, right now."

"But sir, the elevators are still-"

"We'll take the stairs," he replied, before rushing out of the room.

++++

Many floors above, Hayashi Kazuki had resumed his monologue.

“Do you have any idea… of what a blessing it was to meet Mirai again?” he said, sitting on the floor this time, right next to Asami’s chair.

He was reaching the end of the line, he knew that. There was no way he would get out of that alive.

At that very moment, the man’s goons were probably getting ready to break in and put a bullet to his brain.

_He could barely wait._

“She saved me,” he continued, his voice tired and distant as memories of his beautiful late wife filled his mind. “She… brought me to her house, to live with her daughter, you must have thought she was insane.”

He chuckled, but there was no joy in his laughter, just the sad realisation that the only person that he could imagine having a future with had ended up killed in that vey same building.

His entire future had been interrupted that night.

“I thought so too,” he whispered, still lost in his own thoughts. “It was a miracle. A fucking miracle.”

The five years with Mirai and Maya were the only ones of his life he felt had been worth living.

“I got clean, I never, _ever_ did drugs in front of Maya,” he said, his unexpected sobriety surprising even himself.

That dope was good, if he could still think and speak as clearly as that.

“I relapsed, yeah, but never in our house, never near them. I always got clean before I headed home, even if I had to stay weeks away.”

His voice started shaking as he looked at the gun in his hands.

_He didn't want to die._

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head as tears streamed down his face. “Maya came to Tokyo because of _you_. Mirai came to Tokyo because of _you_.”

And then his sadness was gone, overthrown by the most absolute _hatred_.

He stood up, and pistol-whipped the man in front of him without a second thought.

“She asked the Tojo to be transferred here, that's how she got a promotion,” he hissed, grabbing a handful of the dark black hair as he spoke, a streak of blood showing at the junction of Asami’s forehead and his hairline. “Always you, _fucking things up_.”

He made sure his gun was loaded, and paced the room, wiping his sweaty face on the sleeve of his jacket.

He should have killed Ryuichi the day he found out Mirai was pregnant.

He had wanted to. _Oh, how he had wanted to._

“I had to do something or you would take them away, again,” he said, his breath coming in short, nervous puffs. "She would choose you, again, because for some reason that I will never understand, _they still fucking loved you_.”

He stopped on his tracks, and threw his head backwards so that his eyes were fixated on some random point in the ceiling.

“So yeah,” he muttered, before averting his eyes to the man staring at him. “It was me. I started all this shit.”

_And look where it got you._

“Shut up,” he told himself, rubbing his eyes with the back of the hand that was holding the pistol. “It's not my fault.”

His eyes darted to the door.

He was positive he had heard people whisper outside.

“Fuck…” he said, once again leading his hands to his own head. “You know, Mikhail once asked me why go through all that trouble of all I wanted was to get you out of the picture,” he said, his voice rushed and uneven. “I had been trained to kill, if I wanted I could kill you myself. I have the skill.”

And then he marched towards the man on the other side of the room, crouching in front of him so that they were looking straight into each other’s eyes.

“But I never had the courage,” he whispered, his forehead once again wrinkled in an expression of pain. “I hate you, but… You and Mirai were the only family I ever knew. You… you are like… you are like an older brother,” he said, his breath coming out in laboured puffs, “a brother that I looked up to, and envied, and hated because you were everything that I knew I could never be…”

He was about to speak again, when the door behind them finally opened.

++++

By the time she reached the floor where her father’s office was located, Maya was completely out of breath.

Good thing she had her own access card that allowed her reach the CEO’s office in the event of an emergency, because her stepfather’s message certainly qualified as one.

_‘I love you with all my heart. Never forget that.’_

If it was anyone else sending her a message like that, she would probably be overwhelmed with joy. But she knew her stepfather well enough to know he was not given to great displays of affection, at least not vocal ones.

That sounded more like a goodbye note.

She had texted back, asking where he was, and the moment she saw the answer, she knew that there was something definitely wrong.

_‘I'm with your father, at Sion.’_

After opting to leave her own bodyguard out of what was obviously a family matter, she had climbed out of the window of her hotel room, and nearly broken her neck in the process. She was really slacking, if jumping from one balcony to another had become that much much of a challenge.

She closed her eyes before pushing the door open, hoping she was not too late.

When she reopened them, only a few seconds later, her heart nearly stopped.

Her father was chained to a chair, bleeding, and her stepfather was by his side with a pistol firmly secured in one of his hands.

_“Oji-san…”_

Her voice elicited a strange, slightly deranged smile.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“Sorry you had to use the stairs, angel,” she heard her stepfather reply, his eyes vacant and feverish at the same time. “I had to take down the elevators for... _reasons_.”

The man looked positively out of his mind.

She had known for quite a while now that he had had problems with drugs in the past. Sometimes she wondered if he still did, even though he had never showed any signs of addiction while they were living together.

Or maybe he had, and she just had never noticed.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Fixing things.”

She shook her head slowly, avoiding any abrupt gestures.

He was a bomb ready to explode.

“Why?” he yelled, despite her best efforts to keep things cool and amiable. “Because he is your _father?_ ”

The last word came out clipped, and filled with disdain.

“A man that never cared can’t be called a father,” he continued, pointing his gun at the other man’s head as he spoke. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Oji-san, please put down your gun.”

“Your mother is dead because of him, Maya! His men _killed her_!”

She felt her throat tighten as she watched his finger resting dangerously close to the trigger, the muzzle moving back and forth as he screamed.

“He never cared about her, he never cared about _you!_ ” he continued, his eyes gleaming with anger. “Do you think he loves you? He doesn’t. _He didn’t even want you to be born_.”

She forced herself to breathe despite the sharp pain in her chest, and reached for the gun tucked under her belt.

“Put down your gun, please,” she said, her hands shaking as she raised her own pistol to the man she had seen as a father figure, and a close friend, for many years of her life.

She had to remind herself that the man brandishing his gun in front of her, willing to kill, was not that man, not at that moment, but she would help him get back on his feet.

“He paid your mother to have _an abortion_ ,” he said, with cruel satisfaction. From the corner of her eye, she could see her father’s chest heaving up and down, as if he had just been punched in the face. “Did you know that?”

“Y-Yes…” she whispered in response, her eyes glistening with tears. “I overheard it, the day she told you.”

As she grew up, she had heard and seen the parents of other kids celebrating the birth of their brothers and sisters.

It made her wonder why she was different, why her father had never been one of those happy parents.

She had just turned 16 when she overheard her mother crying in the kitchen, after one more birthday party she had done her best to organize on her own. That was when she told him, not knowing that she was still behind the door.

She didn't sleep that night, but she learnt to live with the anger.

Maybe that was why she was somehow immune to the cruelty in her stepfather's voice. 

“And you still think he deserves to live?” he asked, his eyes wide and angry. “This selfish, heartless son of a-”

He paused, and led both hands to his head, walking in circles.

“Do you know what his parting words to you both were?” he asked, taking a step towards her with the same maniac gleam in his eyes. “ _Do you?_ ”

She didn't, and she didn't want to know, because obviously they had not been good, not if they were about to be brought up under those circumstances.

“When you were nine years old, he said he wished _you and your mother had died at childbirth_ ,” he said, his voice losing some of his anger as he tried to catch his breath. “And then he took off and never showed up again, she told me _everything_ , Ryuichi.”

She was still processing what she had just heard when the man started screaming again, his gun pressed against her father’s temple.

“You fucked up her life,” he hissed.

Behind her, a group of at least five people had just entered the room, their guns all pointed at the same target.

Out of all the faces, she could only recognise one - Kirishima.

“Drop the gun, Kazuki,” he said.

Her head was still spinning when she glanced at her stepfather, whose eyes were darting from the door to her face, his gun still firmly pressed against her father’s head.

She had never felt so afraid in her life.

“Please put down your gun, oji-san.”

Her voice was almost inaudible, and she was so absorbed watching the blond man on the other side of the room that she barely noticed when her own gun was taken from her hand.

“Tell me, why…” he started speaking again, confusion and tiredness showing in every line of his face, which now Maya realised was awfully injured. “Why would you… why would your mother forgive something like that?”

He looked so lost.

“Hold fire,” she heard Kirishima whisper behind her. “If you shoot you might end up hitting her instead.”

That was exactly what she was trying to do - shielding the man with her own body so that no one would have to die that night.

_Not again._

“Why do you still love him?” the man asked, tears falling from his eyes as he shook his head. “After everything he’s done, will you still choose him over me?” he sobbed. “Why?”

“Put down your gun, please,” she whispered again, this time slowly reaching out to touch the shaky hand holding the pistol.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he replied, his fingers yielding slightly as she tried to take the gun away.

“You won’t lose me,” she replied, and she meant it.

Her mother had not given up on him, and she wouldn't either.

“I’ll go with you, ok?” she said, offering him a faint smile, which was the best she could do at that point. “Wherever you want, we can find help.”

“We can be together,” he whispered, his voice strangely cold although his eyes were calm and loving.

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Maya replied. “Just let go of the gun, ok?”

“Yes…”

For a moment, she thought they were good, but then, those same eyes that a minute prior had been so sweet and loving turned dark, and she knew something was wrong.

“I'm sorry, angel,” he whispered, with a very calm, very sincere smile. “But it's too late.”

“ _Now!_ ”

She turned around when the command was given, and that fraction of a second was all it took for gunshot to echo in the room, her stepfather falling limply by her side, she and her father tumbling to the ground pretty much at the same time.

++++

He barely cared for the fact there were still chains wrapped around his legs.

By the time one of his staff finally managed to free his arms from their constraints, he reached for his daughter, before she had the chance to take a better look at her stepfather, whose head was now resting on a pool of his own blood.

“What happened?” he heard the girl whisper, still struggling to break free and get closer to the body sprawled on the floor. “Is he dead? _What happened?_ ”

“Calm down.”

His words were met with a violent shove.

“ _Who shot him?_ ” she screamed, tears streaming down her face.

He opened his mouth to respond, unsure as to how to communicate that it had been Kazuki himself who had pulled the trigger.

When he had realised what was about to happen, all he had time to do was push himself forward, dragging himself and the girl to the ground so that she wouldn't see it.

“I did.”

He turned around, just to find Kirishima breathing heavily, as if he had just run a marathon.

“Why?” the girl asked, her voice barely audible, the muscles of her face contorted as she cried.

“Because he could end up hurting you,” the secretary responded quietly, his gaze quickly shifting to his boss’s face as he spoke. “Or him.”

Asami waited until Maya looked away to exchange a long, silent look with his loyal first assistant.

He would never be able to thank him enough for that lie.

++++

The minutes that followed were excruciatingly long.

Besides getting Kazuki’s body out of his office, his forehead stitched, and everyone ready to head to their next destination, he had to make sure not to leave Maya out of his sight.

The girl looked positively destroyed.

By the time they reached the gates of Majima Makoto’s house, it had been almost an hour since Maya last uttered a word, her eyes lost and glassy as she stared at her own feet.

Without demanding any explanations - something that Asami was also very grateful for - the counsellor led them to a spare room, so that Maya could rest in safety as they took care of business.

After placing a set of towels and a nightgown on top of her bed, the woman’s assistants walked out of the room, leaving father and daughter alone together for the first time since the beginning of that convoluted evening.

He sat by her side on the bed, and stared blankly at his own hands.

There was such a heavy cloud of guilt and shame hovering over his head that he feared he was emotionally and physically unable to offer his own daughter any kind of comfort. He suspected his feelings, at that point, could not be conveyed in sentences -  that sense of failure, both as as a man and as a parent, was simply overwhelming.

In a stretch of less than two hours, he had been drugged and chained to a chair in his own office while his daughter had to deal with her suicidal stepfather, who still made sure to remind her of what a vile human being he, Asami, had been to the girl and her mother.

He was surprised Maya had agreed to be in the same room as him after all that.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “It’s my fault that he’s dead.”

“No. Maya, it was not your fault,” he replied, shifting on the bed so that he could look at her face. “Kazuki was sick, he-”

“You don’t understand, do you?”

Her voice was strong and clear, despite her obvious sadness.

“I chose you, who never cared, over him,” she continued, tears flowing freely from her eyes as her chin trembled. “Him, who had always taken care of me. And of my mother.”

When she erupted in another wave of sobs, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his own chest constricted as her pain became more and more evident.

“Maya, he was not well, he-”

“I might as well have killed him.”

“No.”

“I didn’t pull the trigger, but his blood is in my hands.”

“Maya…”

And then, he felt his arm be gently pushed aside.

“Just…go,” she whispered, before lying down and turning his back to him.

He remained seated, as if unable to move as he watched her shoulders shake quietly.

“Please,” she asked again. “I want to be alone.”

This time, he managed to comply with her request, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him as quietly as he could.

Just when he thought his heart couldn’t feel any heavier, he caught a glimpse of the familiar silhouette of a lithe male body walking down the stairs, unaware of his presence two levels above.

_Takaba Akihito._


	49. Five minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If he only had five minutes left with that man, he really wanted him to know._
> 
>  
> 
> _If he died that night, or if Akihito ended up going to Thailand with another man, at least he would know he had left no gaps._
> 
>  
> 
> _No misunderstandings._
> 
>  
> 
> In which Akihito and Asami have a serious (and very long) talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important!! This is part 2 of a double update! Please make sure you have read Chapter 48 to better understand what happened to Asami and Maya at Sion.
> 
> A brief note: this chapter was in the making for at least six months – I suppose that is why I ended up taking so long to finalize it, haha! I hope you enjoy it. =D

 

He still had no idea what time it was.

At some point, he had taken off his custom-made IC wristwatch, and probably left it in one of the many rooms he had walked into before finally heading out to the garden.

He lit up another cigarette, after smashing what was left of the one he had just finished smoking on the ashtray he had brought to his refuge - a small wooden bench hidden under the exuberant foliage of a fig tree.

His money and power had allowed him to visit, and own, the most luxurious of places. A castle in France. A seven-star hotel in the Middle East. Casinos in Vegas, ski resorts, entire tropical islands, the best-known buildings and _onsens_ in Japan...

All that, and he somehow had ended in a far corner of someone else’s garden, staring at the two lonely nishikigoi swimming aimlessly in the small pond in front of him, the sound of crickets chirping mixing with the song of owls and the splashing sounds coming from the small fountain far ahead.

Strangely enough, it felt just like the kind of place he needed.

He was about to close his eyes and give in to tiredness when the sound of steps on the moist grass made him turn his head.

Majima Makoto was walking towards him, holding what looked an awful lot like a bottle of Bruichladdich X4 whisky in one hand, and two tumblers in the other.

Barefoot, and wearing a flowered light blue dress, the woman looked many years younger than she actually was, and the firmness in her step despite the lack of visual orientation only proved she knew her destination so well she needed no cane or anything else to lead her there.

“I smell the cigarettes, sunshine,” she said, her voice casual and low. “I can still find you, even if you hold your breath.”

He blew the smoke out of his nose with a smirk, moving to the edge of the bench so that she could sit by his side.

“Sorry about that,” she whispered, after tripping on his feet and struggling to regain her balance. “Here.”

He took the glass that was offered to him, and smirked.

“I didn't know counsellors were allowed to drink while on duty.”

“I am not on duty,” she replied, before passing him the bottle as well. “This just happens to be my place of meditation.”

“Oh…” he replied, before pouring some of the whisky into their glasses. “My apologies, then. Should I leave?”

“Absolutely not,” the counsellor answered, tucking a strand of her short black hair behind her ear. “I'm looking for someone that can truly appreciate my perilous friend here,” she added, raising her glass. “You know what they say about this little Scottish wonder, don't you? _‘One sip and you live forever; two sips and you go blind; three_ -"

“ _...sips and you expire on the spot’_ ,” he completed quietly. “Yes, I know.”

He stared at the amber liquid swishing inside his glass for a long moment.

That looked like a good night for three sips.

“Aah…” she sighed, after a slow, almost reverent first gulp. “That's the stuff.”

He waited for at least another minute before leading his glass to his lips, studying the woman’s face closely even though he had no reason to believe that someone in her household would spike their drink.

_Once bitten…_

“Can I have a smoke?” she asked.

“I thought you hated the smell,” he replied with a frown, his own cigarette dangling from his lips as he reached for the half-empty pack in his pocket.

The counsellor shrugged in response.

“Let’s just say I quit smoking many years ago,” Makoto explained, taking a very long drag off her cigarette after Asami lit it up. “It's a habit I have no intentions of going back to, but in times like these…” she said, before shrugging again.

He nodded his agreement as his eyes shifted to one of the windows of the main house.

The light in the room where Maya was staying was still on.

The fingers around his glass twitched as he wondered what kind of nightmares would haunt her from now on… That familiar feeling of loss, of guilt, of helplessness in the face of death…

That was a burden she did not deserve to carry.

He drew in a long breath and averted his gaze to the pond again, only to find a pair of brown eyes with yellow rings fixated on him.

“There is a falcon staring at us,” he whispered, studying the bird’s striking features as it folded its dark slate-grey wings.

“Really?” Makoto asked, tilting her head sideways. “How unusual, he hardly ever comes near strangers…” she said. “You must inspire trust.”

“Or _dis_ trust,” he replied, noticing with a smirk that the falcon seemed intent on charging to tear his eyes out.

A fascinating creature.

“That doesn't look like an amiable stare…” Asami added.

“Well, he is a falcon, what did you expect, a smile?”

The brief exchange apparently bored the unexpected visitor to no end.

“And he took off,” he said, watching as the bird flew towards the opposite side of the garden.

“That's Bloodwing for you,” the counsellor responded, after a sigh. “Not the most sociable of birds.”

“ _'Bloodwing'_?”

“Yes.”

He snorted.

“What? You find it funny?” the woman asked, raising both eyebrows. “I didn't pick that name, blame it on my late husband.”

“Did you have his wings clipped?”

“My husband's? Most definitely,” the counsellor replied, feeling around for the ashtray. “But not Bloodwing’s, no…”

After a final drag, she smashed what was left of her cigarette and continued.

“It was a heated debate Majima and I had back in the day, one of the most heated, actually,” she explained. “He wanted to do it at all costs. Said that a wild bird like that would hurt himself in captivity.”

She paused, and raised both hands after a rather emphatic shrug.

“I replied that it should not be in captivity, then,” she said. “Seriously, falcons are such exuberant birds. They are meant to be soaring high, free, and not to be chained to some… eccentric yakuza’s yard.”

Asami nodded in silence, appreciating the anecdote and its rather obvious metaphorical content.

“I remember thinking, what kind of moron keeps a falcon as a pet?” the woman went on, a confused frown adding even more meaning to her words. “I think I actually voiced that thought at some point.”

He was sure she had. If anything, one had to have that kind of bold personality to become a yakuza wife and not be swallowed or numbed by the hardship such a life comprised.

“What can I say…” Makoto shrugged again. “Majima had some remarkably dumb ideas sometimes, and he knew me well, so he wasn't actually surprised when I called him an idiot,” she said, and a small smirk curled the corners of her mouth. “To cut a long story short, he brought the bird home, we did not clip his wings, and before we knew, he was gone.”

_Obviously._

She paused to take another sip of her drink.

“Bloodwing was gone. Nowhere to be found,” she continued. “Oh boy. The man _cried_. He cried, I am serious,” the counsellor repeated, chuckling as she spoke. “Lieutenant of the Tojo Clan, 38 year-old Majima Goro, shed many manly tears after his precious little bird had flown away…”

And then, Asami realized her expression softened, as well as her voice.

“Until one day… I don't even know how long later, could have been days, or weeks…” she whispered, her vacant, glassy eyes shining with the nostalgic enthusiasm of someone going through a bunch of old pictures. “We were about to eat, and we heard this clicking sound somewhere above us. And then I heard Majima gasp, before he started laughing like a madman.”

Asami was nodding quietly when she paused, and let out a chuckle.

“He told me that the noise was Bloodwing blasting his beak against the window, and that there was a dead pigeon lying at his feet,” Makoto concluded, nodding as well, a soft, amused smile on her lips as she spoke. “The bird was back home, and he had brought dinner.”

If he hadn't just seen said falcon in front of him minutes prior, Asami would have taken that little tale with a grain of salt. It would, most likely, have come across as the kind of fabricated story to teach someone a lesson, but seeing the woman’s elated expression as she spoke made it very clear that was, indeed, a true story.

“Go figure…” she added quietly, before the two of them averted their attention to their respective drinks, lost in their own thoughts.

After a long sigh, the counsellor spoke again.

“Is there anything you wish you had told Mirai before she died?”

The unexpected question made his stomach drop.

“That's a sudden change of topic,” he replied, frowning.

“It’s a personal question. I’m not asking you as a counsellor.”

He bit the inside of his lower lip.

Chances were Makoto already knew the answer - it must have  been very obvious, given his previous counselling sessions, that his past with Maya’s mother had been marked by a series of decisions and words he was not proud of - some of which had been crudely brought back to light that very same evening.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice low and serious as he clutched his now nearly-empty glass. “Many things.”

There was a moment of silence, during which the counsellor was probably expecting him to elaborate, but he was far too tired to explain what those many things were.

_Maybe another day._

“If only we were given a warning, huh?” he heard the woman say, “Like, ‘these are the last five minutes you have with this person, use them well’.”

He raised his eyebrows, and downed what was left of his whisky without blinking.

He suspected he would need much more than five minutes to make amendments with the ones he had hurt.

“I could have used those last five minutes with my husband much better…” Makoto whispered, and her voice carried a distinct note of sadness. “But the trick is that we never know, do we? We never know when we might be running our final mile, or when the person we love is about to be shot or…” she paused to square her shoulders, clearing her throat before speaking again, “... _to move to Thailand with someone else_.”

Asami understood the hidden message much faster than he could have wished for, and his heart skipped a beat.

“I know that the timing couldn’t possibly be worse, but this is your five minutes, Asami.”

It was finally dawning on him that that night could really be the finishing line.

Much as he believed he would survive the Omi, just like he had survived many other enemies before them, that new bit of information meant that even if he _did_ come back from the battlefield, chances were Akihito no longer would be there.

He blinked, his eyes darting around as he looked for some kind of anchor. The pond no longer looked peaceful, the fig tree that had given him shelter until that very same moment all of a sudden felt stifling and hostile, even the cool breeze of the night now made him feel uncomfortable and cold.

He had never actually thought that day would come.

“You need to talk to him before you go past those gates tonight,” the counsellor added, before getting to her feet and walking towards the main house. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Her last few words, however, went unnoticed. Asami’s attention had drifted along with his gaze, searching for yet another window, the only one other than Maya’s that still had its light on...

++++

Pressing his body against the wall so that no one in the garden would see him right next to the glass panels, Takaba Akihito let out a sigh.

After very long minutes staring at his window, Asami had finally gotten up and walked back to the house.

_What now?_

Obviously, he knew this was his room. Why else would he be looking at it for so long?

 _What now?_ Was he planning to come see him?

He cracked his knuckles, and ran to check his reflection in the mirror. Good thing he had just taken a shower - his damp blond hair looked much more hydrated than it actually was, and the honey body scrub had left his skin refreshed and soft to the touch.

_Soft to the touch._

“Oh please…”

He frowned, yelling mentally at himself for hoping that he would be touched in the first place, and in a time like that, of all things… It was selfish, to say the least, to expect his own situation with Asami to receive any attention after the events of that evening.

Wei Shen had filled him in, as soon as Asami and his entourage had arrived at the house... Akihito felt his stomach sink when he imagined how awful Maya must be feeling.

He tiptoed his way out of the bedroom, and walked towards the hall that led to the girl’s room.

The beams of light coming from under the door confirmed that he was not the only one unable to fall asleep.

“Maya?” he whispered, after knocking gently on the door. “It's me, Akihito.”

There was no response.

“I just want to ch-”

 _“I’d like to be alone,”_ she replied, and her voice was nasal and hoarse. _“If you don't mind.”_

The photographer nodded quietly, feeling a pang on his chest when he remembered that the last time the two of them had talked, it had not exactly been a pleasant conversation. The corrosive effect of guilt made him open his mouth to voice a sincere apology, but he closed it as soon as he realized he was the only one who would feel better with that interaction.

That was not the time to seek forgiveness.

In silence, he walked away from the door, so that the girl could grieve her loss in peace.

In time, there would be an opportunity to mend their friendship.

Without much enthusiasm, Akihito made his way to the lower level of the mansion, planning to loot the pantry and eat away his restlessness.

_“Your levels of cortisol must be flying off the roof, you are under severe stress.”_

The female voice coming from the room across from the kitchen made him turn his head.

_“Li Jiao is coming with the needles.”_

She was, indeed. In a matter of seconds, the assistant came marching into the hall, and the photographer had to squeeze behind a broom closet not to be noticed.

He held his breath as he waited for the woman to close the door behind her, and rushed forward.

_Who was the counsellor talking to?_

His heart raced as he bent down to glance at the minuscule gap between the door and its frame, one of his eyes squeezed shut as he scanned the room until his eyes found what they were looking for.

_Asami._

He gasped quietly, his fingers curling into claws against the wall as he watched the man take off his shirt to reveal a heavily bruised torso.

 _‘Holy crap, what have you been doing?’_ he asked mentally, remembering the times he had gotten into a street fight and ended up with similar injuries.

He cursed silently when Li Jiao positioned herself in front of the other man, obstructing his view, before telling him to lie down.

From that angle, the photographer couldn't exactly see much, but he was able to catch a glimpse of the needles the Chinese woman was placing above Asami’s navel, and then in his arm.

He was so absorbed trying to count how many there were that he barely noticed when Majima Makoto excused herself and walked towards the door. Luckily for him, his reflexes were sharp enough to allow him to jump like a cat behind the broom closet again.

Silent as he had been, the fact was that the counsellor’s sense of hearing was way above average.

He covered his mouth when she turned her head towards the exact place he was hiding, forcing him to take a step back and collide rather loudly with a wooden bucket that came crashing down its shelf.

For very long seconds, Akihito didn't even dare to open his eyes. He was positive the noise had been loud enough to wake up whoever was sleeping in one of the rooms near the laundry area, and it was a matter of time until Li Jiao stormed out of the room to give him a lecture on spying behind closed doors.

That is, if the counsellor didn't lecture him first.

“What was that?” he heard Asami ask, his voice full of suspicion and concern.

“Nothing,” the counsellor promptly replied. “I tripped on a broomstick, forgive this clumsy blind woman.”

It might have been his imagination, but Akihito could swear he saw her smirk before walking towards the stairs.

For safety, he opted not to leave his hiding spot until many minutes later, when Li Jiao left the room as well, carrying all sorts of acupuncture and Tui na paraphernalia.

Tiptoeing as if his life depended on it, Akihito touched the door again, and tried to catch a glimpse of the one person left behind.

Asami was no longer lying down, but his eyes were covered by a cloth as he sat on an armchair, his head resting against a small cushion.

The photographer watched from a distance as the other man’s chest heaved up and down. His gaze lingered on the toned, perfectly shaped obliques rolling under the tanned skin of Asami’s stomach as he inhaled deeply; his muscular torso relaxing completely as he exhaled.

He realised he couldn't actually look away.

His own body tingled as his eyes dipped lower, following the outline of the V-shaped muscles until they disappeared under the elastic band of Asami’s underwear.

_He knew that body so well._

His mind had mapped so many sweet spots, so many places that he had learnt to kiss, to bite, to caress properly… Given the circumstances, he should be ashamed of the raging desire pumping through his veins; he should be even more ashamed of not being ashamed _at all…_

He was nervous, worried, upset. Asami had reason to be, too, even if it were about completely different things.

That need, that desire to surrender without reservations, though, was like a balm soothing all his senses and his troubled mind, and he could only hope that his decision to enter that room and walk towards the man sitting on the armchair would not end in him regretting yet another decision in his life.

He stopped dead on his tracks.

_Should he really go through with it?_

His breath caught in his throat when he realized how close he already was to Asami - all he had to do was reach out and he would feel the heat his body craved.

“Akihito?”

He was still pondering his options when the baritone voice nearly made him choke on his tongue.

The cloth was still covering his eyes and this time he had been as silent as humanly possible - how the hell did he know there was someone else in the room?

_How did he know it was him?_

“Y-Yes, I'm s-sorry,” he stuttered, taking a step backwards. “I saw the door open and…” he lied, quickly realising he didn't know how he wanted that sentence to end. “I'll let you res-”

“Stay.”

Asami’s voice was firm and final, and yet the word sounded more like a plea than a command.

“We need to talk,” he whispered, before removing the cloth that had been covering his eyes.

_Those eyes._

He was aware that statement never led to amusing conversations, and yet he nodded silently without a single worry in the world, his lips parting unconsciously as he looked at the man in front of him.

His feet, once again, acted of their own accord, and he closed the gap separating him from the armchair.

They had a lot to talk about, they really did, but there was a lot being said in the silent stare they were exchanging. That was an entirely different conversation, one that he had no plans of skipping either.

He could tell Asami was calling him, the pulse throbbing in his neck just one of the many signs of his need. He was absolutely convinced his body was responding in kind, every cell of his being propelling him forward, making it clear that whatever the man had in mind, he was down to it.

_It had been too long._

His fingers raked the dark, sleek hair as their lips connected, his lips slowly parting to welcome Asami’s tongue into his mouth.

++++

It was the smell of honey that had given him away.

That, and that unique scent of his skin, of his lip balm, of the apple and peach shampoo.

He knew Takaba Akihito’s smell far too well for it to go unnoticed.

Strange sounds were coming out of his throat as the younger man straddled him on the chair, a mix of a stifled grunt and a ragged breath making his throat vibrate as their tongues entwined.

He opened his eyes when they finally parted for air, eager to take in Akihito’s figure without hurrying. His hair was longer and upon closer inspection, his arms looked slightly more toned than he remembered, just like the creamy portion of his stomach showing from the gap between his white tank top and grey sweatpants.

“Have you been working out?” he whispered, burying his face in the photographer’s hair as he kneaded his perfectly round backside.

Akihito’s only response was a quiet chuckle.

When he leaned back, Asami could see his eyes were feverish and unfocused, probably mirroring his.

That was not what he had envisioned when he walked back into the house, determined to look for Akihito and use his five minutes for what was bound to be a very bitter conversation.

But then again, he was just a man.

He stood up, lifting the photographer with him and groaning when the slender legs wrapped around his waist, allowing a very solid erection to rub against his stomach as he kneeled and carefully laid the other man on the ground.

Without much preamble, he stripped the younger man off his pants along with his underwear, pleased to see his throbbing, tumescent cock already wet with precum.

Good to know he was not the only one who could barely wait.

For a split second, he fumbled with the zipper of his own pants, but despite his urgent need, rushing things would be such a waste, after two months without touching that body, without tasting it…

His hands deftly moved to Akihito’s thighs, the skin so soft to the touch his mouth watered as his fingers glided slowly from his hips to his calves.

The lean muscles rippled under his touch, the soft, tender flesh trembling when his mouth replaced his fingers, licking, biting, pressing soft, slow kisses on the inside of his thighs and eliciting moans that only made all the foreplay even more unbearable, at least for him.

His own cock was so hard it hurt, and he was using all his willpower to go slow.

He deliberately skipped the photographer’s groin when his lips reached the junction where Akihito’s leg met his torso, his mouth hovering dangerously close to his straining erection as he moved to his other thigh.

The tease made the younger man grunt unhappily, and rotate his hips so that his weeping cock could get some kind of friction.

“Asami… I can't…hold…”

Asami bit the inside of his lip, and shifted between Akihito’s legs. Who was he trying to fool, he couldn't hold either. Not after two months of abstinence, anyway.

Which was a shame, he had time to ponder, before using two of his fingers to scoop some of the fluid escaping the tip of Akihito’s cock and prepare his entrance. Every inch of that trembling, warm body deserved to be worshipped, and there were so many things he wanted to do to make the younger man scream with pleasure... Use his own tongue to lube him, for one. Lick his balls, suck his swollen cock until he climaxed in his mouth. Tease and kiss his nipples, and every inch of that perfect skin, whispering dirty things into his ear along the way.

_If only he could hold back long enough for all that._

As it was, he could barely keep his cool to unzip his pants without shaking, one of his hands still busy stretching the tight entrance as gently as he could.

“Put it...put it inside me…”

He drew in a long, ragged breath in an attempt to lower his heart rate, to no avail. He was way too focused on the soft flesh yielding to his fingers, the muscles pulling him in as he slid his digits in and out of the hot, tight canal.

He was getting there too fast.

“A-Asami… Now...”

Akihito’s rapid breath, and the hoarse voice moaning his name did not help either. He might as well allow himself to come just by looking at the erotic, passionate expression on the photographer's face, so beautiful, so perfect as his chest heaved up and down, his hips jolting erratically as he blushed, moaned, begged.

“You feel so good, Akihito…”

“Nng… _Please…_ ”

At what point Akihito had gotten hold of the small bottle of essential oil that was near his armchair, he did not know. What he knew was that half of it had just been poured over his cock, the other half slowly dripping from the photographer’s crotch to the cleft between his buttocks.

Without further warning, the younger man tilted his hips upward and towards him, using one of his hands to guide his throbbing erection to the place where it was being expected.

“I need...inside.”

The effort to keep his body up in such a strange angle intensified the tremors ravishing Akihito’s body, but before he could collapse, Asami finally pushed forward, bidding his time when the initial resistance prevented him from going further.

“Fuck…” he heard the photographer whisper, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Fuck…”

Keeping his hips as still as possible, Asami leaned forward and captured the other man’s lips in a slow, tender kiss. His tongue moved gently around Akihito’s, one of his hands cradling the back of his head as he waited for the photographer’s breathing to slow down.

Slowly, the ring of muscle relaxed, and he pressed forward. When Akihito’s breath hitched again, he bit his own lip hard enough to draw blood. The agonisingly slow pace was more than he could handle, so this time he barely waited to thrust deeper.

The movement elicited a strangled cry of pain.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, taking a moment to study Akihito’s face as he rotated his hips, trying his best to accommodate his girth. “I can't hold back anymore.”

“I know,” he panted. “I can't either.”

The raw desire in the photographer’s eyes was the fuel he needed to bury himself into the soft, pliant flesh under him with a single thrust.

The scream that left Akihito’s throat brought him even closer to a dangerously premature end, and he was about to pull out to give his over excited cock a break when the lean legs closed around his hips and forced him back in.

“Akihito…”

“Deeper, I wanna feel you deeper,” he panted, his hips meeting every thrust as sweat started running down his temples. “Asami…”

And then it happened.

His hips stuttered, fireworks exploded behind his eyes, his whole body, his very spirit, seemed to have been elevated above and beyond the sky. In the meantime, the photographer kept moving his hips as if there was no tomorrow, eyes tightly shut as a string of drool escaped from the corner of his mouth, elated, feverish, going up that steep hill that led to that final frontier of pleasure, apparently unaware that Asami had gotten there first.

Well, he would have to realize it at some point, because the pressure against his prostate was fading by the minute, and the generous amount of semen that had been just released deep inside his body would soon make itself noticed.

Asami inhaled deeply in an attempt to feel less lightheaded, placing Akihito’s legs over his shoulders to allow for a deeper penetration, although at that point he really couldn't tell how much longer he would be able to maintain what was left of his erection.

Hopefully, long enough for the photographer to climax as well.

“More…” Akihito whispered, his fingernails sinking into his back. “M-”

And then, the slender hips slowed down, until they came to a complete stop.

“Asami…”

The older man sighed as he figured that the sticky mess between their legs had probably registered in the photographer’s brain, at last.

“Did you come?”

He glanced down at Akihito’s erect cock, twitching, still waiting for that final moment of release, and then his eyes traveled back to the photographer's face. The hazel orbs were darting back and forth, surprised and fierce, his breath still laboured as he waited for an answer despite the obvious confirmation provided by the wetness covering his fingertips after he had reached down below to check.

Despite the subpar performance, Asami’s face showed no sign of distress.

“I miss you.”

The words escaped his lips before he could stop himself, and when Akihito gasped in response, he instantly wished he could take them back. It felt strange to feel exposed, to feel vulnerable, to put himself in a position in which he had no control.

His thoughts were blissfully interrupted, though, when Akihito pulled him into another kiss, forcing his tongue past his lips as he guided one of his hands to his cock, moving it up and down the hot, velvety flesh until he too erupted in a wave of moans and shivers, thick, creamy white ropes of cum landing on his tank top all the way from his stomach to his collarbone.

Asami realised he had truly been slacking, if a piece of clothing had inadvertently remained on Akihito’s body for so long.

When he tried to tug it out of the way, however, the photographer grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“No,” he gasped. “Leave it.”

It took Asami a spare second to finally understand the shadow of panic in the hazel eyes. His stomach sank when he realised he was probably trying to hide his scars, but he refused to let his mind take him to that dark part of their past.

There would be a time for that, very soon.

Instead, he simply reveled on Akihito’s warmth when he draped an arm over his chest, his fingers gently playing with the blond strands of hair as they both enjoyed the silent, endorphin-filled journey back to reality.

“What happened to your arm?” he heard the young man ask quietly, as his fingers traced soft patterns on the scarred skin.

“Fei Long.”

“What did he hit you with?”

Asami’s nostrils flared, and the hand playing with Akihito’s hair stopped moving.

“I'm sure you know the answer to that question,” he whispered, feeling the lithe body covering his tense slightly.

“Why didn't you have the scars removed?” the photographer asked, his eyes still glued to the damaged skin he was touching. “I mean, there's surgery. Cosmetic surgery.”

“Did you have yours removed?”

From that angle, he couldn't actually see the expression on the younger man’s face, but the sharp intake of breath that followed his question spoke for itself.

Still in silence, the photographer shook his head.

“Do they hurt?” Asami whispered.

“Kind of.”

There was the hint of a sob in that response, and his hand had just travelled to Akihito’s shoulder when he sat up with a start.

“I have to clean up,” the photographer said, avoiding his eyes as he stood up and picked up his clothes. “Can you… wait?”

“Of course.”

He watched as Akihito put on his pants and walked out of the room, without looking back.

In a way, that intermezzo was probably a good thing. It would give him time to reorganize his thoughts, to breathe, to regain some of his composure before the trial began.

As he buttoned up his shirt and raked his fingers through his hair, he wondered if he would have enough cigarettes to get him through the rest of that night.

A quick glance into his pack of Dunhills and he let out an unhappy sigh. There were only five left. Hopefully, that would be enough to soothe his nerves at least until Akihito arrived.

He had just finished the second one when the blond man reappeared into the room, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and carrying a tray with a teapot and two mugs.

“I brought tea,” he announced quietly, before placing the tray in the table next to him.

In silence, the photographer grabbed one of the mugs and led it to his lips, before sitting cross-legged on an armchair across from him.

Asami chose to ignore the tea as he smashed what was left of his cigarette on an ashtray, a frown beginning to wrinkle his forehead.

He had not prepared a decent conversation starter.

“Tanimura is moving to Thailand,” Akihito said, still staring at the mug nestled in his hands. “He invited me to go with him.”

_That would do._

“And?” Asami asked, trying to sound unimpressed.

“I don't know,” the photographer replied, his voice still low and hesitant. “I still haven't decided.”

“That's sudden.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause, in which he could see Akihito’s lips curl into an unhappy smile.

“But it's not as if there is much keeping me in Tokyo,” he added, after a shrug. “Plus, I guess that's the one perk of being a freelancer,” he chuckled, although his voice showed no amusement. “No administrative hassles.”

“Right…” Asami whispered, nodding thoughtfully.

When he raised his eyes to the photographer, he noticed he was being stared at with a mix of expectation and disappointment.

And then it was gone. The hazel orbs drifted back to the mug, and when Akihito spoke again, his voice was strangely neutral.

“How is Maya?” he asked.

“She wants to be left alone.”

“Give her time,” Akihito replied, after taking another sip of his tea. “It's a big blow, even for someone as strong as her.”

“She might be strong, but she shouldn't be going through this,” Asami replied, feeling his chest constrict painfully as recent memories of his daughter’s despair rushed to the front of his mind.

He really wished they would talk about something else. It was bad enough to revisit certain parts of his relationship with Akihito without bringing his concerns about Maya into the mix.

He inhaled deeply before speaking again.

“Do you think that what happened to you made you stronger?” he asked.

He saw the photographer raise his eyebrows, as if pondering his answer for a moment.

“I guess…” he replied, shrugging. “Yeah. I think so.”

And then he chuckled, his gaze nostalgic and calm.

“When I was younger, my grandmother would say that every trial in our lives is a message that the spirits of our ancestors are whispering in our ear, trying to teach us something, to give us wisdom,” he explained. “So we should see even the bad things in our lives as gifts.”

Asami gave an appreciative nod as he listened, noticing the tenderness and gratitude in the young man’s voice as he spoke.

The ability to value the things that truly mattered in life was one of the things that he most admired in Takaba Akihito. That, and his incredible resilience in the face of the most absurd trials, which he now understood was something he had been encouraged to have from a very early age.

“Your family raised you well,” he said, before reaching for another cigarette. “They must be very proud of you.”

The words made the hazel eyes glisten.

“Not sure about that…” the photographer whispered.

“Do they know about me?” Asami asked, although he suspected he already knew the answer.

And so, when the younger man shook his head, his eyes fixated on some spot on the floor, he was not surprised.

Akihito’s gloominess, though, was tough to watch.

“Are you ashamed? Of us?”

Asami led a Dunhill to his lips immediately after asking the question to hide his apprehension.

_He feared he knew that answer too._

“Sometimes,” the photographer whispered, his voice slightly shaky as more tears rushed to his eyes.

“Why are you upset?”

After sniffling quietly, Akihito let out a chuckle.

“Are you trying to analyse me?” he asked, finally raising his eyes to his face again.

“No…”

_I'm just trying to go off on a tangent, can't you tell?_

A quarter of the cigarette had already turned into ashes, dangling between his lips like a small straw of nicotine, long forgotten.

“Akihito…”

That next question, though, required some sort of chemical assistance, so he took in a long drag and waited until the smoke swirled in his lungs for very long seconds before speaking again.

“In those three years that we were together…” he started, pausing to blow the smoke out, “...was there ever a time in which you were happy?”

When he finally gathered the courage to look at the photographer’s face, relief washed over him.

“Yes,” he replied, with a very small, but very sincere smile.

“When?”

“I don't know, it was not... specific.”

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

The list was long, but he chose a more succinct response to spare them both of unnecessary drama.

“For not making you as happy as I should,” he said simply, his voice still calm and contained despite the very visible twitch in the corner of his mouth. “You deserved better.”

He was fully aware that the words had come out of his lips without the dramatics one would have expected, but hopefully Akihito knew him well enough to realize how difficult it had been to even say them aloud.

The tears that the photographer had been trying to hold back began pouring down his face, but his silence threw Asami off. _What was he thinking?_ Was he relieved? Angry? Resentful? Were things so bad that the always outspoken Takaba Akihito had nothing to say?

“There are other things too,” he continued, his voice lower and less confident as he saw the other man wipe his tears in the collar of his T-shirt. “But I can't think very well when you're crying,” Asami whispered, his frown intensifying when Akihito let out another sob. “Here, have my tea.”

He passed the other man his mug, and noticed that the usually warm hands were cold when the photographer’s fingers brushed against his.

It made him feel even worse. He was definitely not good at comforting people, not even when the one needing comfort was someone he cared so deeply for.

 _Especially_ when it was someone he cared so deeply for.

“Why did you accept Tanimura's application for financial support?” Akihito asked, many sips of tea later, when his tears had already gone dry.

“What are you talking about?”

“The orphanage,” he replied. “I know it is you, the nameless benefactor.”

Asami raised an eyebrow. He had always made sure to keep his pro bono activities far from the spotlight.

“I...was with him when he mailed the application,” the photographer explained, “...and then I saw Kirishima with the folder.”

“Does he know?”

“Who?”

“Tanimura?”

“No, I didn't tell him,” Akihito replied. “I... worried that he would turn the money down if he knew where it came from.”

“Good. He doesn't need to know.”

From the brief moments they had spent together, he could tell the cop was a proud man, after all.

And proud men were capable of _very stupid_ things.

“So you are a philanthropist, on top of everything?” the photographer asked, after a quiet chuckle. “You're full of surprises.”

Asami let out a smirk.

Although slightly disappointing, it was understandable that the photographer found it so exceptional that he, of all people, would do something good to others.

“Still... After what Tanimura did, you could have seeked revenge,” Akihito continued. “Without the money his orphanage would have to close. Why did you approve the grant?”

“I didn't.”

“Eh?”

“Normally all applications are reviewed by Kirishima. The ones that don't pass the audit don't even make it to my desk. The ones that do, are usually labelled after a police check and other references…” he explained. “If there is anything fishy, they get a black flag. If there's nothing, they get white. In the end it all comes down to my decision, my judgment.”

Asami took that moment to light up another cigarette.

“Tanimura's application came to me with a red flag and a very short note,” he continued. “Basically, Kirishima saying how the application was impeccable and the records were pristine clear, but the person applying…” he paused, smirking as he remembered how the detective's name had been circled, underlined and highlighted in every page of the application. “I think he came very close to destroying the application himself but he knew that was my decision to make.”

He paused, and took a long drag off his Dunhill.

“So yes, when I saw Tanimura's name on it, that application went straight to my garbage bin, without hesitation,” he said. “And it stayed there for hours, until the cleaning staff showed up.”

Akihito looked intrigued. He had pulled his thin legs closer to his chest, resting his chin on top of his knees as he watched him speak with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“For hours on end that stupid folder had been staring at me, but when it was taken from the bin I almost jumped from my chair to grab it back,” Asami continued, letting his face rest on one of his hands as he spoke. “I could hear your voice in the back of my head telling me not to be an asshole.”

He shook his head, smirking.

Who would have thought that the troublesome photographer he had cornered in an alley three years prior would eventually become the voice of his conscience.

“I was not happy, trust me. But I opened the folder and saw that everything was, indeed, impeccable,” he added, with a shrug. “But it took me another hour to approve it.”

He paused again, wondering if he was not using the orphanage issue as a diversion to avoid addressing the questions he knew Akihito wanted answered.

“I just had to sign the approval template... but it took me an hour,” he whispered, after deciding that was a good time to transition into more important matters.

“You see, the values that you so fiercely defend, your kindness, your desire for justice, your empathy towards others are things that I had never bothered to embody, Akihito. I don't show mercy, unless there is an advantage in the long run. I retaliate. I claim back what is mine,” he said. “And I show no regret.”

He leaned forward, both index fingers resting against his lips as he fixated his gaze on the ground.

It was time to open that can of worms.

“The first time we were together?” he said, his eyes distant and cold as he spoke. “I went back home after we were done and had a most peaceful night of sleep,” he admitted. “No remorse.”

When he raised his gaze to the photographer’s face, he realized the hazel eyes were dry, despite the harsh reality his words revealed.

“Did it bother me that I had hurt you? Humiliated you?” he continued, as the two of them stared at each other. “No.”

The photographer's face remained calm, although his eyes had just started darting back and forth nervously.

“All I could think of was taking you again. And again,” he continued, feeling strangely detached, as if he was talking about the actions and thoughts of someone else. “Did I care about your career? Your freedom? Your friends?”

He took another long pause, in which he could see the younger man shift on his seat.

“No,” he answered, his voice still distant and low. “I didn't.”

Still no tears.

Takaba Akihito remained surprisingly calm, which only allowed him to dig his grave even deeper, and continue to expose his motivations.

“I always thought that whoever I eventually chose to be my lover would have to accept to live in my shadow, and you would not be different,” he explained. “But you were. You _are_ different.”

He glanced down at the completely wrecked pack of Dunhills he had been clutching all along, and retrieved the last cigarette, the last bit of comfort he would be able to get until that conversation was over.

“You challenged me, you refused to accept what I offered to you, even when you moved in with me you stood your ground,” he continued. “Turns out that sex was the only time you caved to my will.”

He averted his gaze to the window on the other side of the room before speaking again.

“But I didn't keep you around for the sex, Akihito.”

 _‘Although the sex has always been exceptionally good,’_ he added mentally.

“I remember this one night you fell asleep while we were both watching television,” he said, after crossing his legs with a smirk on his lips. “Your head was on my shoulder, and you were snoring quietly, drooling. The weight of your body on my side, your breathing, so slow, so... deep and relaxed.”

He saw his own smirk reflected in the small smile curling the photographer’s lips.

“It felt great,” he said, feeling rather pleased with that ridiculously cheesy confession. “The days that followed, I found myself counting the minutes to come back home.To have sex with you, of course, but… the truth is that, if all I could have was you drooling on my shoulder again…” he whispered, “...that would be good too.”

There was a larger truth in that sentence that he hoped Akihito could understand. The spark in the hazel eyes as he looked at him gave him hope that he had, somehow, finally realised his importance in his life.

“I am telling you this, because…”

He cut himself short when he realised he had come to a part of the conversation that would really cost him. Now that he had come that far, though, he might as well leave no unfinished businesses between them.

It was his last five minutes, after all.

“When I saw your picture with Sakazaki, I was so mad.”

He didn't need to avert his eyes to Akihito’s face to know he was crying again. The way the air seemed to be coming in and out of his mouth in small puffs was enough indication of his distress.

“I was mad because you were giving yourself to another man,” he said, his own voice coming out strained and bleak. “I was mad because you had traded your dignity for so little, I was mad at myself.”

He knew his explanation was somewhat lacking.

No explanation would ever be enough to justify what he did. What he did could not be justified. He wasn't expecting to be forgiven either, but at least Akihito deserved to know the truth.

“I was very mad at myself,” he repeated. “Because all of a sudden, all the remorse for the things I did to you, and that I never once thought about, started to strangle me. Sakazaki was just a scapegoat.”

He kept staring at the ground, to trick himself into believing he was saying those things to no one else but himself.

The fact that he was admitting all that to another person made him feel irrevocably _weak._

“And I had to send you away,” he continued, taking a long, deep breath to steady his voice. “I had to… send you away so that I would stop feeling bad about myself.”

At that point, however, his own shortcomings were immaterial.

He didn't want Akihito to feel sorry, he didn't want him to think he, Asami, was less of a coward just because he was coming clean about what had happened that day. He just wanted to give Akihito some kind of closure, so that he could understand that nothing that had happened had been his fault.

“And then everything is a blur,” he said, his voice once again firm as he continued to stare at the floor. “All I know is that when I saw the injuries in your back, I was so relieved.”

Saying those things aloud only made it even more obvious that there was something _very wrong_ with him, but he swallowed the knot in his throat and forced himself to continue with his monologue.

“Because I knew you would never, _ever_ want to come back,” he whispered. “That was the end. I wouldn't have to worry. I wouldn't have to feel guilty.”

Strangely enough, now that he had let it all out, he felt his chest was expanding with relief. Everything he had just said was downright awful, and if he had nurtured any hope that one day Akihito would go back to him, at that point it was fairly reasonable to expect the young man to turn away and try his luck elsewhere.

“Yes, I am that kind of coward,” he added, with the tranquility that only a man with nothing else to lose could have. “I would be able to go back to my life as it was before you happened, when I was in control of everything, of myself.”

When he raised his eyes to the tear-stained face staring intently at him, though, he felt an invisible hand reach into his chest to squeeze his heart with all its might.

_He wished things had been different._

The idea that he had been fortunate enough to cross paths with Akihito, and that now they were about to walk away from each other because of his own errors, was bound to be a burden he would have to carry for the rest of his life.

“I think about that morning everyday,” he said, his eyes once again dropping to the floor so that the younger man couldn't see the obvious bleakness in them. “There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by...that I don’t regret what I did to you. Not only that morning, but... especially that morning.”

He waited for the other man to stop sobbing, and for his heart to slow down to a decent rate, before speaking again.

“I’m sorry, Akihito. For everything.”

“Me too,” he heard the photographer sob in response.

“I know you expected more from me,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly as he searched his pockets for a handkerchief, now that the other man seemed to have run out of tissues. “I had more than three years to make you want to stay, but...I'm not good at relationships, I hope now you can understand why.”

He finally found the handkerchief in the pocket of the jacket lying on top of the table, and passed it to the photographer.

“Thank you.”

“I wish I had done many things differently. I really do. I’m sorry I made you feel you were not loved.”

If he only had five minutes left with that man, he really wanted him to know.

If he died that night, or if Akihito ended up going to Thailand with another man, at least he would know he had left no gaps.

No misunderstandings.

“You were,” he whispered. “You _are_.”

A single tear rolled from one of the swollen, bloodshot hazel eyes.

Akihito’s lips were parted, and he was staring at him with an expression that communicated relief and sadness in equal amounts.

“Then why don't you ask me to stay?” he asked, his voice nasal and hoarse.

“Right…” Asami responded, before inhaling deeply once again.

Sure, he had to explain _that_ too.

Feeling that his head was about to explode, he got to his feet and walked towards the open window, where he hoped the cool breeze of the night would help him feel better.

“When I think about my future, I see a gap,” he said. “I don't get the privilege of planning what I will do when I retire, because there is a real chance I won't get to that age.”

The quiet sound of Akihito’s footsteps behind him made him turn his head.

“I was never afraid of dying. I still am not,” he said, watching the younger man as he leaned against the window frame, listening intently. “My only goal is to make as much damage as possible when the day comes.”

He was relieved to see the hazel eyes were once again dry.

For how long, he did not know.

“The kind of life I have, Akihito... everything can be gone in the blink of an eye. That is the truth,” he explained, turning around as well, so that the two of them were leaning against the window, side by side.

“And thinking of a lifetime with you means looking at that future and seeing that gap,” he continued. “I never made plans about my personal life. If I never shared them with you, it's just because they don't exist. I have nothing to offer to you other than one day at a time.”

Asami turned his head to see the photographer staring at the ground, immersed in his own thoughts.

He was getting to a point in which his resolve to just let Akihito go was faltering, and faltering fast. His presence, his proximity, the possibilities, made him want to hold on to him and never let go.

“And give you everything I have, one day at a time, as if it were my last, because I always hoped that I would spend the last day of my life with you, whenever that was,” he whispered, one of his hands reaching for the photographer’s face so that he could gently tilt his chin up to look at him in the eye. “And maybe that is why I am so obsessed with your safety. Not because I think you are incapable of defending yourself, but because I cannot imagine you dying before me.”

As he looked at the other man’s face, it all became clear to him.

Akihito was a wild force of nature, and for three years he had forced him into a life of captivity.

All he could now was let him go, and hope that one day he would find his way back to him.

“These two months without you have been tough, but if I asked you to stay it would be for my own sanity, not yours,” he whispered. “Do you understand?”

The photographer nodded in silence, tears once again filling his eyes.

“So if you feel you should start a new life in Thailand, then go,” Asami said, knowing that those were the right words to say, but feeling each one of them cut right through his throat. “Don't look back.”

_'I won't stand in your way, not this time.'_

When Akihito wrapped his arms around him, he was unsure as to whether he was trying to comfort him or seek comfort for himself.

Probably both.

He hugged him back, placing a soft kiss on top of his head as Akihito’s shoulders shook. By now, the young man had probably shed half of his body weight in tears, given how wet his shirt was getting as he pressed his face against his chest.

It was not until many minutes later that the photographer’s breathing finally went back to normal, each intake of air slow and deep, as if he was sleeping.

It was a good, warm feeling, but by the time his cell phone had buzzed for the sixth time, he knew he could no longer ignore Kirishima’s calls.

“Akihito?” Asami whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

“I need to go.”

It was late, and much as he would love to stay longer, he still had to shower and review his plans for the remainder of the night.

After giving the photographer’s hand a final squeeze, he picked up his jacket and headed towards the door.

“Asami?”

He turned his head to glance at Akihito, whose face was relaxed and peaceful, despite the reddish eyes and slightly dishevelled hair.

“Be safe,” he whispered.

He smirked.

It was a good thing, after all, to know that even after everything, the photographer still cared.

“You too,” he replied.

 

 


	50. Detail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The armies assemble, but a very important detail goes unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies! I was planning to release this update at least four days ago, but I quickly realized that I had been investing too much time in Chapter 51, and as a result I fell behind with Chapter 50! Oh well, the good news is that the next chapter is almost finished! \o/
> 
> Without any further ado, here it is, Chapter 50 ~~(a.k.a. the one before everything goes to hell.)~~

_**Purgatory,** Kabukicho, Tokyo, 1:37 AM_

Sitting in front of the now closed casino with a small bowl in his hands, Minami Daisaku, Lieutenant of the Tojo Clan, did not look happy.

"Dude..." he grunted. "One week eating real food at my mother’s and this crap noodles shit now taste like legit shit.

"Well, we ain’t got time for a real meal, do we?" the young man crouching next to him replied, slurping loudly as he ate his own noodles without much enthusiasm.

"I s’pose..."

He munched on a bitter piece of dried carrot as he scanned the premises, now that they had been closed to the general public so that the Chairman and the family leaders could organize their next move against the Omi.

He was pondering that they could have at least left the karaoke room unlocked, so that their operatives could blow off some steam, when his gaze fell upon a man just his age, staring at him with a weird look on his eyes.

"Yo, what's with Nakajima?" Minami mumbled with a frown, still studying the other man's figure although he was now avoiding his eyes.

"Hell if I know," he heard the young enforcer reply. "He’s a fucking cunt..."

When the little brown eyes on the other side of the hall found his face again, they were filled with obvious fear.

"Minami?"

Before he knew, he had put down his bowl and stood up as soon as Nakajima got to his feet and started walking towards the exit.

He knew he lacked many qualities that would make him a good leader like Majima Goro or Hayashi Mirai, but at least he had one talent in common with those two.

He could smell rats from a fucking distance.

"Minami, what are you doing?"

He didn't waste time answering. Sooner than later the whole situation would become obvious, anyway.

He picked up his step when Nakajima started walking faster, and when he glanced over his shoulder with the same panicked look in his eyes, he had all the confirmation he needed.

"Motherfucker," Minami whispered, a second before the other man started running. "Close the exits!"

That was the cue for chaos to ensue.

While Minami chased down the other family leader and his subordinates rushed to close all the doors connecting them to the world outside, men in suits proceeded to punch each other or toss their rivals into the river below, heads colliding loudly with glass panels and wooden doors amidst loud grunts and screams.

Almost an entire lap later, Minami was finally able to tackle the other man to the ground.

"You fucker, what have you done?" he asked, an angry vein in his forehead almost bursting as he screamed. " _What have you done_ , Nakajima?"

"The Tojo is over, Minami, wake up!" the man spluttered, after a particularly powerful punch made his mouth bleed. "The Omi offered me a management position, ok? I accepted!"

Minami felt his blood freeze.

"Did you tell them?" he hissed, grabbing the other man by the collar and shaking him with each word. "Did you spill?"

Nakajima's silence only made him even more furious.

"Answer me!" he yelled.

"What did you want me to do?"

"Fucking _traitor_!"

He knew he was punching the other man so hard his knuckles would probably snap, but he couldn't possibly care less.

So many days of work, so many sleepless nights spent at the Headquarters so that nothing would go wrong when they finally made a move against the Omi, and now everything had just been flushed down the toilet.

"Aniki, stop, s _top_!"

He was so blind with anger that he barely noticed half a dozen of his own men had gathered around to pull him away from the bloodied figure on the ground.

"It's the Chairman who will decide what to do with him," one of them said.

By the time he had finally stopped struggling and got to his feet, sweat was running down his temples as his chest heaved up and down.

"Lock this bastard and all his men in the Coliseum," he panted, finally looking around and realising half of the Tojo's operatives had just been knocked out cold after fighting against each other.

How fucked were they, if they couldn't stay off each other's throats long enough to defeat an enemy they all had in common...

"Where’s my phone?" he asked, knowing that at that point only one person could truly help them crawl out of that hole before their entire clan went up in flames. " _Where the fuck is my phone?_ "

++++

_**Majima Makoto’s residence,** Shinjuku, Tokyo, 1:44 AM_

She had known that day would eventually come.

Come to think of it, she had had more than years to prepare, but the hope that clan wars were a thing of the past allowed her to go on with her life in blissful tranquility.

She could tell, just from the fast pacing around her, the endless, rushed whispers, the clicks and clanks of guns being passed around and checked, that those peaceful days were over.

“Wei?” she asked, when the familiar scent of sandalwood and vetiver filled her nostrils.

“Yes?”

A small smile curled the corners of her lips at the man’s energetic, almost ecstatic voice. Her assistant’s breathing was slow and deep, yet his blood seemed to be rushing through his veins with enough strength to make his entire body vibrate.

“Look at you…” she said quietly. “Out of all the people in this house, I can tell you are the one whose energy is at its highest.”

The counsellor paused, just in time to hear a faint chuckle.

"You like this, don’t you? Chaos, urgency, danger..."

"Old habits die hard," Wei Shen replied.

"Some habits never do," she said. "Maybe we should just embrace them."

Not everyone could stomach to see and do the things that man had had to endure while an enforcer for one of Hong Kong's most powerful triads.

Even fewer people had the mental strength to navigate that kind of territory without losing their sanity or their sense of purpose.

Wei Shen was truly one of a kind.

"A few things before I leave," Makoto said. "This house is now under your command.

As you know, there are two people here we need to protect at all costs," she continued, after drawing in a long breath. "And also, beware of Li Jiao."

Her words elicited a slightly surprised gasp.

"Under no circumstances let her go out, especially if it is to go after Ochida, that maniac," she explained. "I know she has been waiting to fight him for many years, but in her condition..." her voice trailed off as she shook her head. "I want to believe she would not be that reckless, but our mind works in funny ways when we’re angry, and she’s still very angry."

There was a click, and soon her hand was gently placed on the car door that had just been opened for her.

"You need to keep an eye on her."

"I will," her assistant said.

"It’s a lot of responsibility," she replied, after getting into the black bulletproof BMW, her door still open. "Do you really think you can handle it?"

"I know I can," the counsellor heard Wei Shen answer, his voice transpiring the same confidence as usual. "Good luck gathering the old crowd in Tsumino."

She raised her eyebrows, before drawing in a sharp breath and closing her door.

"Yeah…" she whispered, as the car slowly went past the gates and onto the road.

Convincing former yakuza members to help the Tojo after all the years it had taken them to acclimate to their new lifestyle was the last thing she wanted to do.

But, as it was, she really had no choice.

++++

In the meantime, inside a suite in one of the upper levels of the house, Asami Ryuichi stepped out of the shower with a disheartened sigh.

Much as he’d needed to freshen up, part of him wished he hadn't, so that he would still be able to smell Akihito on his own skin.

He knew, however, that clinging to that scent would mean holding on to a place where he could no longer be, and he could not afford to let his mind slip, not that night.

It was time to put aside his personal affairs and focus on the other matters demanding his attention.

“What is the situation?” he asked, not many minutes later, throwing a tie over his neck and proceeding to tie a Windsor knot as he entered the room where Kirishima was waiting for him.

“Minami just called,” the secretary replied. “Apparently their plans of attack leaked. The Nakajima family sold them to the Omi.”

One of his eyebrows shot up as he pulled a chair to sit across from his first assistant, but he couldn’t actually say he was surprised.

It looked like the time for the yakuza as an institution was really coming to an end. Not that they had ever been saints in disguise, oh no, but at least at some point in the past they still seemed to live by their own values, such as brotherhood and assistance to those in need.

These days, though, even those ideals appeared to have been forgotten a long time ago.

“They will need to start from scratch,” Kirishima said.

“How do they know if other families haven’t bailed as well?” Asami asked, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt with a slight frown.

“They don’t. They have reduced their strategic team to half of their original force to avoid that risk.”

He had just removed the plastic film around a new pack of Dunhills when the information registered on his brain.

“Half?” he asked.

He watched as Kirishima pushed his glasses farther up his nose.

“ _Half?_ ” he repeated.

When his assistant nodded quietly in response, he leaned back on his chair, allowing for a multitude of numbers to fill his mind as he led a cigarette to his lips.

“That leaves us outnumbered by 8 to 1…” he whispered.

“ _12_ to 1, actually,” Kirishima corrected, after a long, grave sigh. “I just got informed that there are Russian operatives working with the Omi in Shibuya.”

Asami pursed his lips, his hand automatically curling into a fist as Mikhail’s participation in those affairs became even more obvious.

“How many phone calls do I have to make?” he asked quietly, his gaze distant and menacing as he took a long drag off his Dunhill.

“Many,” the secretary replied, passing him a piece of paper filled with names and their respective contact information. “This is a tentative list. You might want to add more names.”

He scanned the contents of the list as he reached for his cell phone, noticing that they ranged from the Embassy of the United States to his own procurer.

“Fei Long?” he asked, frowning when the man’s name showed up now much farther to the left.

“We might need reinforcements,” the secretary explained.

“You mean I need to ask for his help?”

Once again, the other man fumbled with his glasses, clearly noticing the dissatisfaction in his voice.

“Given the circumstances…” Kirishima replied, his voice quiet and serious.

Asami tapped his cigarette on the ashtray in front of him, and for a very long moment neither of them said a single word.

“There is this... sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach.”

His words made the first assistant frown.

“As if something bad is about to happen…” he continued. “Something big. Like the night Mirai died.”

When he lifted his gaze from the desk to look at Kirishima’s face, he saw the eyes behind the glasses flash with what looked like a combination of grief and apprehension.

He paused, and brought the cigarette to his lips in an attempt to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling that he was walking towards the edge of a cliff, without knowing if the next step would eventually be the one to make him fall into a bottomless pit.

“If I could... understand this premonition, maybe I could do something to change it,” he said. “But I feel I'm running out of time…”

He knew that that kind of futile concern was not the thing either of them needed before going into battle, but if there was one person he could confide in, it had to be the man sitting across from him.

He had lost count of how many times since the beginning of his career he had needed Kirishima Kei to be his voice of reason, to make him snap out of his own troubled thoughts to do what was expected of him.

That night was no different, and as usual, the first assistant stepped up to the challenge.

“Maybe you just have to accept that whatever it is... It will happen no matter what,” the secretary said, his stoic face showing no signs of distress despite their dire circumstances. “Then you don't have to blame yourself for it happening in the first place.”

Asami nodded in silence, inhaling deeply as looked at the list of names on his hand.

“Yeah…” he replied quietly, before setting out to make the first call of many.

++++

_**Club Agape** , Shibuya, Tokyo, 2:01 AM_

Surrounded by at least half a dozen cranky Russian goons, Asami Ryuichi’s red-haired procurer threw his head back, exposing the smooth skin of his neck, and laughed.

His motion didn’t go unnoticed - even with his eyes averted to one of the doors of the club, he could feel he was being preyed upon, legs shifting closer to his as quiet gasps filled the room when he leaned forward to reveal a rather deep cleavage.

 _‘What a bunch of chasers we got here…’_ Sachi thought to himself, as a particularly heavy hand fell on one of his legs. _‘Of all the clubs they could have chosen…’_

But then, chances were it was probably rather complicated to pursue that kind of encounter in their country of origin, he assumed.

“Yes…” said the grave voice as he laughed graciously, arms outstretched when a tall, long-haired Chinese drag queen stood up to smooth her elegant satin dress. “You see, this lady here is my prima ballerina.”

The muscles of his face were beginning to hurt with all the fake smiling, but their guests didn’t seem to notice anything unusual in the tense looks he and the other hostesses in the bar would occasionally exchange. To them, they were nothing but a bunch of whores who could barely understand Japanese, let alone Russian.

Were they in for a surprise…

“Excuse me. Sachi, a supplier is on the phone.”

“Oh,” the procurer whispered, getting to her feet to stand next to one of her managing assistants. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.”

He ignored the unhappy groans that followed his departure, and by the time his long, slender fingers finally wrapped around the telephone receiver, his smile had already disappeared from his purple-tinted lips.

“Sachi speaking.”

_“Kirishima told me you called.”_

“Yes, sir, thanks for returning my call,” the procurer replied, his voice low and serious. “I take it he explained the shipment of vodka we just got?”

_“Yes, he did.”_

Sachi took that moment to look over his shoulder. Apparently, the Russian Mafia was still very entertained reviewing their plans for the night, unaware that at least three of the people serving them were fluent in their language.

He let out a proud smile.

His personnel was much more qualified than any of those idiots could possibly imagine.

 _“Collect as much information as you can,”_ he heard the baritone, orgasm-inducing voice of Asami Ryuichi continue. _“And then you know what to do.”_

“Yes, sir.”

Without another word, he finished the call, smoothed his long, multi layered purple dress, and poured himself a shot of tequila.

“What should we do?” asked one of his senior entertainers, who was also keeping tabs on the unsuspecting patrons.

“What you have been doing so far,” Sachi replied, after putting down the shot glass and clearing his throat. “Pretend you don’t understand Russian, and that you find their idiocy funny.”

The other drag queen made a face, and the procurer snorted.

“Smile,” he continued, after grabbing his assistant’s fake boobs and propping them up. “Show some cleavage… Milk them for what they’re worth. Or… _not_ worth, in that case.”

They both exchanged a look of disdain.

“When they no longer tell you anything of interest…” the procurer whispered, looking over the other man’s shoulder to ensure their guests were far too busy harassing other employees to pay them any mind, and then retrieving a full bottle of vodka from a locked drawer. “You know what to do.”

The managing assistant let out a malicious smile as he picked up the tray with the mysterious bottle, hips swaying sensually as he walked back to the booth where his presence was being demanded.

++++

_**Baishe Headquarters,** Hong Kong, 2:32 AM_

“So?” Fei Long asked, leaning back on his chair after an extensive explanation of his intentions. “My private jet is ready, we can get to Tokyo in two hours.”

He laced his fingers together, and waited for an answer that was taking far too long to come.

_He did not have that kind of time._

“I hope you have understood the seriousness of the situation,” he added, as the leader of the Jingweon Mafia, Heung Geun-hye, continued to look at him with a mix of suspicion and contemplation.

“I have,” the old man finally replied. “However... Are you sure that is the right thing to do?”

Fei Long allowed a wrinkle of dissatisfaction to show in his impeccable calm facade.

“Are you questioning my judgement?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no…” the Korean leader was quick to say, waving a hand apologetically.  “But Fei Long… I cannot ignore the fact that your relationship with Asami Ryuichi has always been…” his voice trailed off as he stared at his own hands, “... _convoluted,_ at best.”

His eyes then shifted once again to Fei Long’s face, and there was no hint of disdain in them - just a considerable amount of concern.

“I'm just trying to understand whether your motivation this time is personal or if you are _truly_ doing this for the sake of business,” he added.

The leader of the Baishe let out a quiet, unhappy chuckle.

_That was how low he had sunk._

It didn't matter whether his plans made sense or not, if he was acting on the best intentions or the worst, if the strategy he had just presented was as coherent and powerful as it got: people would always question his ability to act with neutrality towards Asami Ryuichi.

He couldn't blame them, really.

Good as he was at keeping his cards close to his chest when it came to his feelings and intentions, that man was bound to be his Achilles heel until the very end of his life.

He inhaled deeply after crossing his legs with the usual grace, his very long ponytail sliding slowly over his shoulder as he turned his head to stare at the older man in front of him.

"I am going to Tokyo to end this joke, Heung. I just need to know if you're coming or not."

Before the man could answer, though, Yoh entered the room and stopped by his side, with one of the house's cordless phones in his hand.

"Asami Ryuichi wants to talk to you."

Speaking of the devil.

"Yes?" he said, after leading the phone to his ear without much emotion.

After a long pause, he could finally hear the man on the other side of the line draw in a long breath.

_"You must be aware of what is going on in Tokyo, aren't you?"_

"I might be, yes,” he replied.

_"Where do you stand?"_

"What is that supposed to mean?"

_"Fei Long, I don't have time for your games. You know very well what that means."_

He raised his eyes to the Korean leader, who seemed to be following the exchange with growing curiosity.

 _"What side are you on?"_ he heard Asami ask.

"Do I have to take a side?” he asked calmly. “What if I just choose to remain neutral? After all... to take sides on a war in Japan, which happens to be miles away from my jurisdiction…” he made sure to speak as slowly as he could, staring at his own fingers as he did so. “What is in it for me?"

When he finally finished speaking, there was nothing but silence on the other side of the line.

"Are you still there?" Fei Long asked, his voice still casual despite his increasingly quick pulse.

_"What do you want?"_

Asami’s voice, on the other hand, was many notes away from amiable. He could almost feel the man’s furious eyes burning his skin, despite all the miles that stood between them.

"In exchange for my help?" he asked. "What are you willing to give me?"

This time, the only response was the continuous beeping of a call that had just been disconnected.

_Typical._

After letting out a sigh, he passed the phone back to Yoh, who excused himself and headed towards the door.

"What now?" the older man across from him asked.

"Nothing changes," he replied. "I stand by everything I said before. Regardless of our personal affairs, it needs to be done."

His eyes left no room for doubt, and anyone looking at him at that moment would know that he too was a force to be reckoned with.

"Fine,” the Korean leader finally conceded, after a tired shrug. “I hope this plan of yours won't drag both of our organisations into the mud. Fei Long,” he added, before getting to his feet. "The Jingweon Mafia is at your disposal."

With the faintest smirk, Fei Long watched as the other man bowed respectfully.

"Excellent,” he said at last, returning the gesture with a bow of his own after getting up as well. “How much time do you need to gather your men?"

"How much time can you give me?"

"None."

Heung’s eyes went wide, but he remained silent.

"I'll be waiting at my private hangar at Chek Lap Kok,” Fei Long said at last, before making his way towards the main hall and joining the small entourage waiting for him with a considerable amount of bags and boxes containing all kinds of guns and ammunition. "Be quick."

++++

_**Millenium Tower - Omi Operations** , Minato, Tokyo, 3:37 AM_

“The Tojo is planning to ambush our men at the Fixer,” said one of the Omi officers assembled around a large conference desk.

“You mean the club?”

“Yeah,” the man replied. “I say we send an extra ten operatives, just to avoid problems.”

One of the officers closer to the exit door, however, did not look or sound as confident.

“What if Asami Ryuichi shows up?” he asked quietly.

“He won't.”

The voice coming from somewhere near the window made everyone else go quiet.

“Leave him to me,” Sengoku Hiroshi added, as he gazed at the city many floors below.

In a matter of seconds, he was approached by a taller, thinner man, who had been on the phone for the past five minutes.

“Target has arrived in Shinjuku,” he heard his lieutenant whisper, as if not to draw the attention of the others in the room.

He excused himself, picked up his jacket and headed towards the elevator, with Ochida closely behind.

“Give orders to approach,” he said, and waited until the other man put the call on speaker so that he could address his operatives in the field.

 _“We have him,”_ said a male voice on the other side of the line.

“Check his phone.”

After moments of relative silence, in which he could hear distant voices arguing and then the faint sound of a punch followed by a cough, he let out an impatient grunt.

“So?” he asked.

_“There's an address in one of the last messages.”_

The bald man and his subordinate exchanged a look of triumph.

“Good,” he whispered, a satisfied smirk curling the corners of his crooked mouth. “Rough him up, but make sure he's still conscious,” he said. “And forward the message, we will meet you there soon.”

By the time he ended the call, Ochida had already entered the address in the GPS of their car.

“The Majima Headquarters,” the lieutenant whispered, frowning as he looked at the screen. “That's not good.”

“It's not ideal, but it can be done,” Sengoku replied, sounding deeply unimpressed. “All we need is to lure the girl out of hiding, and act fast, because those maniacs will come gunning at us as soon as we get close to those gates.”

After starting the car, Ochida nodded, and his expression finally softened into some kind of elated lunacy.

“And when we do, you go in,” the bald man continued. “Take our best men with you, buy me some time.”

“You're only taking her?” Ochida asked. “What about the photographer?”

“ _If_ he's in the house too, you go ahead and do whatever you want when you get to him,” Sengoku replied. “My goal is the girl and the girl alone. And when Asami comes after her, I’ll make sure to send father and daughter to kingdom come, together.”

Not before making the bastard suffer, of course.

His life, his businesses, his connections had been burnt to the ground thanks to the interference of that son of a bitch and that little whore of a hacker.

That night, the two of them would finally pay.

“Get rid of two problems at once…” he whispered, lost in his own thoughts.

“What if he stays?” the lieutenant asked, raising an eyebrow. “In the house, with the boy?”

A bitter, cruel smirk curled the corners of Sengoku’s mouth.

That was extremely unlikely, given the plans he had for the girl.

“He won’t,” he finally replied. “Trust me.”

++++

_**Hilton Hotel,** Shinjuku, Tokyo, 3:49 AM_

In the presidential suite of the Hilton, men in black suits walked around with phones glued to their ears, but Mikhail Arbatov seemed completely oblivious to the hustle and bustle around him.

His brief trip to Hong Kong had not gone as well as he had imagined, and he had been feeling restless ever since his arrival in Tokyo earlier that evening, for reasons he refused to share with his subordinates.

“We lost contact with our men in Shibuya,” said one of them.

“When was the last time they contacted us?” the Russian leader asked.

“Almost three hours ago,” the other man replied. “Said they were heading to a club to kill some time before everyone gathered at the Fixer.”

“What’s the name of the club?”

“Agape.”

A bitter smirk curled the corners of Mikhail’s mouth.

“Idiots. That place belongs to Asami, they must all be dead by now.”

Mindlessly, he continued to roll the beads of his bracelet between his fingers, his thoughts many miles -  and years - away.

“Give me the phone,” he whispered, crossing his legs after refilling his tumbler with vodka.

The soft click on the other sound of the line was the only indication that his call had been accepted.

“Ryuichi,” he said, his voice casual as usual although his eyes were glassy and distant. “I apologise for my untimely call, I'm sure you must be quite busy.”

_“What do you want, Mikhail?”_

“I haven't heard back from Kazuki,” he answered, after faking a disinterested sigh. “The last thing I learnt from my men is that he was spotted entering Sion, but not getting out.”

After taking another sip from his drink, he forced himself to smile, although he felt empty inside.

“Did you kill him?” he asked, still sounding detached and unconcerned.

 _“You should not have gotten involved in this,”_ he heard Asami reply, after a long pause. _“It will not end well for you.”_

“I'll take that as a yes.”

 _“I did not kill him,”_ the man quickly replied. _“But yes, he is dead.”_

Other than the white knuckles wrapped a little too tight around the glass, the blond man gave no indication of being affected by the news.

 _“Is that all you wanted to know?”_ Asami asked, and the man’s deep voice brought Mikhail back to reality.

“Sengoku knows you have a daughter,” he said, and for the first time his voice was serious and  stripped of all pretense, the words coming out of his mouth bluntly, with no games. “He had been torturing Kazuki for days bef-”

The call was over before he could finish his sentence.

For a long minute, he kept holding the phone in one of his hands, the nearly empty glass in the other.

He felt like his head was floating above the clouds, but not in a comforting way.

“The Omi has called, they are asking for reinforcements to take over Chiba,” he heard one of his subordinates say. “What are your orders?”

“No,” he replied shortly, eyes still averted to his glass.

“No?”

“And tell our men in Tokyo to retreat,” he added.

His words quickly made whispers and gasps spread like wildfire.

“Mikhail, are you getting cold feet?” asked one of his oldest operatives, who therefore felt he was entitled to address him much more informally than he should.

“No. And I owe you no explanations,” he hissed in response, his arctic-blue eyes burning dangerously as he spoke. “Get me Fei Long on the line.”

A full minute had gone by before the man spoke again.

“He's not answering.”

The sound of glass shattering against a nearby wall made everyone jump on the spot.

After drawing in a long breath, Mikhail glanced at what was left of his broken tumbler and straightened his back, his face gradually recovering its usual nonchalant expression after the brief outburst of fury.

“Find out what Asami did with Kazuki's body,” he said, buttoning up his white jacket and getting ready to leave the room.

“But... how…”

The sour glare elicited by the words made the man avert his eyes to the ground.

“Yes, sir.”

++++

_**Majima Makoto’s residence** , Shinjuku, Tokyo, 3:49 AM_

Leaning against the open window of the room near the kitchen, Takaba Akihito sighed when the first heavy drops of water hit the glass.

The rain had come out of nowhere, the sound of rolling thunder stifling the hustle and bustle that up until then had been filling the air in every corner of Majima Makoto’s house.

He zipped up his jacket and covered his head with the hood when the rain grew thicker, a _whoosh_ of cold wind making him shiver as he watched the trees sway far ahead.

He jumped every time lightning bolts lit the horizon, his eyes quickly locating men in suits running to take cover somewhere in the backyard.

The smell of wet soil and grass usually made him feel at ease, relaxed, grounded, but that night even that felt strange and foreboding.

He hoped the sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach was nothing but the stress of seeing so many people carrying guns walking from one side to the other, their worried faces announcing that the worst part of the night hadn't even begun yet.

His eyes automatically shifted to the gate.

Asami was still in the house; for the past two hours he had been locked in a room with Kirishima. Every now and then, Tojo officers and Majima’s security personnel would go in and out of the room, whispering hurriedly to each other before disappearing around a corner and going past the gates in their black vehicles.

In the meantime, twice as many men had made their way into the house, with the kind of weapons he had only seen in movies.

He felt his heart would burst out of his chest.

To think that at some point in the past, he would literally jump into any kind of situation that would allow him to register criminals in action… It wasn't until he himself shot a gun for the first time that he fully understood what it meant to kill, or at least attempt to.

That was when he had begun to hesitate.

And that, he thought, was what had perhaps put his career on the back burner, more than Asami himself. Though, it was true that he would have never been through all that crap if it hadn't been for Asami in the first place…

“Why can't you just have a regular job like everybody else…” he found himself whispering, while staring at the large pools of water forming in the garden below.

 _‘If he had a regular job you might have never met him to begin with…’_ his mind was quick to point out.

He closed his eyes, and focused on the gentle throbbing in his lower body reminding him that what had happened hours prior had not been a dream.

He could have showered, he’d had plenty of time to do so after Asami left the room. And still, he couldn’t really find it in him to wash away the scent that the other man’s body had left on his own skin, that strangely sophisticated mix of nicotine, amber and blood mandarin of his cologne that belonged to him and no one else.

Mindlessly, he had touched the mark of his teeth on the inside of his thighs, the bruises his strong fingers had left on his hips as he came… He could still taste the other man’s sweat and saliva in his own mouth, the confessions that had followed shortly after still so vivid in his mind they seemed to have been burnt into his soul.

He had waited so long for those answers, for those words, and now that they had finally been given, so honestly, _so clearly_ , he knew the decision was his to make.

_What was he going to do with his life?_

_What was Asami about to do with his?_

It felt pointless to even try to plan for the future when he didn’t even know if the man he loved was going to make it through the night.

His throat was so constricted he felt he was going to choke.

It was that kind of convoluted life that had brought them together, yes, and that was unlikely to change. If they were to stay together, that was something they both would have to accept.

Asami wouldn’t be able to shelter him from harm forever. Hell, he didn’t even want to be sheltered from harm, it made him feel powerless and incompetent.

But he had to admit he was not exactly qualified for that kind of situation, at least not when it came to combat skills. He was good at escaping, at surviving, but not at shooting people or charging at them. Come to think of it, it had been a miracle he had made it that far, and he knew that was largely due to the fact Asami had saved his ass more times than he could count.

“Stay away from the window, please.”

Wei Shen’s voice made him jump on the spot.

“I just wanted some fresh air,” he replied, crossing his arms with a frown, “since I can't go outside.”

“Keep the window open if you want,” the other man replied, moving closer to him as he spoke. “But stay away from it.”

“I thought this house was a fortress.”

“It is,” Wei replied. “It is a fortress essentially because we are cautious, so don't expose yourself.”

The photographer drew in a long, deep breath.

He knew it would be in everyone’s interest if he just stayed put, but hiding from the rest of the world like that made him feel like a coward - one extremely useless, at that.

“Uh… Wei?”

“Hmm?”

“When this is over, will you teach me how to use a gun?” Akihito asked quietly, still looking out of the window as he sat on the edge of the desk.

“Why?” he heard the other man ask. “You don’t need a gun to defend yourself.”

Akihito swallowed when the rain grew even stronger, thunder rolling louder and closer as the minutes went by.

“I know…” he whispered, letting his eyes drop to his own hands. “But I need it to defend others…”

Wei Shen seemed on the verge of opening his mouth to respond, when a male voice came out of the walkie talk tucked under his belt.

_“Boss?”_

“Yes?” Wei Shen replied.

_“Tanimura Masayoshi is at the gate.”_

Akihito squared his shoulders, before walking towards the window just in time to see a man with a black umbrella standing in front of the main entrance.

“Tanimura?” the assistant asked, with a confused frown. “What does he want?”

“I called him,” the photographer replied.

Wei Shen narrowed his eyes as he led the small transceiver to his lips.

“Let him in,” he said, his voice showing a certain level of discomfort at the unexpected arrival.

“Can I go to the kitchen?” Akihito asked, his tone pleading and urgent.

He really did not want to talk to Tanimura in the same room where he and Asami had had sex only hours prior.

Not without a frown of concern, Wei Shen nodded his permission, and the photographer hurried out of the room.

That didn’t seem like the right time for the conversation he and Tanimura were about to have, but he felt it would be a mistake to wait another hour to have everything sorted out between them.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, as soon as he spotted the detective putting away his umbrella by the kitchen door.

“How are you doing?” Tanimura asked, his light brown eyes scanning his face with worry.

“Fine, I guess.”

“It's a good thing that you're staying here,” he said, after letting out a sigh. “Outside is not safe.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Yeah…” the cop replied,  pulling a small stool to sit next to him by the table.

Akihito then noticed that Tanimura seemed to be soaking wet from the knee down - the rain outside was probably much stronger than he imagined.

All of a sudden, he felt really bad for making the other man come all the way to the counsellor’s house, in the middle of a storm and an impending war, so that they could talk.

“Do you want me to put your clothes in the dryer?” he offered feebly.

“No, that's ok.”

He could see the anxiety in the light brown eyes as the detective looked at his face expectantly, and that made him feel even worse.

“Right…” he whispered, dropping his gaze to the ground. “Tea?”

“Yeah, tea is good.”

The minutes that went by as they waited for the water to boil were probably some of the longest and most uncomfortable of his life.

As soon as the kettle began to whistle, Akihito jumped from his stool and proceeded to add herbs and dried fruit to a teapot, gently pouring water over them and finding the entire ritual strangely relaxing.

By the time he walked back to where the cop was sitting, his mind was much clearer and his chest, no longer constricted.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked quietly, as Tanimura took the first sip from his cup.

“Sure.”

“Was it your dream?” Akihito whispered. “To become a cop?”

The question seemed to have taken the detective by surprise.

“I don't know if it was a dream…” he finally answered, after thinking long and hard for a moment. “My mother was a prostitute, and my father was the cop in charge of her case. She was his informant,” he explained, eyes distant as he spoke, as if he was revisiting long-lost memories.  

“They fell in love, and I was born,” he continued. “When they died, I was adopted by a colleague of his. Another cop.”

He paused to take a sip of his tea, and shrugged before speaking again.

“I guess I never thought of becoming anything that was not a cop,” he said, with a quiet chuckle. “So I don't think it was a dream, just… my _calling?_ I don't know.”

Akihito nodded, smiling softly as he rested his face on one of his hands.

“Why are you asking?” Tanimura asked.

“Do you have a dream?”

Again, the detective raised both eyebrows, looking thoughtful and surprised.

“I… Probably,” he said, after scratching his neck with a faint smile on his lips. “I just can't think of anything off the top of my head,” he chuckled. “Why are you asking me those things?”

Akihito averted his gaze to his own cup of tea, a small smile still curling the corners of his lips.

For the past few days, he had been feeling very lonely.

True, he had been able to talk to his heart’s content, but talking to a counsellor was not the same thing as talking to a friend.

And when it came to friends, he knew he was leaving much to be desired. After his fallout with Maya, he had barely bothered to return Kou’s or Takato’s calls.

For someone that held no grudges, he was certainly doing quite the shitty job.

“I was just curious,” he said, lifting his eyes back to Tanimura’s face.

Despite everything, Akihito still felt very much at ease with that man.  

“I'm not sure I know what I want to do with my life,” he continued, his voice trembling slightly as he finally got some of his worries out of his chest. “I mean, I love photography, to capture things in my viewfinder, I know that's what I want to do for the rest of my life, but… I feel I’m falling behind.”

The detective remained silent, studying his face as he spoke.

“Like… My friends, they… They are my age but they seem to have achieved so much more than me,” Akihito explained. “College degrees, solid jobs, a family...”

Those were not things he had aimed for himself anyway, and he had never thought much about it until that night,  when Asami talked about the gap in his future and he realized that his own plans for the years to come were just as blurry.

“I wonder if those were their dreams,” he whispered, “or if things just happened and they accepted it.”

“Maybe both things,” Tanimura replied, after a small shrug. “Sometimes you set out to pursue a dream and… things change and you end up getting other stuff instead.”

Akihito nodded, feeling those words resonate deeply inside him.

“Plans change,” the cop continued. “What we want can change. I don't think there's anything wrong with you,” he said, after taking another sip of his tea. “It just shows you're open to possibilities.”

When the light brown eyes finally met his again, there was a shadow of fear and sadness that made it clear the detective already knew what was coming next.

“You're not coming, are you?” he asked quietly. “With me?”

Akihito felt the corners of his eyes prickle.

It was painful to have one’s heart broken, but it was even more painful to break someone else’s.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, trying to stifle a sob.

“Don't be,” Tanimura replied, with a shaky smile. “Never be sorry for pursuing your own happiness.”

His voice broke at the end, and he hid his own sadness by taking his cup of tea once again to his lips, even though Akihito was fairly certain there was no tea left in there.

“And if you think your happiness is here, then…”

“He didn't actually promise me anything,” the photographer was quick to add. “I have no idea what is going to happen. Neither does he.”

After wiping his tears in the sleeve of his jacket, he let out another faint chuckle.

“You were right, I do need a fresh start,” he continued. “But I know that my fresh start is here. With him,” he said, a shaky smile curving his lips as he spoke. “It's the only thing I'm sure of.”

He saw when the detective drew in a long, deep breath, his gaze distant as he stared at the table.

“He is a very lucky man,” he said. “And so am I.”

When Tanimura averted his gaze to the floor and the brown orbs were once again hidden from sight, Akihito finally saw two bright drops slide down his cheeks.

“I'm grateful for the time I got to spend with you,” the detective whispered. “I-I wouldn't do anything different.”

The photographer pulled the other man into a hug, his face resting against Tanimura’s neck as the detective’s fingers flexed against his back, his chest expanding and contracting quietly as they held each other.

“Thank you.”

What exactly Akihito was thanking the other man for was hard to describe, but the silence that followed felt soothing and peaceful.

Perhaps there was nothing else that needed to be said, really.

++++

“Maya?”

He knew it was too soon to force the girl to interact with other people - namely, _him_ \- but he really had no choice.

He had to get her out of that place right away.

“I know you want to be alone, but…” Asami said, when no response came from the other side of the door. “You will have plenty of time to be on your own from now on, could you please just open the door?”

Still nothing.

“Maya?” he asked again, trying to open the door just to find out it was locked.

And _that_ was as far as he could go without resorting to his own methods.

“If you don’t open the door, I will shoot the lo-”

At last, there was a click, and slowly his daughter appeared from inside the room, her head hidden by the hood of her sweatshirt.

Dark strands of hair covered the part of her face that was not obscured by the hood, and to make matters worse the girl didn’t look inclined to raise her eyes from the ground.

“Maya, it’s time,” he whispered.

“For what?” she asked, her eyes still glued to her own boots.

“You are travelling to Detroit, tonight.”

The words finally made her avert her gaze to his face, and she looked so pale and miserable that she seemed to have aged many years in the few hours they had spent apart.

It made his heart clench uncomfortably inside his chest.

“My visa is not ready yet,” she muttered, her voice low and hoarse.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, placing a hand on her lower back and urging her to go down the stairs. “I talked to the Ambassador myself an hour ago, he will be waiting for you at the hangar, with your passport and the other documents you need.”

He saw the girl’s eyes dart back and forth, but she seemed too confused and tired to voice a response.

“The helicopter is already outside, you will be there in a few minutes,” he explained. “Mine will go with you, you two will be flying in one of my jets.”

“What about my things?”

“Buy whatever you need when you get there,” Asami replied, after retrieving an envelope from one of his pockets. “I got you a credit card.”

Still in silence, the girl reached for the envelope and put it inside the pocket of her sweatshirt.

“If it asks for a pin, it's your birthday,” he said quietly, noticing that the reddish eyes were once again glistening with tears.

“Can I say goodbye to Akihito?”

Her request made him blink rapidly.

Last he knew, the photographer and _that cop_ were hugging each other in the kitchen, but he figured that a brief farewell could be arranged.

“Yes, of c-”

“And I want to say goodbye to Kou, too,” the girl muttered, after wiping her tears on the collar of her sweater. “Can we wait? Maybe he’s on his way…”

_And then it all finally clicked._

All night long, he had been looking for the one thing that he might have overlooked, the one thing that was making him uncomfortable, that one premonition.

“You told him to come here?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Some hours ago, yes,” Maya replied. “But he’s not answering my calls.”

He picked up his phone and dialled the designer’s number, hearing it ring once, twice, _three times._

Maybe he was really paranoid, but he could swear he could hear a faint ringtone coming from somewhere outside.

When the call finally connected, his heart knew ahead of time what he would hear, and he hated himself for not seeing it any earlier.

_“Looking for your son-in-law, Asami?”_

The words were immediately followed by the sound of footsteps hurrying towards the main lounge, a group of his operatives gathering in front of the large glass panels separating the house’s main entrance from the gates.

_“You might want to take a look at the gates.”_

After inhaling deeply, he motioned for Mine to get closer, and gave his daughter’s wrist a gentle squeeze.

“Stay here,” he said, ignoring her confused frown as he walked towards the windows, his phone once again close to his ear.

_“You thought you had it all covered, huh?”_

His staff quickly stepped aside so that he could see the reason for all the commotion.

 _“But see, the devil is in the details,”_ the voice that he soon recognized as being Sengoku Hiroshi’s was dripping with poison. _“And I think you missed this one.”_

A loud clank made it clear that something had just collided against the heavy gates with enough force to make them shake.

In that case, _someone,_ whose face was covered in so many injuries that not even the heavy rain was enough to wash away all the blood, and that Asami was able to recognize anyway because he was, without any doubt, the one detail he had missed.

_Kou._

  



	51. Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins, and no one is safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: expect this chapter and the next two (or three?) to be rather violent. Beware of main characters getting seriously injured, raped, terrorized (not necessarily in that order). Also, cliffhangers, because all the fighting will take a while to end, and much as I would love to, I just can't squeeze it all into one chapter! (Or two, as I now realize.)
> 
> Also: as Akihito himself states in the previous chapter, he lacks combat skills so the way he handles the situation with Li Jiao is… uh... amateurish, to say the least, but it is what it is! *deep sigh*
> 
> And finally: The good news is that with this chapter and the next we are officially reaching the proverbial “rock bottom”, and that means things can’t get any worse. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

“Don’t you love the smell of rain?”

9-year old Asami Ryuichi lifted his eyes from his desk to look at his mother, her long, dark hair blowing in the wind as she stared out of the window, and saw her gaze was distant, as if she was looking for something or someone amidst the mist covering the trees beyond the backyard of their house in the mountains of Kyōgoku.

“It reminds me of dreams I never had…”

Sometimes, she would say things he really did not understand.

He let his eyes fall back to the unfinished butterfly and all its shades of blue and purple and green, one of the many illustrations in the many coloring books she had bought him over the years.

Maybe she expected him to become an artist like her, someday. Thanks to her efforts, he already had it in him to appreciate paintings that the other kids his age could not understand.

Hopefully, one day she would teach him her other talents too.

Like hunting.

His mother was a great hunter.

That day, she had returned home with a deer. A few days before, it had been a bear.

“I will miss all of this when we move to Sapporo,” she had told him, on their last meal in their mountains.

In less than a week, it would be his first day at a new school. One that would cost his mother much more money than she could afford, but one where he would be able to take better advantages of his natural talents.

He wondered what those were.

School had always been too easy.

The comforting smell of the stew coming from the large pot placed between them made his thoughts dissipate into a cloud of hunger.

“Can we find deer in Sapporo? he asked.

His mother smiled quietly in response.

“One day, you will plant your own crops,” she then replied. “And they will not grow, because there won’t be rain.”

His younger self had noticed the precise moment in which her eyes had turned glassy and distant, as if she was speaking to someone other than him, someone that neither of them could see.

“So you will do it again the next season, and this time they will grow,” she continued, her voice low and melodic, each word falling from her lips like a part of a strange song. “But the insects will come, and destroy them.”

It was, at the same time, calming and _very scary_.

“So you will try again, and again, and one day, they will yield fruit.”

And then she blinked, and her eyes regained their usual warmth and strength.

“And that’s when the real work begins,” she said.

38-year old Asami Ryuichi still remembered every single word.

When lightning cut the sky once more, bathing the gates with a bright, ghostly explosion of light, he had to blink multiple times to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him.

But they were, of course. So was his mind.

With her hair still blowing in the wind, her flowery dress dry despite the rain, he saw his mother staring at him from the place where Kou had been moments prior.

That would have been bad enough, but the moment he saw his own daughter materialize next to her, he had the horrible feeling the whole thing was more than a hallucination.

_“Sir, I need an answer **now.** ”_

When he shifted his eyes to the woman’s left and saw Akihito on the other side of the gate as well, with a faint shadow that he could almost swear was Kirishima’s right behind him, he wondered if he had really reached that breaking point, in which his own fears were affecting his perception of reality.

_“Sir?”_

The problem was, his instincts never failed.

**_“Asami-sama!”_ **

It was Kirishima screaming on the other side of the line that saved him from his own thoughts.

“What?” he asked.

 _“They are using Kou as a shield,”_ the secretary replied. _“It’s impossible to get a clear shot from where I am.”_

When Asami looked at the gate again, it was Akihito’s friend that he saw, his bruised face still pressed against the bars, whoever was holding him at gunpoint hiding behind him.

It didn’t matter where Kirishima was positioned, Kou would be in the way of any bullet shot from inside the house.

_“I might end up killing them both.”_

His assistant’s words made him avert his gaze to Maya, who was beginning to awake from her stupor to finally get a grasp at what was going on.

He had to find a way to get her out of that place, and he had to do it fast.

“What weapon are you using?” he whispered, frowning as he considered his options.

_“A CheyTac.”_

With that kind of high-precision sniper rifle, Kirishima would only need one shot to take the enemy down, but that also meant said enemy’s head would blow up in a mist of grey matter.

Given the circumstances, _so would Kou’s._

 _“Give me the girl, Asami,”_ a voice echoed from somewhere beyond the gates, stifled by the rain but loud enough to be heard by everyone inside the house. _“Give me the girl, and her boyfriend lives.”_

_Bullshit._

For as far as they all could remember, the deal between the yakuza and the authorities was that they could turn a blind eye at all the illegal gambling and prostitution joints, at the swindling, at the extortion, but never at civilians getting killed. Therefore, that was a line that syndicates did not cross.

He knew, though, that Sengoku Hiroshi and his men danced to their own tune.

It was a matter of time until they killed the designer on the spot.

_“Sir, what are your orders?”_

And that was the kind of decision that he had to make.

To let the young man die by the enemy’s hand, or to risk killing him himself. At the very least in the second case he had a better chance to regain control of the situation...

Worst case scenario, Akihito and Maya would hate him for the rest of their lives, but perhaps that was the price he would have to pay to keep them both alive.

_“Sir, awaiting your orders to shoot.”_

“Do the best you can,” he finally replied, before ending the call.

His eyes shifted once again to the gate, and he nearly crushed the phone in his hand when he realized the rain had grown even thicker.

Even if Kirishima did his best, with such limited visibility and a target that wouldn’t stop wriggling, Kou surviving that shot would be a miracle.

When the bullet finally traveled to its destination from three floors above them, he only had time to see the two bodies collapse, a bloody mist surrounding the area where their heads had been a second prior.

And then, nothing else happened.

No one else showed up.

No one outside spoke.

He quickly realized why.

“It’s a distraction,” he said, reaching for one of the guns holstered against his chest after once again leading the phone to his ear. “They’re coming in through another side, Kirishima, have our men cover the perimeter of the-”

He had just turned around to finally walk towards Maya and lead her to the helicopter waiting outside, when he nearly tripped on the unconscious figure of her bodyguard.

_“Kou!”_

“Stop the girl!” he heard one of his men yell, as his daughter’s screams echoed outside.

_**“Kooou!”** _

“How the hell did she get outside?” he found himself shouting as soon as Suoh joined him, both of them running towards the main door.

They were no farther than ten steps away when the ground beneath their feet shook, giving them barely any time to acknowledge the windows to their right shattering before the blast wind hurled them both across the room.

++++

Still in the kitchen, Akihito had to brace himself against one of the counters not to fall when the ground beneath his feet rippled, the deafening sound of an explosion outside making him grimace.

“What the-?”

The entire place seemed to tremble, the utensils that had been hanging from hooks over the kitchen counters clattering loudly as they fell to the floor.

“Akihito, wait!”

He ignored Tanimura’s voice behind him as he hurried to the glass door connecting them to the backyard, and his jaw dropped slightly when he realized one of the walls protecting the house had just collapsed, debris and dust covering part of the garden.

“Get down!”

He was tackled to the ground a second after spotting a man on the other side of the street sporting an RPG.

In a matter of seconds, he felt the ground shake again, tiny pieces of glass raining over both of them as they covered their heads.

When he finally looked up, he saw the glass doors were gone, and that pieces of metal and rubber were falling from the sky like small balls of fire.

His whole body shook in fear when he followed the trail of destruction leading to the helipad three levels above, and the hurried voices coming from multiple sides at once made his stomach sink.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he whispered, lips going pale when he finally realized Asami’s helicopter, the same one that had rescued them less than a year prior, had been blown to pieces. “Asami.”

His feet moved of their own accord as he walked into the backyard, eyes darting around frantically as he looked for the usual familiar faces.

He needed to find Asami.

“He was not in that helicopter…” he mumbled to himself. “He was not-”

_**“Kooou!”** _

His own thoughts were interrupted when Maya’s pained cry echoed in his ears.

_Kou?_

“Kou?” he asked, this time aloud, picking up his step when he finally spotted the girl running towards the gate.

“Akihito, stop!”

He knew Tanimura was chasing him, but he couldn’t possibly care less.

When he saw the two immovable bodies lying on the ground on the other side of the gate, everything else around him disappeared.

_That could not be true._

“Somebody open the gates!” he saw Maya scream, letting her knees sink to the ground, the thick, crimson red liquid pool where Kou’s head was resting flowing from under the iron bars.

“Kou!” Akihito found himself screaming as well.

“Akihito, stop!”

When Tanimura once again tackled him to the ground, he felt half of his body sinking onto the muddy grass, but the icy cold water seeping through his clothes barely registered in his brain.

“Stop!” he heard the cop scream, holding both of his arms.

“Kou…”

His voice was nothing but a whisper as he tried to move forward, to get closer to the gate, to take a better look at the bodies on the ground.

_He could not be dead._

“Akihito, _stop,_ you’ll get yourself killed.”

“I have to get to him!”

“There’s nothing y-”

He didn’t hear the end of that sentence, even because Tanimura had not managed to finish it.

Once again, he was reminded of the cop’s strength as he pulled his body closer to the wall as if it was no big deal, just in time to get both of them out of the way of the SUV that had just come crashing into the garden, sending a part of the gate up in the air as it skidded along the muddy path leading to the yard.

“Fuck,” he heard Tanimura whisper when a group of men got out of the car and rushed to where Maya was. “Get away from her!”

Akihito could almost feel the cop’s conflict when his fingers tightened around his wrist, half of his body determined to stay rooted on the spot as he protected him from sight with his body, the other half desperate to move forward to fight the enemy.

“We can’t let them take her,” he whispered, and there was silent understanding in the brief glance they managed to exchange.

If they had to die, at least they would die doing the right thing.

By the time they finally moved forward, Maya had already managed to knock down at least two of the goons that had been uselessly trying to get their hands on her, her moves so powerful and precise he felt he was watching a professional wrestler in action.

But not even the most skilled fighter had a chance against a gun.

Akihito gasped when the girl’s knees hit the ground after one of the men pistol whipped her, her lithe body quickly disappearing into the car as the group made their way to the vehicle and left just as fast as they had arrived.

“No. _Maya!_ ” Akihito screamed, trying to regain his balance after his feet slid along the muddy path. “Maya!”

“Shit!”

“We have to tell Asami,” the photographer mumbled, covering his mouth with his hands, his mind spinning so fast he felt he was going to pass out.

“Tanimura!”

He barely heard Wei Shen’s voice behind them.

“Takaba-san! Where is she?” the man asked. “Where is the girl?”

“They took her, the car,” he answered, after a moment of struggle trying to breathe and find words at the same time. “They… they took off, it was so fast, we, I, we-”

“Fuck,” the assistant screamed, leading both hands to his head, a pistol firmly secured in one of them. “You two, get inside, now.”

“I need to get to Kou,” the photographer replied, hot tears finally filling his eyes when he realized his friend was still not moving.

His eyes darted from one man to the other. Both of them looked equally distraught.

“Stay here, I’ll go get him,” Tanimura finally said.

“I’ll cover you,” Wei Shen replied. “You stay behind me, don’t even _think_ about moving,” Akihito heard him say, after grabbing him by the arm and making sure he was hidden from everyone else's sight.

“Kirishima-san, they have the girl, copy.”

The words coming out of Wei Shen’s mouth got lost as he saw Tanimura run towards the gate.

For the first time, he noticed how many men had managed to enter the house, people fighting in every corner of the property with weapons that ranged from shovels to submachine guns, screams and gunshot echoing all around them.

He forced his eyes back to the gate, and had to cover his mouth not to vomit when Tanimura finally rolled the body that had been on top of Kou’s to the side.

One side of the stranger’s head had been completely destroyed by the impact of whatever projectile had hit him.

After throwing the designer over his shoulder without much of an effort, the cop ran back towards them, but the photographer only managed to take a proper look at his friend when the three of them were already taking cover inside the library, the heavy wooden door closed behind them.

“I don’t think it is his blood,” Tanimura said, still trying to catch his breath as he put Kou on the ground. “He’s still breathing.”

“Kou?” Akihito whispered, wiping away the blood covering the young man’s face with the sleeve of his muddied jacket. “Kou?”

“Aki- Akihito…”

His friend’s eyes were so swollen and bruised he could barely tell if they were open or not, but when the pale lips parted to utter his name, he let out a relieved sigh, tears spilling from his eyes as he helped Kou sit up.

“I’m so sorry…” the designer said, the hoarse, quiet voice coming out of his throat showing all his confusion as he struggled to remain conscious. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know that... that they were following me…”

“Kirishima-san?”

He was about to open his mouth to respond when Wei Shen’s worried voice made him shift his eyes to his face.

“Kirishima, _are you still there?_ Copy.”

++++

_“Do the best you can.”_

Kirishima Kei felt the tiniest drop of sweat slide down his temple as he squinted, his finger resting on the trigger of the sniper rifle, a weapon he had learned to master after many years of service.

Than gun, which had saved his and his boss’s ass so many times in the past, was today his worst enemy.

Precise as it was, the CheyTac was not a merciful weapon. One of its bullets caused ten times more harm than the ammo of his rather efficient Glock 17, and that meant that once he pulled the trigger, someone’s head would blow up like a balloon.

Not that he was having moral dilemmas now - he had killed people before while on duty and he would keep on killing them whenever the situation called for it.

But that time, he might end up killing one of theirs.

Takaba Akihito’s best friend.

Maya’s boyfriend.

He didn’t want to have that young man’s blood on his hands.

“Help me, Mirai…” he whispered, after pulling the trigger when the Omi officer swayed to the left for the fraction of a second, Kou’s head enough inches away to escape the shot he had just fired.

He knew _she_ would not miss that shot.

Hopefully, he hadn’t missed it either, although the fact that the two men by the gate had collapsed to the ground made his heart skip a beat.

He wouldn’t have the time to hang around and find out if Kou had made it or not, though, because his phone soon started buzzing inside his pocket.

 _“It’s a distraction,”_ he heard his boss say. _“They’re coming in through another side, Kirishima, have our men cover the perimeter of the-”_

It all happened very fast.

The ground shook, he could see a cloud of dust rise on the other side of the house, and after regaining his balance, he rushed downstairs with his pistol already in hand.

Not much later, he heard another explosion, that one coming from above him.

“Suoh!” he exclaimed, as soon as his eyes landed on the bodyguard shooting one of the Omi operatives that had just entered the house.

“She’s outside!” the man replied, a cut in his forehead bleeding profusely as he slammed another man onto a wall. “Kirishima, you gotta cover Asami-sama, he’s trying to reach the exit!"

After a quick nod, he scanned the chaotic room just to find his boss breaking the neck of one of the Omi’s men with impressive ease.

Judging by the trail of corpses the man had left behind, Kirishima could tell his rage mode had been activated, but despite his absolute focus and skill, there was no way his boss would ever be able to see the operative aiming at him from behind.

Kirishima, though, was in the perfect position to take the enemy down, and so he did.

Strangely enough, the very same moment he pulled the trigger, he felt the stinging burn of a bullet entering his lower back.

In the few seconds before he collapsed, he managed to locate where the shot had come from.

Omi Lieutenant Ochida still had his pistol aimed at him, a derisive smirk on his lips as he watched the secretary fall.

“What is it with you, cowards…” Kirishima managed to splutter, “...shooting people in the back…”

_“Kirishima!”_

The smirk on Ochida’s face disappeared when the baritone voice echoed in the room, followed by a series of gunshots that barely missed the Omi lieutenant.

But, obviously, cowards never hung around to see things through, and in a matter of seconds the man had disappeared into one of the hallways.

 _“Kirishima-san, they have the girl, copy,”_ he heard Wei Shen’s voice coming from the radio in his pocket.

“Kirishima…”

And then his boss’s face came into view, his eyes darting back and forth as he kneeled next to him.

“Can you stand up?”

“I’m fine…” the secretary replied, trying to keep his voice steady although he was beginning to feel so cold his teeth were nearly chattering. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

The pool of blood under him probably told a different story, but there was no time to waste.

“Maya…” he continued, his breathing more labored by the minute. “They have her…”

He saw the golden eyes fill with a combination of fury and fear as his boss stood up, his nostrils flared as he turned his head to look at the exit.

“Go!”

Asami Ryuichi didn’t need to be told twice.

The secretary drew in a long, ragged breath as he watched his boss disappear past one of the doors, his vision turning more and more blurred by the minute.

The thing about a gunshot wound was that it sometimes gave people a false sense of hope.

It made them think that if they didn’t die within minutes, they would probably be okay.

He, however, had been shot enough times to know that that time he was in trouble.

_That time…_

It might as well have been his last gig.

The way his abdomen seemed to be gradually swelling probably meant there was some severe internal bleeding going on, and that unless he was operated on really soon, he was as good as dead.

Given the current circumstances, chances were slim that some kind of savior would show up to drive him to a hospital.

_“Kei!”_

He tilted his head to the side in time to see Suoh running towards him.

“You should be with the boss…” Kirishima muttered.

“He told me to come here, I need to take you to Kimura-sensei” the blond man replied. “He’s already waiting for us at the clinic. Where did they get you?”

“I’m not sure…”

Judging by the fear on the other man’s face as he looked at the ground, the pool of blood had probably suffered a significant increase in size.

“Shit...”

“Suoh…” the secretary whispered, feeling his entire body covered in sweat and finding it hard to remain conscious. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He had never seen Suoh Kazumi cry, and it was scary and funny at the same time that he had chosen that precise moment to turn on the waterworks.

“Hold on, buddy,” the bodyguard replied, his voice shaky and quiet. “We’ll get you out of here.”

“Did you just call me... _buddy?_ ” Kirishima asked, raising an eyebrow as his lips curled into a smirk. “Pathetic…”

Suoh chuckled in response, after a particularly loud sniffle.

“A strange technique…” the secretary whispered, his voice so low it was barely audible, “...to distract... me...but... it’s...”

_...working._

His eyelids were far too heavy for him to keep his eyes open, so he let himself be embraced by darkness.

It was not that bad, after all.

**_“Kei!”_ **

++++

There were far too many things happening at once, but now more than ever he needed to keep his mind clear and address one problem at a time.

His car was already waiting for him outside, he had already gotten Kuroda on the line, and in time surveillance cameras spread throughout Tokyo would be at his disposal.

He would find the car that had taken Maya.

Suoh would take Kirishima to his private physician.

_Everything was going to be fine._

“Where is he?” he asked the operative who had been marching by his side.

“In the library, sir.”

He took a left, and then a right, and pushed the heavy wooden door open without announcing himself, which almost resulted in him getting shot by one of Majima Makoto’s assistants.

He couldn’t possibly care less.

“Asami!”

When Akihito rushed towards him and flung his arms around his neck, he felt like he could breathe for the first time after that catastrophic chain of events had begin to unfold.

Outside, the noise of glass and china shattering, gunshots and screams were a reminder the battle was far from over, but he would have to let his and Makoto’s personnel handle all that for the time being.

“They took Maya,” he heard Akihito, his fingers digging into his shoulder with so much strength he was bound to bruise. “I’m so sorry, I… I couldn’t-”

“There was nothing you could do,” he whispered onto the photographer’s hair, before kissing the top of his head.

When the young man pulled out of their embrace to look at his face, he felt an unexplainable surge of relief. His clothes were soaking wet and his hair was partially covered in mud and blood, but the mere fact he was standing and breathing was enough to soothe his spirit.

“Are you injured?”

“No…”

Only then did Asami’s gaze drop to the young man sitting on a corner, with Tanimura pressing a cloth to a cut in his arm.

Another wave of relief made him breathe more easily.

So Kou had survived, after all.

“What are you gonna do?” the photographer asked, his voice low and urgent.

“I’m going after them.”

“Lemme go w-”

“No,” his response was quick, and his tone left no room for debate. “You’ll stay.”

“But-”

Before Akihito could finish his thought, he moved to the corner where Tanimura was tending to Kou’s wounds and grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt.

“You take care of him while I’m gone,” he hissed, his eyes never leaving the cop’s, the gleam in the light brown orbs matching his in intensity.

“I need a gun.”

Asami frowned.

All that time, and that _idiot_ had been walking around in the middle of the crossfire without a gun?

“What _kind of fucking cop_ are you?” he asked, his grip tightening around the man’s collar.

He felt like strangling that son of a bitch, and for many more reasons than one.

“Kuroda confiscated my gun. And my badge,” the detective replied, his voice strained as he spoke. “ _I need a fucking gun._ ”

His golden eyes darted across the room, and he realized that other than him, only Wei Shen seemed to be properly equipped for that battle.

Asami gritted his teeth as he removed his Česká zbrojovka from its holster, and shoved it into the cop’s hand.

“You get him out of here,” he hissed into the man’s ear. “Go to the basement, hide in the armory until it’s safe to come out.”

After a less than gentle push, he saw the detective stagger backwards, his eyes still defiant and serious.

Much as he hated Tanimura Masayoshi with all his might, he knew that he was the only person other than him that would not hesitate to sacrifice his own life for Takaba Akihito.

Therefore, there was no better person to leave him with.

“Asami!” he heard Akihito exclaim as he walked towards the door, and the sound of quick footsteps approaching made him turn around.

“I need you to be safe,” he said, looking at the young man one last time before leaving.

“But no, what, Asami-”

“There is no point staying here to get yourself killed,” he heard Tanimura say as he too joined them by the door, followed by Wei Shen and a very wobbly Kou.

“Wei, lead them to the armory,” Asami said, ignoring Akihito’s pleas and making sure his Beretta was loaded. “I’ll give you cover.”

He stepped onto the hallway and fired away, making sure that the four men behind him made it to the stairs next to the kitchen in safety.

When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw everyone else had already gone downstairs, but Akihito was still clutching the handrail, one of his feet on the step below and one on the floor above, as if pondering his options.

 _“Go,”_ Asami mouthed, his battered heart racing as the hazel eyes stared at him.

After another moment of hesitation, the photographer finally spun on his heels and joined the others, disappearing from sight.

++++

In no time, Akihito found himself in what he could only describe as some sort of medieval dungeon.

“What _the hell_ is this place?” he whispered, the faint smell of mould making his nose itch as they went down a stony hallway leading to another flight of stairs.

The basements of the Majima residence looked like a labyrinth, and a rather creepy one, at that.

The photographer was so entertained with that thought that he nearly faceplanted when his foot connected with something solid on the ground. Luckily for him, Tanimura was quick to grab his arm and pull him up, the two of them finally noticing someone had gone to meet his maker some time prior to their arrival.

“Wait,” he heard the cop say, as he averted his eyes to the ceiling to avoid looking at the body and all the weird ways his neck and limbs seemed to be bent.

“He must have fallen down the stairs and broken his neck,” the detective explained.

Akihito raised his eyebrows, still staring at the ceiling.

What a time for the man to do some crime scene investigation…

 _“Tanimura!”_ he heard Wei Shen snarl. “What gives?”

“Hold on, I just want…” the detective replied, his breathing more laboured as the sound of fabric rustling against fabric filled his ears, “...to get something.”

When Akihito glanced down, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed.

“I don't think this guy will need his ballistic vest anymore, wouldn't you agree?” Tanimura whispered in response, throwing the body armour over his head and urging him to wear it properly before he could even argue that stealing from the dead was not likely to bring good luck.

“This thing is heavy,” Akihito complained, as the cop fixed the straps on the vest.

“This thing can save your life,” the cop replied shortly.

“It didn't save his,” the photographer whispered back, tilting his head towards the dead body on the floor.

“Well, just make sure to watch your step and I'm sure you'll be luckier than him.”

Akihito let out a sigh when Tanimura gave him a little smile.

_All things considered…_

They had just turned right when Wei Shen stopped on his tracks, and motioned for them to be quiet.

 _“People,”_ he mouthed, reaching for the gun tucked under his belt. “Go back.”

He and Tanimura had just turned around when the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway they had just come from.

“Shit,” the detective muttered, urging him to enter one of the dimly-lit rooms on their right.

Akihito did as he was told, squinting as he tried to make out where he was, nothing but the weak beams of light coming from under the door Tanimura had just closed.

He picked up his phone so that its built-in flashlight could light up the room, and his jaw dropped when he recognized some of the objects hanging from the walls.

“Oh what the-”

He took a step closer to the spotless riding crop carefully arranged next to a set of ropes, and his mind was beginning to make certain assumptions about all the bondage paraphernalia in full display when a familiar voice echoed outside.

_“I know, I know, I’m heading down to the armory, just make sure there will be someone there to open the door for me, copy.”_

Li Jiao.

“ _Damn.”_

Akihito jumped on the spot when her hiss was followed by hurried footsteps, pained grunts and the distinct sound of bones breaking.

 _“All clear,”_ he heard the woman say. _“I’m mov-”_

 _“Well, well, what have we here?”_ a male voice replied shortly after.

Akihito frowned. He was sure he had never heard that voice before, but there was something in that stranger’s tone that made his hair stand on end.

_“If it isn’t Dojima Daigo’s bitch.”_

Akihito jumped again when the sound of gunshot rang loudly outside, followed by a metallic clank and the sound of something heavy colliding with a wall.

 _“Wow, antsy, aren’t we?”_ the photographer heard the man say. _“But, I gotta say, you got more balls than your ex.”_

_“I swear you are not getting out of here alive, Ochida!”_

Her words were followed by a series of grunts and the rhythmic sound of feet moving around, so he assumed the two of them had just engaged on a fight.

Tanimura, who had been watching the scene from the gap between the door and its frame, took that chance to reach for his arm.

“We gotta move, **_now_** ,” he whispered.

They left the room as quietly as they could and took a left, and Akihito glanced over his shoulder in time to see the Chinese woman at the far end of the hall hitting the stranger in the head with a pipe.

Her eyes locked with his for the fraction of a second, and that brief distraction was all the man needed to get hold of her very long ponytail and slam her head against a wall.

“Shit!” Akihito gasped, his fingernails digging into Tanimura’s arm. “Masa, we need to help her, we can’t leave her here.”

“Akihito, she is a trained fighter.”

 _‘But she is pregnant!’_ the photographer thought of replying, but the sound of more gunshot echoing ahead of them derailed his train of thought.

“We gotta keep moving,” the detective whispered, after checking the cartridge of his pistol as he got ready to run. “Stay behind me.”

The two of them took a right and entered a much darker area in which the confusion was even worse. It was hard to tell who was fighting whom, and the brightness reflected in the blades of knives and machetes were the only things they could see with clarity as they rushed towards the flight of stairs where Wei Shen and Kou were waiting for them.

They were halfway there when the sound of gunshot behind him made Akihito’s step falter.

“Just keep going, we are almost there!” he heard Tanimura say as he moved forward, punching a man or two along the way and shoving a few others against the wall.

Not many minutes later, the detective finally reached the stairs with nothing but a bullet graze wound on his left shoulder.

The only problem was, Takaba Akihito was _not_ behind him.

++++

_“Just keep going, we are almost there!”_

Once again, Akihito glanced over his shoulder.

_The baby..._

He could not leave Li Jiao to fend for herself, not under those circumstances.

He sidestepped when a particularly beefy man walked towards him brandishing a knife, and hit another in the head with the fire extinguisher he had found at the entrance of one of the rooms. A left and a right turn later, he finally saw the trail of blood on the ground, as if a body had been dragged down the hall, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Oh no, please…”

It occurred to him that even if he did get to Li Jiao in time, he had absolutely no equipment to help him in a potential fight.

_Whatever._

He would just have to improvise.

_“Stupid whore, I will squeeze your eyes out of your fucking head.”_

Akihito felt his heart was going to explode.

He noticed the male voice was coming from one of the rooms on his left, and took a deep breath before walking in to find the stranger on top of Majima’s assistant, his hands wrapped around her face.

Trying not to let himself be overcome by panic, the photographer scanned the room in search for some kind of weapon, until his eyes landed on an old-looking wooden chair.

That would have to do.

Without hesitation, he hit the man with so much strength that the piece of furniture fell apart right away.

The unexpected attack seemed to have stunned the stranger for a moment, and he took advantage of that to help the woman sit up to catch her breath.

Both of her knees were bleeding profusely, and he tried not to despair when he realized she would be unable to stand up.

“Li…”

“My gun…” the woman wheezed, tilting her head towards the pistol a few feet away.

He had just gotten up to grab the weapon when a pair of very strong hands picked him up from the ground and pinned him against a wall.

“So many surprises…” the man groaned into his ear, his teeth grazing his earlobe. “I thought you were not going to show up, Takaba Akihito.”

“Let go of me.”

His blood turned into ice when one of the man’s hands slid past his jeans and underwear to squeeze one of his buttocks.

“Why?” the man asked, after such a caustic chuckle Akihito had to force himself not to shudder in fear. “I hear this body of yours is used to getting some rough love, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

When he felt the man’s tongue slide into his ear, he wanted to throw up.

“I said… let... ** _go_** ,” Akihito hissed, before using all his strength to push the man back.

Now was a good time as any to put some of his self-defence lessons to the test.

Without missing a beat, the photographer lunged forward, using the heel of his palm to strike the man under his nose while throwing the whole weight of his body into the move. When he staggered backwards, Akihito struck again, this time with all his fingers held straight and tightly together as he hit the side of the man’s neck with a knife hand strike.

“I’d rather **_die_** than be raped by a pig like you,” he panted when the man collapsed to the ground, clutching his neck.

His brief moment of relief didn’t last long.

When his eyes shifted to Li Jiao’s face, he realized he was getting too pale, too fast.

“Li,” he whispered, kneeling by her side. “Tell me what to do…”

“Get out of here.”

“I will not-”

His breath caught in his throat when the piercing end of a knife went past his vest and into his body, right under his left rib cage, once, twice, three times.

Again, Lieutenant Ochida’s mouth was on his ear, although this time his voice had much more fury than disdain.

“You’d rather die, huh, fine then,” he heard the man say, as he grabbed his hair and forced him to get up. “Could have been more fun than this, just sayin’.”

**_“Akihito!”_ **

Li Jiao’s voice was the last thing Akihito heard before his head was slammed against the wall, and everything went dark.

 

 


	52. Grace Period is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asami revisits his worst nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, friends, *those* nightmares, the ones haunting the man in the earlier chapters of this story. That being said, proceed with caution because it gets nasty.  
> Warning for violence, murder, rape, psychological trauma, places exploding, etc, etc.

_“Kuso…”_

In the main hall of the Tojo Headquarters, Lieutenant Minami Daisaku clutched his baseball bat as he crouched in front of the stairs, grumbling about Asami Ryuichi under his breath.

By his side, the Chairman of the Tojo Clan, Dojima Daigo, remained calm and collected, despite the slight frown wrinkling his forehead as he watched his ranks get ready, waiting for his command.

“This is the second time that piece of shit leaves us hanging!” the younger man finally snarled, jumping to his feet.

“There must have been some kind of hold-up.”

“Sir, with all due respect…” Minami replied, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t understand why you trust that guy so much.”

Ever since their so-called alliance with Asami Ryuichi, things seemed to be deteriorating way too fast for his taste.

Before the Chairman could respond, however, one of their operatives rushed to where they were, looking less than amused.

“Dojima-sama, trouble at the Majima residence!” the man quickly announced.

“What happened?” Dojima asked.

“The Sengoku family… place is chaos.”

Minami felt one of his eyes twitch, and a quick glance at the older man by his side made it clear he was not the only one itching to storm out of their headquarters and go beat that son of a bitch and all of his men to kingdom come.

“What are your orders?” the subordinate asked, his voice lower this time, as if not to further inflame the two beasts standing in front of him.

“Well, if Sengoku is there, then his men are not going to the Fixer…” the Chairman replied, narrowing his eyes. “What is the Omi up to?”

Minami smacked the other operative upside the head when he opened his mouth to speak.

Did the dimwit really think the Chairman was asking his opinion?

“Dumbass…” he muttered.

“Status in Ueno?” Dojima asked, and this time the other man stayed silent - which, of course, earned him another slap.

“Ehh! What, you got brain damage or something?” Minami hissed, eyes wide. “The Chairman asked a question!”

“T-They took all the main streets and shut down our clubs, we don’t have enough men to stop them...” the man finally replied, his eyes never leaving the floor as he spoke.”And they are advancing in Roppongi too.”

“What do we have in Shibuya?”

“The Russian Mafia pulled back but we are outnumbered there too. It won’t be long until it falls…“

Minami cursed again, this time pacing the room. In short, things were looking dire, to say the least.

“Get Kanda, tell him I am counting on his men to take care of Ueno,” the Chairman said. “Minami, you go to Shibuya, and gather operatives to join our subsidiaries in Roppongi.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m heading to the Majima residence.”

The gleam in the older man’s eyes was so intense Minami immediately understood what he meant.

The Chairman was going to kill Ochida and Sengoku himself.

After cracking his knuckles and making sure both his pistol and his knife were securely tucked under his belt, the Lieutenant of the Tojo Clan made his way to the gates, only to be stopped by a punch in the jaw that sent him flying a few meters backwards.

He winced as the pain in his face spread to his neck and sent shivers down his body, his head throbbing with equal amounts of shock and anger.

“Oda,” he hissed, when the long-haired officer materialized in front of him. “What is the meaning of this?”

The man in the grey suit jeered, making it clear that he couldn't possibly give two shits to hierarchy and saw no problem picking a fight with someone that outranked him.

“No need to go to the Omi, if that’s what you are looking for,” he replied. “They are on their way here.”

The young lieutenant gasped.

_Not that shit again._

“Stupid motherfucker…” Minami replied, after bringing himself to his feet with a kip-up.

“Just because you spread your legs for Asami Ryuichi doesn't mean the rest of the Tojo will let him fuck us in the ass, brother,” the officer explained, his disdainful smirk no longer on his lips. “You have any idea how many of us were put out of business because of him?”

“To support him or not is not your decision to make, Oda!” the younger man replied. “If you stand in the way, you will be defying the Chairman.”

By the time the man reached for the knife under his belt, Minami was already clutching his.

“Quite sure you're aware what the punishment for traitors is?” he asked, eyes narrowed as he looked at the crowd gathering at the entrance of the Tojo Headquarters.

From the looks of it, he was really not going anywhere, at least not that soon.

“Bring it on!” Oda screamed, before rushing forward.

++++

“Akihito?”

Along his nearly 30 years of age, Tanimura Masayoshi had been through his fair share of trouble.

He had been shot, stabbed, pushed down staircases, chased, and as of lately, demoted and transferred to another country.

He was used to things going wrong.

Still, turning around and not seeing Takaba Akihito behind him was one of those rare occasions in which he got to experience the purest, most absolute panic.

 _“Akihito?”_ he repeated, finally realising that just like the first time, there would be no response.

Akihito had stayed behind.

“Dammit!” he screamed, at the top of his lungs.

“What?” asked a very worried Wei Shen.

“He went back to help Li Jiao.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, Asami Ryuichi’s pistol firmly secured in his hand.

He couldn't give two shits about the fact that man was bound to kill him on the spot as soon as he found out he had lost sight of Akihito.

At that moment, the photographer’s life was the only thing he could afford to think about.

“Fuck!” it was Wei Shen’s turn to scream. “Why does he always do that?”

The two men glanced at Kou, whose eyes kept darting from one face to the other.

“Think you can go on on your own?” Tanimura asked.

“Yeah,” Kou reply, amidst energetic nods.

“Then just keep going down the stairs, don't stop, don't look behind, there are people guarding the gate at the armoury but they know we are coming so you will be ok,” Wei explained, and the words were leaving his mouth so fast that the designer seemed to struggle to make sense of everything. _“Go!”_

Half limping, half running, Kou did as he was told.

In the meantime, both the cop and the assistant had checked their weapons and braced themselves to get back into the crossfire, just to find out that the chaotic path from moments prior was now strangely deserted, except for a few of their own personnel.

“What the hell…” Wei Shen whispered, as they backtracked further into the narrow hallways, which were way too silent, too fast. “Li!”

Tanimura watched as the other man rushed to kneel next to his colleague, an expression of pure concern clouding his face as he looked at the woman’s horribly pale face.

 _“Li!”_ the Chinese man exclaimed again. “What happened? Where's Akihito?”

“He took him,” Li Jiao replied, her voice so low it could barely be heard. “Ochida…”

“Shit…” the cop hissed in return.

“You have to find him, that man-” her words were interrupted by a grunt of pain when Wei flung an arm over his shoulder and helped her up. “They're heading to the Tojo's... headquarters… Wei, stop, I can't, I can't stand.”

She was about to slide back to the ground when the other assistant picked her up in his arms.

“You’re not planning to go up all the stairs carrying me, are you?” Li Jiao asked, after a nervous chuckle. “I'm not exactly a lightweight.”

“My boyfriend is not a lightweight either,” Wei Shen replied, and Tanimura noticed the man really didn't seem to be struggling at all. “And I carry him around all the time…”

Under any other circumstances, he would find the idea of Wei Shen pulling a bridal carry with another man amusing, to say the least, but he was way too focused climbing stairs as fast as humanly possible to care for another person’s love life.

He was already heading to one of the last staircases separating him from the kitchen when a continuous beeping sound drew his attention.

Having worked in the police force for quite a few years now, he knew that kind of sound was not to be ignored.

In time, his suspicions were proved right, after he turned a right, and a left, and then another right.

A bomb.

And unless his mind was playing tricks on him, there were other beeps coming from different directions as well.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Wei! _Wei!_ ”

“What?” the man asked, showing up behind him slightly out of breath.

“We need to get everyone out of here, this place is going to explode.”

He pointed to one of the bombs, and saw the assistant’s eyes go wide.

“Oh fucking hell!" he yelled, reaching for the radio in one of his pockets. "Operatives in the armory, everybody come upstairs now, we are evacuating the premises. Everybody move up, **_now!_** Copy!"

Tanimura was not an expert at disarming bombs, and there would be no time to get an expert anyway. They didn't even know how many bombs were there - the only fact is that they would go off in less than five minutes.

As soon as he reached the kitchen, he saw the house personnel still brandishing knives and Kali sticks, among other things, but their faces showed the same confusion his had shown at the realisation the enemy had taken off.

_Obviously._

None of them wanted to get blown to pieces.

“Everybody get out!” he exclaimed. “ _Get out now_ , there are bombs!”

Some of the men and women quickly complied, heading towards the exit without missing a beat.

Nevertheless, a few people had stayed behind, looking even more confused.

 _“Bombs_ , godammnit,” Tanimura repeated. “Get out!”

Only then did he realize that those people probably did not speak Japanese.

Good thing he spoke every Asian language under the sun.

After saying the word in Korean, Chinese, Vietnamese and who knows what else, the people finally started running, and they had barely made it past the gates when the ground shook under their feet, and the Majima residence slowly crumbled to the ground.

++++

Half a block away from one of Shibuya’s most famous clubs, Fei Long checked his pistol, and glanced outside the window of the black BMW one more time.

“What are we waiting for?” asked the head of the Korean Mafia, who was sitting next to him.

“Our point of contact.”

He had just replied when a soft knock on the window drew his attention to the figure of a very tall man in a suit, his white shirt unbuttoned low enough to show a heavy golden chain resting against his chest.

“Fei Long!” the man exclaimed.

Despite his surprise, Fei Long’s face remained emotionless as he opened the door and got off the car.

“Qiang,” he said, his voice low and just as calm as his facial expression. “Long time no see.”

It had been, indeed, a very long time. At the very least, thirteen years, he estimated, which apparently was enough time for his former colleague to develop a rather peculiar taste in fashion, if the stilettos he was wearing were anything to go by.

“Well, saddle my back and call me a horse, you haven't aged at all!” Fei Long heard him say, with a smile so wide and bright he almost looked like a maniac. “What are you, _a vampire?”_

“You haven’t aged either.”

He watched when Qiang crossed his arms, and tilted his chin upwards.

Somehow, his feminine face, highlighted by the lip gloss and heavy mascara, was a stark contrast to his muscular shoulders and overall very manly body.

“Come on,” the man finally said, tilting his head sideways after tying his long red hair in a ponytail. “Ask it.”

“Ask what?”

“The hair. The makeup. Stilettos,” Qiang listed, with a small smirk on his lips. “Out with it.”

“What you do with your looks is none of my business,” Fei Long replied.

And it wasn't, really. It wouldn't be even if they were close enough to have what people called a friendship, let alone under those circumstances, in which they were seeing each other again after more than a decade to partake in a hit.

“Really?” the man asked in English, before raising an eyebrow and switching back to Chinese. “You’re not even curious?”

“I don’t think we have time to catch up on our personal lives, Qia-”

“Sachi,” the man interrupted. “That’s the name I go by these days.”

After a quiet nod, Fei Long spoke again.

“Fine,” he said. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

When the man in front of him offered him a cigarette, which he politely declined, the leader of the Baishe stole a quick glance towards the other side of the car, just to see Heung Geun-hye eye them with suspicion.

“Not gonna lie, I was very surprised when you contacted your cells in Tokyo,” Qiang, or Sachi, as he would rather be called, whispered. “Boss seemed to think you were not coming…”

“Your boss is not the best judge of character, it appears.”

The man chuckled after blowing out the smoke through his nostrils.

“Let’s just agree to disagree on that one,” he said, and his eyes contained a silent warning that he had gotten used to seeing in each and every man under Asami’s command.

What did that bastard do to guarantee such unwavering respect from his subordinates? Sure, he was very well acquainted with his unique and irresistible personal magnetism, but still...

“Still,” the man continued, “I’m glad our paths crossed again, after so many years,” he said. “From what I could gather, you want in on the joints where the Russians and the Omi have been spotted, is that right?”

“Yes,” Fei Long replied.

As if he would let Mikhail carry out his nonsensical plan of stirring shit in Japan by supporting a bunch of wild animals like Omi Alliance’s Sengoku family.

“With my informants, that is going to be easy,” Sachi added, before raising a hand. “Quick update, though - the Russians apparently withdrew. You might want to revisit your approach.”

The information made Fei Long raise an eyebrow.

“Mikhail withdrew?” he asked. “Why?”

“Who knows... Something must have pushed his buttons.”

“I told you that this plan would backfire!”

The annoyed remark had come from the Korean leader, who had just joined them on the other side of the vehicle.

“Not if you can keep a straight face when talking to them,” the red-haired man replied. “I take it you brought your best men?”

“Obviously,” Fei Long responded.

“Then we just have to make it quick. Wipe them out before they have the chance to warn the other officers.”

When Sachi headed to the car parked on the other side of the street to retrieve a bag from its trunk, Heung took a step closer to him.

“Fei Long…” he whispered. “You sure we can trust that… that… person?”

A small smile curled the corners of his lips as he watched the other man cross the deserted street to join them again.

People and their habits of jumping to conclusions based solely on someone’s appearance...

“He is the the second best hitman Baishe has ever known,” he replied quietly, his eyes locking with his former colleague for the fraction of a second. “The first being me, of course.”

That statement, combined with the cutting-edge pistols and silencers resting inside the bag that had just been unzipped, seemed to put the Korean leader at ease.

“Let’s do it,” Fei Long said, eliciting an enthusiastic nod from both men next to him.

++++

“Floor it, Mine, we’re on the highway,” he said, before letting out an annoyed sigh as the two of them headed to Camelia Grove, a run down building in Chiyoda where Sengoku Hiroshi and his crowd had been spotted.

When the engine roared softly and the BMW glided forward even faster, he let his eyes shift to the window.

He was beginning to see why Mikhail Arbatov had grown the balls to defy him.

_How had he let things get to that point?_

His daughter had just been taken from under his nose, his center of operations attacked without him gathering enough intel beforehand to prepare properly…

Clearly, having one of his men infiltrate the Omi Alliance years prior had not been enough; syndicates had a stubborn way of sticking to old rules and hierarchy in a way that outsiders had to go through all sorts of trials until they were finally let into the most influential circles where the really good info flowed…

He had timed his intervention all wrong. Had he placed his cells in the Omi - and the Tojo, for that matter - five years prior, hell, maybe ten, he would have crushed all those idiots much before either of them tried to crush him.

It had been a mistake to underestimate them.

He glanced down at his phone when it buzzed to announce an incoming call.

**_Kou_ **

“Whatever your plan is, it's not going to work,” he said right away, knowing that the man still using Akihito’s friend’s phone was Sengoku Hiroshi. “Let the girl go and I might spare your life when I get there.”

_“Oh, so you were able to track me down already, that was fast.”_

He never thought he could hate a voice so much.

 _“But see, not fast enough,”_ the man continued. _“Turn your camera on.”_

He inhaled deeply before pressing the camera icon, knowing that what he was about to see was bound to make him even angrier and taking comfort in the fact that as soon as they reached their destination, he would cut Sengoku’s belly open and make him swallow his own intestines.

When he saw his daughter tied to a chair, with a deep cut on the side of her head, he figured that that kind of punishment would _just not be enough._

 _“A feisty one, ain't she?”_ the man snorted. _“Took down all the men that tried to bring her in, I had no choice but to use some… **brute force** ,”_ Sengoku hissed, swinging a bloodied pipe playfully before casting it aside.

“Don't make me repeat myself,” Asami whispered, his voice calm and collected although his heart was beating so fast it almost jumped out of his throat. “Every minute you spend testing my patience is an hour of pain I’ll put you through when I get my hands on you.”

His words elicited a bitter, unnerving chuckle.

 _“I’ve got you by the balls, Asami,”_ the man finally said, and there wasn't a single thing about him that didn't make Asami’s stomach turn. His hideous yellow, crooked teeth, the oily skin of his scalp, his small ratlike eyes…

He had never wanted to kill someone so much.

 _“You are not the winning part in this negotiation,”_ he added.

“There is no negotiation,” Asami snarled, his gaze quickly shifting to the girl’s face as he spoke.

She was really her mother’s daughter.

Despite the dire circumstances, her face showed no fear, just the most absolute anger. Her chest was heaving up and down and her eyes were fierce, as those of a predator waiting to pounce its prey.

“Let the girl go or face the consequences.”

 _“What a heartless father you have, precious…”_ he heard Sengoku reply. _“See, any other man would be begging for his little princess' life, but not you, huh?”_

When the man got closer to Maya, and sneaked one of his hands under the girl's T-shirt to fondle her breast, Asami felt bile rise up in his throat.

 _“About time you got off your high horse, you fucker,”_ he spat out, grabbing a handful of the girl’s hair and pulling her head backwards as he unbuckled his belt. _“Maybe watching me have my way with her will teach you a lesson.”_

Asami’s heart, once again, pounded painfully inside his chest, but there was no way he would allow Sengoku to break him - and Maya, by default.

She was putting up a fight, she had not despaired not even after her tormentor had made his intentions clear, but he knew part of that resolve would sooner or later dissolve into fear.

He had to be strong for both of them.

“Mine, faster,” he whispered to the man at the steering wheel, before addressing his enemy again.

“Sengoku…”

His ominous tone seemed to give the other man pause, and he let go of Maya’s hair.

“This is the last time I tell you,” he continued. “Let her go.”

 _“Else what?”_ Sengoku asked, before letting out another mirthless chuckle. _“You still don't get it, do you? Do you think I'm afraid of dying?”_

He wished he could just hang up - hearing that man’s despicable voice and watching his own daughter struggle to break free was turning to be harder - and more painful - that he had calculated. He knew, however, that the more Sengoku talked, the less action he took, and he needed to buy as much time as he could.

 _“It's a matter of time til the Omi finds out everything I've been doing behind their backs, thanks to this **whore,** ”_ the man ranted, backhanding the girl across the jaw.

“ETA is five minutes, sir,” he faintly heard Mine say.

His head was spinning, but despite the slight tremor of his hands, his face remained void of emotion.

_Five minutes._

They only had to endure _five more minutes._

 _“And when they do... Best case scenario it's death by a thousand cuts,”_ the man added, and his eyes were dangerously vacant. _“You should have known better than to mess up with a man that has nothing left to lose, Asami.”_

“What do you want?” Asami asked.

Regardless of the man’s terms, there was no way in hell he would comply, but at least he could always manipulate him into thinking he would.

 _“To make you **pay,** ”_ Sengoku hissed in response, his voice dripping with fury and malice. _“I might be going down tonight but I am taking you and your little slut to hell with me, you son of a bitch.”_

Five minutes, less than that.

He only needed a few more minutes, _a few more minutes_ and he would be able to finish that nightmare before it began.

But Sengoku seemed to know just as well that he was running out of time, and a beast cornered into a corner became ten times more dangerous.

He saw him cut the ropes that kept Maya tied to the chair and pick her up, just for the girl to kick and punch with enough strength to make the Omi officer, who was much taller than her and at least twice as heavy, crash backwards onto a chair that broke into pieces upon the impact.

 _“Get off me, you pig…”_ he heard his daughter scream as she rushed to the door.

Which was locked, obviously.

 _“You little whore!”_ the man spat back, grabbing her hair and managing to throw her on top of the desk.

Maya, however, kept fighting to the best of her skill, and Sengoku would not stand a chance against her if it he weren't so fond of foul play.

As he staggered backwards once again, Asami saw when his eyes landed on one of the chair’s wooden legs, and he knew what was coming next much before it happened.

“Maya!” he found himself screaming, but before the girl could make sense of what was happening, Sengoku had already sunk the piece of wood into her left thigh.

Asami felt his own heart had been stabbed when his daughter wailed in pain.

He put down the phone to breathe, each intake of air burning his throat as he blinked back the tears that had filled his eyes.

He had to be strong.

 _“See? The more you fight, the more this is going to hurt,”_ he heard Sengoku say. _“Which is fine, by me.”_

He couldn't bring himself to look when he heard the sound of fabric ripping and a grunt.

“Please, not this again…” he whispered, his eyes tightly shut as sounds from the past and the present mixed inside his head.

He heard her scream.

_Again._

**_And again._ **

_There so many ugly noises._

_No._

It was happening again.

_“Don't pass out now, princess, not when your daddy is watching…”_

_‘Ryuichi...son...look at me…’_

**_No._ **

He was not a child anymore, _it was not the same._

He finally managed to open his eyes despite the excruciating pain inside his chest, and turned his phone screen upwards.

When he saw Sengoku lodged between his daughter’s legs, he ended the call, and it was as if his soul had left his body.

“Mine…” he whispered, and his voice was so distant he could barely recognise it as his own. “When we get to the Grove, you and the others will shoot to kill,” he said. “Leave no man alive, except Sengoku.”

When he found that man, he wouldn't even bother using a gun.

He would rip his heart off his chest with his bare fingers.

“He's _mine,_ ” he said.

From the rear view mirror, he could see Mine nod respectfully.

If there was one good thing about having the life he had had, and doing the things he had done, is that it had galvanised his heart to such an extent that now, after everything, he was able to stand even the worst of all pains.

He would survive that, just like he had survived everything else life had thrown at him in return for his actions.

“Sir, we’re here.”

He opened the door and got out as soon as the BMW came to a halt, just for his knees to falter as soon as he stepped on the sidewalk.

Before he could stop himself, his stomach contracted violently, his entire body shaking so much it took him several moments to be able to stand again.

Luckily for him, the BMW was shielding him from his subordinates’ gaze, and none of them had been able to see him vomit before he got to his feet, eyes slightly reddish although the tears he had shed were long dry at that point.

They had to get Maya back.

He would deal with his own pain later.

++++

It was a good thing that the pain in her leg was way too strong for her to even feel what was happening.

Through her partially closed eyes, though, she could see the gross shape of Sengoku Hiroshi on top of her.

Now that the damage was done, she might as well use her brain instead of her fists.

She drew in a quiet breath to clear her mind and let her head fall to the side, scanning the room for some sort of way out.

And then she saw it.

The same piece of wood that had been shoved her into her leg, stuck between the desk and the chair to her left.

She would only have one chance to make that work.

 _‘Please help me,’_ she pleaded in silence. _‘Mother…’_

She squeezed her eyes and swallowed, her fingers closing tightly against her newly found weapon.

Without much of a second thought, she used all her strength to strike, and only opened her eyes when the sound of the man choking on his own blood filled her ears.

The piece of wood had entered one side of Sengoku Hiroshi’s neck and gone out through the other.

_She felt like laughing._

Despite all the pain that spread from her hips to her stomach and from there to each extremity of her body, despite the fact she had killed someone for the very first time, she felt a surge of energy she just could not explain.

And so, after she rolled his limp body off hers, she spent no time crying or grieving the tragic events of the night.

Instead, she dragged herself towards her jeans, which had been tossed to a corner along with her torn underwear, and after a lot of struggle, managed to put them on.

Only then did she look at the man bleeding on the ground.

Contrary to what she had thought, that worm was still not dead.

A problem that would soon be solved.

As slowly as she could, she removed the chunk of wood from the man’s neck, watching in awe as blood oozed from the two orifices left by the improvised weapon.

“Who would have thought, huh?” she asked, raising an eyebrow when the man’s desperate eyes darted across her face, blood flowing profusely from his mouth. “Looks like you are going to hell alone, fucker.”

And then she stabbed him in the chest once, and again, and many more times after that, until she was covered in so much blood she could barely see her own skin under layer after layer of thick, dark red.

When her body finally seemed to tire, she dropped the piece of wood, her breathing heavy and laboured as she stared at the ceiling.

It was over.

Unfortunately, so was the spike of adrenaline that had allowed her to push her boundaries for the past few minutes, and slowly but surely every bruise and cut in her body started throbbing painfully.

She needed to get out of that place.

How she managed to pull herself up and stumble out of one of the windows, she would never know. Survival instincts, apparently, did go a long way…

Her face was still resting against the moist grass when the sound of hurried footsteps reached her ear, and her heart started pounding again.

Maybe if she just pretended to be dead they would leave her alone...

++++  
Asami let his own men do the job of eliminating each and every human being that got close to him. He could not be bothered wasting time with those lackeys, not when his own daughter was being hurt somewhere inside that building.

If anything, the agonising minutes which he had spent _videoconferencing_ with Sengoku Hiroshi had allowed him to see the inside of the room where he was keeping the girl in great detail. Judging by the position of the windows, and what he had been able to see behind them, they had to be in one of the lowest floors in the west wing of the building.

He was about to climb the staircase leading to the second level when movement coming from a window on the first floor made him stop on his tracks.

It was her.

She collapsed to the ground, holding her injured leg as she tried to drag her body away from the window, her face and chest covered in so much blood he could only hope some of it was not hers.

“Maya!”

When the girl looked up, he saw the usual fierce eyes fill with relief as she outstretched her arms towards him.

“Maya…”

Asami felt her entire body shake in silence, her chest heaving up and down as she tried to catch her breath. He knew that feeling well, that fight or flight response, the adrenaline that numbed the pain for precious moments before it hit you with all its might….

“It's ok,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could. “I'm here. It's over.”

The girl remained silent, not crying, not speaking, one side of her face glued to his chest as she clutched the fabric of his shirt for dear life.

“Mine,” he said into his phone, after his trembling fingers were finally able to start the call. “When you find Seng-”

“He's dead,” the girl finally spoke, and her voice was hoarse and low. “I killed him.”

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, noticing that her eyes were slowly but steadily filling with tears.

“Bring back his body,” he said quietly, before ending the call.

“He's dead,” the girl repeated.

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I'm s-sorry.”

Her shaky words were followed by a stream of tears that slid down his cheeks and past her fingers when she covered her eyes.

“I'm so sorry, I-I couldn't... s-stop him…”

He kissed the top of her head, ignoring the mud and blood matting the dark strands of hair.

If anyone needed to apologize, it was clearly not her.

“You are alive, he whispered. “He is not. You _did_ stop him.”

When she raised her head to look at him again, he felt his stomach sink. There was so much shame and fear in those eyes that he just wanted to bring Sengoku Hiroshi back to life so that he could kill him again.

“But... but he… he..” she muttered, her chin trembling as more tears fell from her eyes.

“Maya… You are alive,” he said, bringing her head closer to his chest and hoping that his insanely fast heartbeat would not give away his own pain. “That is all that matters now. You'll be ok.”

Just then, he remembered the last time he had held her in his arms like that.

Back then, her sobs had been enough to cut through his chest like a knife, and it was the kind of pain he had sworn to himself he would never feel again.

Now that very same pain was back, except that time everything was so much worse than a pair of broken teeth, and he had no idea what to do to fix it.

++++

In silence, Maya watched when Mine and another man dragged Sengoku Hiroshi’s body to the trunk of one of the black cars parked on the other side of the street, and brought the jacket that had just been wrapped around her shoulders closer to her body.

_She had killed someone._

Despite the slight nausea and the shaking that refused to go away, she wouldn't exactly say she was feeling guilty, or sorry, for that matter.

But then again, she was really not sure as to what she was feeling.

Her mind was foggy, and she seemed to be feeling and seeing things from inside a bubble, where nothing felt one hundred percent real.

The painkillers she had been given were probably not doing much for her mental clarity either.

She leaned closer to her father’s chest and closed her eyes as they waited for the ambulance, his strong, rhythmic heartbeat lulling her into a much welcome state of relaxation.

“Tanimura? I heard the house was blown up,” Maya heard him say, as he led his phone to his ear. “Is Akihito ok?”

She didn't need to hear Tanimura’s response to know it was bad news - the heartbeat that had been regular seconds prior grew erratic and quick, thumping loudly inside the man’s ribcage.

“Where?”

“What happened?” she whispered, after raising her eyes to his face.

He looked awfully pale, his strong eyes fixated on a random spot on the ground as he frowned, one of his hands curled into a fist.

“What happened?” she asked again, this time louder and with an extra amount of concern. “What happened to Akihito? And Kou, what happened to Kou, is he alive?”

“Yes, Kou is alive, he is being taken care of,” the man finally replied, and her chest filled with the most absolute relief, which obviously did not last long. “The Omi… They took Akihito.”

“No…” she whispered in response, her own heart beating faster now that she understood the gravity of the situation.

Those people were really determined to destroy her father.

“You have to find him,” she said. “I know that's what they want you to do, it might be a trap, but you have to save him…”

“I need to take you to the hospital.”

“Mine can take me when the ambulance gets here,” she replied. “You need to go. Fast. Those people... they're gonna hurt him.”

He nodded quietly, and she took that moment to study his face.

Asami Ryuichi was a hard man to read, even in times like those. Any other man would be falling into a downward spiral of despair, but  _that man's_  unnerving composure and self-control were something out of this world.

Regardless, Maya had the feeling that on the inside, her father was very close to collapsing.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, after giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“There's someone waiting for you at the hospital,” he said, after drawing in a long breath. “Her name is Makoto. She will be there to help you out, count on her for whatever you need.”

She nodded quietly, watching as Mine approached them by the stairs.

“I'll be back soon,” Maya heard her father say, before pressing a kiss to the side of her head and standing up to walk towards a black BMW parked not much far ahead.

 

 


	53. Buried alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fei Long makes his move, Asami goes into rage mode, and Tanimura suffers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, SO sorry for taking so long, everyone! Rest assured that I have not given up on this fic despite the *insane* delay. Life has been hard, lot of work, and all that jazz. Now is a good time as ever, by the way, to thank you all for your support and patience. ^_^
> 
> Now, about this chapter: it is a short one! =O I know, I know, not fair after almost two weeks of wait but the scene that comes next and everything that follows just wouldn't fit here because it is a completely new moment - one in which we will go to the hospital and check the fates of... well, pretty much everyone at this point, lol. 
> 
> Next chapter is also when the war finally ends and half of it has already been written - please keep your fingers crossed so that I can update it this weekend at the latest! \o/

 When Asami finally reached the entrance to the Tojo Clan Headquarters, Kuroda Shinji was the last man on earth he expected to find.

"Ryuichi," the man was quick to exclaim, as soon as he got out of his BMW. "What the hell is going on?"

"It's a clan war, Kuroda. Isn't it obvious?"

"A clan war that has killed at least twenty civilians and demolished an entire house in Shinjuku, the media is going insane," the prosecutor replied, the hands that had been firmly placed on his hips finally moving around to express his discontent. "It has hit the international news, the Diet is under extreme pressure to take action. You know they usually stay out of it, but when things get out of control..." he paused, and raked his fingers through his hair before speaking again. "They are talking about a JSDF intervention for damage control."

"The JSDF?"

"Yes," Kuroda replied, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Minister Tamiya is not happy about it, but he might have no choice."

Asami drew in a long breath, his eyes slowly shifting to the gates only a couple of feet away from where they were both standing. On top of everything he had to worry about, now that. If Japan's Self-Defense Forces actually showed up and he was caught in the middle of that mess, his reputation, his business, years of hard work getting contacts and extracting favours from authorities would go down the drain.

The very least he should do was call the Minister of Defence, one of his most reliable allies, and negotiate some sort of agreement.

_If only he had the time._

That brief chat with Kuroda in itself was a luxury he feared he could not afford, not when Akihito was still in the hands of the enemy.

"How did things get to this, Ryuichi?" he heard the prosecutor whisper. "Why are you here? Since when do you work with the Tojo?"

“This is not the time for explanations, is it?” he asked, checking the cartridge on his gun before closing the gap that separated him from the gate.

“No, it's not, but if there's anything you want to tell me, now might as well be the time,” Kuroda replied. “All eyes are on Tokyo, if the JSDF comes in, everyone involved will be prosecuted, including you,” he added, his voice low and serious as he looked over his shoulder to make sure they were not being heard. “This needs to end, fast. At least tell me what you are trying to do, and with whom, so that I can help you somehow.”

“Just buy me as much time as you can with the authorities.”

He ignored the prosecutor's disheartened sigh as he walked into the staircase leading to the Tojo’s main building. The fact the Omi had come so close to destroying his family _and_ his business was more than enough to fill with him burning fury; the last thing he needed was to deal with the other man’s overwhelming - albeit justified - neurosis.

“I can try to hold them back for another hour, but after that... It will be out of my jurisdiction,” Kuroda said at last, when Asami looked over his shoulder to check if he had already left. “You do realize we will have a lot of work to do when this is all over, don't you?”

Asami knew his eyes were gleaming dangerously when he looked at the prosecutor one last time.

 _When that was over,_ he would ensure whoever plotted against him would be punished, in the worst kind of way. Compared to that, all the bureaucratic complications Kuroda was referring to would be a breeze.

++++

“Who the hell are you?”

“Liu Fei Long. Mikhail Arbatov sent me here.”

The leader of the Baishe remained emotionless as the blatant lie left his lips. Behind the heavy door of a shady nightclub in Roppongi, a sturdy Omi lackey kept staring at him, trying to make sense of his intentions as his shifty eyes scanned him from head to toe.

“The Russian?” the man finally said, after raising an eyebrow. “Those spineless rats of his walked out on us less than an hour ago, is this some kind of joke?”

“I was told to assist the Omi Alliance,” Fei Long responded calmly. “If you want to check with him, go ahead. If no help is needed, I have better places to be.”

He held the man’s stare when he bared his canines, and was about to turn on his heels when another voice echoed inside the room.

“Let him in. We could do with an extra pair of hands.”

He was still looking away when a small smirk of satisfaction curled the corners of his mouth.

_That was just too easy._

“How many with you?” said the other man, who Fei Long assumed was a high-ranking official given the small entourage flocking around him.

“Fifteen,” he replied, motioning for his operatives to join him the moment the door opened.

“Well, that's better than nothing,” the Omi officer complained quietly. “Whatever. We need more people to head to Taihei Central…”

Fei Long, however, was no longer paying attention.

His eyes were scanning the room while the members of his team slowly spread across the premises, their unknowing targets too busy listening to their own boss to notice their strategic positions.

In the meantime, the leader of the Baishe narrowed his eyes, calculating who and how he would strike first.

“No grabbing, big boy!”

Sachi’s voice was their lead.

As soon as heads turn to find the source of the high-pitched complaint, Fei Long took a step forward, his butterfly knife promptly flying from his hand to the neck of his target.

“What the f-”

The sturdy goon at the door was the first one to notice their boss had just been taken down, and also the first one to draw his pistol.

Unfortunately for him, not fast enough.

After a flying kick, his back hit the ground as shots hit the ceiling, the muzzle of Fei Long’s pistol burning a tiny and yet fatal hole in the middle of his forehead. A couple of evasions later, another arm broke under the deft, powerful Chinese fingers, the enemy fire diverted just in time to hit other Omi personnel instead.

All that was left was the blade of a knife coming towards him - another blow he easily dodged, his Kung Fu skills coming in handy as he punched and kicked with enough strength to send the weapon flying in the air and - accidentally or not - into Sachi’s equally skilled hands.

“Fucking faggot,” the man spluttered, a second before the knife was shoved under his chin.

“Wow, and you kiss your ma with that mouth?” Sachi whispered into his ear, before retrieving the knife and wiping the blood away on the shirt of the body that had just collapsed against a turned table. “Rude…”

Just as suddenly as it had started, the bloodied frenzy stopped, a pile of bodies scattered across the vinyl floor of the small club. The Omi operation base in Roppongi had the numbers but not the skill, and just like the fellow groups in Shibuya and Ueno, had collapsed after less than ten minutes of combat.

The sound of bottles rattling over the counter were the only thing to break the silence as Fei Long and his crew put their weapons away.

“This was their last meeting point, we covered everything,” he heard Sachi say. “The others must have headed to the Tojo Headquarters, that’s where they were planning to strike, anyway.”

“Is Asami there?” Fei Long asked, his back still turned to his former colleague.

“Probably.”

With a silent nod, the leader of the Baishe smoothed his jacket, and made sure all of his sleek black hair was still elegantly tied in a ponytail.

There was no winning against Asami Ryuichi, ever.

Showing support would be seen as proof of predictable subservience. Siding with the enemy, predictable cowardice.

In Asami’s mind, he was probably either a snake or a lapdog. Those seemed to be the only two categories that man used to classify the people in his life, in business and out of it.

_It was time to teach him a lesson._

From the corner of his eye, he could see Yoh staring at him, as if hoping he would change his mind.

“Fei Long…”

The two of them had probably locked eyes for a second too long, because when former-assassin-now-procurer Qiang/Sachi spoke again, his voice was full of suspicion.

“I'm pretty confident you're not with the Russians in this, but…” the procurer said, his light blue eyes gleaming dangerously. “I'm not entirely sure you're on our side either.”

“What makes you think that?” Fei Long asked, as he casually tucked his pistol back into its holster.

“Look at me.”

The Chinese leader chuckled quietly, and with a movement of his head, commanded Yoh and the rest of his team to wait outside.

He had almost forgotten how scarily perceptive his former colleague was.

When he and the procurer were alone in the room, Fei Long finally turned around and spoke again.

“There are more than two sides in this war. I have no obligation of choosing between Mikhail and Asami.”

His response was met with no surprise.

Instead, he saw the other man’s lips curl into a caustic little smile, his expression void of humor as they stared at each other.

“Of course,” Sachi finally responded, raising an eyebrow. “You can choose yourself.”

His low, grave voice carried a note of warning in itself. He might have adopted a new career, changed his looks, but underneath the scintillating make-up, the bright red hair and everything else, was the same man that he, Fei Long, had trained with on his early days as a hitman.

“Use the Jingweon Mafia to destroy the Omi, then strike while the iron is hot. Infiltrate the Tojo, take them down, it won't take much after tonight,” the procurer explained, narrowing his eyes as he stared at his counterpart. “Control their turf, their contacts, their businesses, and you can challenge Asami Ryuichi in his own jurisdiction.”

“Quite an elaborate train of thought,” Fei Long replied, feigning indifference at the other man’s ridiculously spot-on assessment of the situation.

“It's what I would do,” Sachi replied, with his usual Cheshire Cat grin. “Mind you, if I was still with the Baishe, which I'm not.”

Fei Long drew in a long breath when the man reached for his pair of daggers.

_He knew it would eventually come to that._

“I work for Asami Ryuichi now,” the procurer continued, “and if you're planning to take him down, I can't let you walk past that door, I'm sorry.”

“Are you really willing to die for him?” Fei Long asked.

“Without a second thought.”

“Why?”

The red-haired man chuckled, but his eyes remained just as serious as before.

“It’s a long story,” he said. “Too bad that after tonight either I will be too dead to tell it, or you will be too dead to hear it.”

He knew that he could probably end that fight before it even began, by simply drawing out his pistol and shooting the procurer between the eyes as he busied himself spinning his daggers.

Knowing his opponent as well as he did, though, there was a faint chance that even that would backfire, so the best thing was to play fair.

Soon enough, they were both standing face to face, Sachi with his daggers, Fei Long with his pair of butterfly knives.

“Bring it on, _princess_ ,” he heard the procurer hiss, a second before their blades met with enough power to send sparks flying up in the air between them.

++++

It had been a very long time since he had last seen the grounds of the Tojo Headquarters covered in so much blood.

They were on the verge of collapse.

“Chairman!”

He turned his head just in time to see one of his advisors running towards him.

“Sir... We got Shibuya, Roppongi and Ueno back,” the man said, slightly out of breath. “Kanda just called from the field. The Tojo had help from... the Jingweon Mafia and Liu Fei Long.”

Daigo Dojima couldn't help but frown.

“Fei Long?” he asked, taking cover behind a pillar as he reloaded his gun. “What the hell is he doing in Japan?”

The advisor was now too busy shooting enemies to answer his question.

“Hell, did Sengoku bring the entire Omi with him?” the man panted. “This is like trying to kill a fucking hydra…”

And indeed, every Omi operative that got taken down seemed to spawn at least other three in their place.

_There were just too many._

Dojima felt a bullet graze the side of his face but there was no time for pain. He was running out of ammo, and probably so were all his men fighting in every level of their headquarters; Asami Ryuichi was still missing in action and so were the guns and ammunition he was supposed to bring with him.

“Fucking finally!” he heard his First Lieutenant, Minami, scream somewhere behind him. “The old crowd is here!”

Glancing over his shoulder, the Chairman recognised the faces of a group of at least fifty men that used to belong to the Majima family.

“I would feel better if they had brought guns,” he said quietly, after noticing that most of them were carrying either kamas or wooden staffs.

“Don't underestimate the power of those beasts, boss,” Minami replied, with some sort of deranged pride in his voice.

He had barely finished his sentence when one of the newly arrived reinforcements swung a sledgehammer with all his might towards the head of an Omi officer.

“Holy shit…”

The advisor, upon seeing the sickening splashes of gooey red cover the wall behind them, looked very close to passing out.

“Fuck yeah!” Minami roared. “See?”

The Chairman nodded quietly. Perhaps the weapons would really not be a problem, after all…

“Lock all gates,” he said to the advisor, who had finally regained some of his composure. “No one comes in, no one goes out until we've killed each and every Omi officer in the premises.”

When he stepped away from the pillar to aim at his next target, his eyes shifted to the side, and he finally saw him, the man he had been hoping to kill for almost a decade.

_Ochida._

It was almost as if everything else had started happening in slow motion, including the moment when the despicable man turned his head to look at him from two floors below.

No surprise, no fear. Just that caustic, derisive little jeer, his eyes cold and indifferent.

_Son of a bitch._

He was about to take aim when someone else pulled the trigger first, killing the one man that had been shielding Ochida as he headed to the stairs.

“Well, now the circus is complete…” said Minami, as the two of them watched Asami Ryuichi march towards the Omi Lieutenant.

“No,” Dojima Daigo hissed, his blood pounding so hard in his head that his ears were buzzing. “Ochida is _mine_.”

And with that, he dodged the shower of bullets coming towards him and jumped over the rail, a fully loaded gun in one of his hands, brass knuckles on the other, ready to kill - and be killed.

++++

“You have some... _blood_..on your face,” said the leader of the Korean Mafia, as soon as Fei Long entered the BMW that had been waiting for him outside the club.

As he accepted the handkerchief being offered to him and cleaned his left cheek, Fei Long let his eyes travel to the rear view mirror, where Yoh’s dark eyes were once again looking for his.

That time, however, he chose not to held the stare. Yoh had the strange ability to read him too well, almost as well as Asami had once read him, and the last thing he needed was the silent lecture contained in those dark orbs.

“Where to?” he heard his assistant ask.

“Tojo Headquarters.”

His response elicited a resigned sigh from the man by his side. The first part of their plan had been a success, but things would increase in difficulty tenfold the moment they could no longer count on the surprise factor.

“I guess ‘stealth’ is no longer an option, huh?” the Korean leader asked some ten minutes later, as soon as they parked near the opulent entrance of the Tojo Headquarters, its marble staircases leading to what looked like some kind of medieval fortress.

Past the gates, people were running to take cover as gunshot echoed in the distance, jumping over bodies that were scattered across the floor, next to shattered vases and pieces of broken furniture.

“So…what now?” Fei Long heard the older man ask, as soon as both of them got out of the car to inspect the locked gates.

“Locked gates have never been a problem to me, Heung,” he replied, after taking a moment to study his alternatives. “It's not as if my targets ever waited for me with their doors open, for starters…”

“I know, that's not what I meant, what I'm saying is-”

Fei Long, though, didn't stay around to hear the end of that sentence.

Using part of the wall for support, he had managed to lift himself onto a higher platform connected to the building next door, and from there jumped to a rail that granted him access to a semi-open window.

In no time, he was facing the gardens, the privileged position allowing him to see clearly who was going in and out of the main lounge.

He trusted Yoh and the rest of his crew to find an easier way in on their own - there would be no point in waiting. If the chaos he had seen a minute prior was anything to go by, Asami might as well get caught in the crossfire and _no one other than himself_ was entitled to take that man down.

Perhaps it _was_ personal, after all.

++++

The moment his eyes landed on the Lieutenant of the Sengoku family, Asami felt a mix of fury and unrest pump through his veins.

According to Tanimura, Ochida was the man he should look for - he had been the one to take Akihito, and yet the photographer was nowhere to be found.

He felt like killing _everyone_ around him. Tojo, Omi, friend or foe, it didn't even matter anymore.

If anything had happened to Akihito, _everyone would pay._

Strands of dark hair were falling in front of his eyes, and his usually impeccable suit was a mess of mud, sweat and blood - his own and many others’. He was sure there was blood pouring from more than three wounds in his body; from what he could remember, he had been shot and stabbed at least once.

But it was not the time to feel pain.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had cared less about his own life, about his business, about his reputation, about his connections. All of that could be rebuilt. He had started from the very bottom, so what if everything went up in flames? He had risen to the top once, he would rise to the top again if he needed to.

He ignored the rational part of his mind screaming the countless sacrifices he had made to get to where he was - he didn't need to be faced with hard facts, not at that moment. Yes, maybe he had gone mad, finally. It was only Takaba Akihito, though, that could instil that unusual state of insanity into him.

He could not lose him.

He needed to find out where he was.

Only a few steps separated him from Ochida, who was apparently too busy staring at Dojima Daigo two floors above them to notice his approach.

His index finger was resting on the trigger, ready to shoot that son of a bitch right between the eyes, but he couldn't die before Asami found out where Akihito was, and even after that, that man deserved worse than a quick, painless death.

“Get down!”

That train of thought was interrupted when a slender body collided with his, tackling him to the ground.

“Fuck!” the same male voice exclaimed, a grunt of pain following shortly after.

He had already managed to submit whoever the idiot was to an impossibly tight leg lock when a familiar face finally came into view.

_Tanimura._

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Asami snarled.

“Fuck…” the man whimpered in response, eyes tightly shut as he held his forearm, blood dripping from between his fingers.

He had been shot.

“What have you done?” Asami asked, frowning.

“You were gonna get shot,” the younger man panted in response, his lips slightly pale as blood continued to pour from the wound in his arm.

 _The typical, stupid hero._ Saving someone who was obviously a detested adversary. No wonder Akihito was considering moving to another country with him… Tanimura Masayoshi was everything he had never bothered to be.

He didn't know it was possible to hate that idiot of a cop even more.

“How very graceful of you to save me,” he hissed in response, “but trust me, if it was the other way around, I would gladly watch you die.”

“I'm sure of it.”

The detective finally managed to get to his feet, still holding his arm and trying to get the bleeding to stop.

“Where is Akihito?” Asami asked, after the two of them found cover behind a wooden door separating them from the hallway. “You had one job, Tanimura!”

“I lost sight of him during a crossfire, when I realised he had taken off it was too late.”

“If anything happened to him, I am going to _kill_ you.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Tanimura replied, small beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he reloaded his gun. “One of Ochida's goons told me they had taken Akihito to the abandoned lot behind the headquarters,” he said, his breathing heavy and irregular. “We should go.”

Before he could move, however, Asami grabbed him by the arm that was not injured and forced him to turn around.

“Why take a bullet for me?” he asked.

“You're fucking unbelievable,” Tanimura whispered, after a mirthless chuckle.

The light brown eyes alight with defiance were like a red flag being waved in front of a bull.

“ _Answer me!_ ” Asami screamed, his fingers digging into the gun wound on the man’s left arm.

After letting out a piercing, pained wail, it was Tanimura’s turn to attack.

In a matter of seconds, Asami found himself pressed against a wall, with the muzzle of his own Česká zbrojovka pressed against his temple.

“Don't get me wrong, Asami, I would gladly watch you die too. Trust me, _there's nothing I want more,_ ” he heard the cop’s shaky voice whisper into his ear. “But not under these circumstances.”

When he finally let go, Asami could see his eyes were glistening with tears.

Whether those were out of hatred, pain, or both, he did not know.

“Akihito chose you,” the cop continued, after drawing in a long breath. “He's out there, and he's alone, and wherever he is, it's not me he's expecting,” he added, his chest heaving up and down as they stared at each other. “It's you.”

After another brief pause, in which Asami found himself once again consumed by all kinds of nefarious thoughts, the detective spoke again.

“Now… are we gonna stay here and chat or can we _fucking move on?_ ”

++++

_That was turning out to be one of the worst days of his life, if not the worst._

In a period of less than five hours, he had been dumped, duped and shot, saved a man he hated just to be humiliated and further injured by said man, and _oh, fucking hell,_ that damn gun wound hurt like a motherfucker now. He had nearly cried in front of Asami Ryuichi, for fuck’s sake.

Now _that_ would have been the icing on the cake.

At least the physical pain was a distraction from all the worry crushing his heart. At the end of the day, Asami was right. He had one job and he had failed, and now Akihito was in the hands of one of the most insane yakuza to ever exist.

If something had happened to the photographer, he would never forgive himself.

He cast a sideway glance at the older man marching by his side as they exited the building and walked towards the narrow path leading to the abandoned lot where Akihito was supposed to be.

And then there was that too. To get that piece of information, he had resorted to methods he had promised himself he would _never_ use, not as cop, let alone as a civilian. And yet, there he was, with another man’s blood covering his clothes, his hands, his conscience. So much for his no-kill policy. Maybe it was true what they said, that it took a while for you to finally realize what you had done, and that it took even longer for the nightmares to go away after that…

Tanimura blinked quickly, as if to urge his mind to save those thoughts for later. At that moment, all he needed to remember was that he had done what he needed to get to Akihito; to allow himself to be hindered by moral principles was a luxury he could not afford.

Just when he thought he was done with the unpleasant surprises, a man with long dark hair wrapped in an aura of pure danger and _finesse_ materialised in front of them, his pistol pointed directly to Asami’s head.

“What the f-”

“Not so fast,” he heard the man say, his eyes locked with Asami’s.

For a very long, very awkward moment, he watched as the two remained in silence, although the murderous glint in Asami’s eyes spoke volumes.

“Always so dramatic,” Tanimura heard Asami say. “We've been through this before, haven't we?”

“Probably not. You do realize that everything that is happening is your fault, don't you?”

The other man seemed to have barely noticed his presence. Not that he cared, really. The faster he could get out of that place - and that strange, random encounter -the better.

“I warned you to be careful with the Omi,” the long-haired man continued. “I saved your ass in Osaka, and you still don't get it."

“Oh no, I get it very well,” Asami replied, taking one step closer to his counterpart although the pistol was still dangerously close to his forehead. “As usual, you are waiting for me to stroke your ego, which you know I won't. What are you doing here, Fei Long? If you want to shoot, shoot, if not, _get the fuck out of my way._ ”

“You heard the man,” Tanimura finally said, raising his gun as a warning sign. “Get out of the way.”

The sour glare he got in return was rather scary, but he remained unphased.

Unless he was very wrong, _that Fei Long_ was probably _the same Fei Long_ that commanded one of the most powerful triads in Hong Kong, but at that point, he couldn't give two fucks about what he wanted or why he was picking a fight with another crime lord. He was exhausted, he was worried, Akihito was still in need of their help. Whatever problem that man had with Asami Ryuichi, he could certainly find a better time to discuss it.

“Who is this clown?” he heard the man ask, still glaring daggers at him.

“Put the gun down, Tanimura.”

“You know what, fuck it,” the cop finally replied, turning on his heels after tucking the gun under his belt. “I ain't got time to waste with this shit. Stay as long as you like, I'm gonna go find Akihito on my own.”

“ _Akihito?_ ”

The name was uttered with so much concern that Tanimura had no choice but to turn around.

“What happened to him?” the long-haired man asked.

The detective felt one of his eyes twitch.

 _Why did that man sound so worried?_ What was his connection to Akihito, if any?

“They have Akihito,” Asami replied, his voice still calm and collected although he seemed to be struggling to keep still. “The Omi… Ochida took him.”

“Where?”

Tanimura had just opened his mouth to respond when Asami resumed walking, his pace fast and urgent, with the long-haired man following closely behind.

 _‘Fucking finally,’_ he thought, as he rushed to join them.

Once again, it was time to tuck away the burning questions filling his mind. After they found Akihito, there would be plenty of time for the three of them to fan the good old flames of discord.

++++

The ground under his feet was slippery and soft as a result of the heavy rain that had poured down hours prior, but the pebbles and broken branches scattered across the grass ensured he could keep most of his stability as he searched around for signs, _any signs,_ of Akihito’s whereabouts.

His body was finally beginning to ache, but he forced himself to keep walking, to keep searching, even when there was nowhere else to look in the abandoned lot.

“Shit. He's not here,” he heard Tanimura say. “He's not here…”

“They must have taken him elsewhere…” Fei Long added.

Asami’s eyes, however, continued to scan the premises.

He was missing something. _He knew he was missing something,_ he could feel they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

Once again, he looked around, trying to spot some sort of hidden passage or trap door obscured by the small bushes growing in opposing corners of the lot; he could see footprints in the mud so obviously there had been people wandering there.

And then he saw it, a patch of land darker than the rest, and his heart stopped beating for a moment.

“No,” he whispered. “He's here.”

His knees had barely touched the ground when he grabbed a handful of wet soil and then another, going deeper as he kept digging until his fingers touched something solid.

“ _He's here_ ,” Asami repeated, his voice constricted as the first inch of a wooden board became apparent. “They buried him.”

“Oh my God.”

“They buried him.”

“Akihito!”

“Shit! Akihito!”

At that point, he no longer knew who was saying what. Fei Long and Tanimura were talking and cursing at the same time, but nothing they could possibly say would matter anyway.

They just had to keep digging.

When enough of the wooden board came into view, three pairs of hands forced it upward, and although the cheap, rudimentary coffin seemed to have been sealed in some way, no lock would be strong enough to resist the efforts of three desperate men.

His fingertips were bleeding by the time the wood finally gave away, but the urge to see Akihito was stronger than any pain.

“Please be alive,” he muttered, as they pushed the board aside. “Please be alive…”

When the immobile, injured slender body of his lover came into view, Asami felt his soul had left his body. Akihito’s usually warm skin was icy cold, his lips of a scary bluish color.

Without thinking, without waiting, he pulled the photographer out of the coffin and into his arms.

“Akihito?” he whispered, pressing two fingers against the young man’s neck as his head dropped to the side. “Oi, Akihito!”

He was so desperate to hear any kind of response, be it Akihito’s faint voice or a single heartbeat, that he didn't even bother when Fei Long’s long hair brushed against his face as he leaned forward to press his ear against the photographer’s lips.

“He's still breathing,” Asami heard him say.

“His pulse is too weak,” he replied, his hands shaking as he tried to brush away the damp strands of hair covering the photographer’s eyes. “I can't hear his heartbeat.”

He had lived long enough, and seen people die enough times, to know that not reacting to stimuli when in a state of unconsciousness was very bad news, but he could not afford to let his mind to go there. Akihito would survive, he had to.

“Akihito, open your eyes. Don't you even think about dying on me, I will never forgive you,” he said, giving the photographer’s face a couple of very gentle slaps for good measure. “Come on, kitten, open your eyes.”

And then, he did.

Asami noticed, however, that even though his lips had parted as if he wanted to say something, no sound came out of them, and one of his pupils was much more dilated than the other.

_That was not a good sign either._

“Goodness, what have they done to you…” Asami whispered, the tremor in his hands intensifying when his fingertips touched the bloodied back of the photographer’s head.

“We need an ambulance,” Tanimura said, his voice nasal and hoarse as he sniffled.

“We don't have time,” Asami responded, a new rush of panic flooding his system when Akihito’s eyes fluttered closed again. “I'll take my car, you two will have to give me cover.”

Without waiting for a response, or mentally unable to process it in case there had been one, Asami stood up with Akihito in his arms, hoping that through some sort of miracle, they would be able to navigate the chaotic battlefield they had just left minutes prior and make it out alive.

++++

 

 


	54. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate times call for desperate measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throughout this fic, we have seen countless moments of Asami's weakness, so I guess it is finally time for him to transcend (or sort of, lol). Therefore, here he is, the lethal, sexy war tank we all love. 
> 
> That being said, a warning: this chapter contains graphic depictions of violence. "How graphic" depends on the reference frame of each reader- I have read other Finder fics with torture scenes that make this chapter look like child's play (and this warning, therefore, rather silly, lol XD).
> 
> But yeah. It's violent. Maybe just "mildly violent", depending on where you are coming from, but... yeah. There you go. ^_^

 “Asami-sama got the girl back,” Suoh announced, after entering one of the many rooms of Asami Ryuichi’s private health clinic. “Mine just called.”

By his side, sitting at the edge of his hospital bed, Shinada let out an unhappy sigh. The head of security could see him shaking his legs nervously from the corner of his eye, and knew exactly what words would come out of his mouth before they were even said.

“I can hold a gun with my left h-”

“The doctor’s orders were clear, Shinada,” Suoh replied. “Your wounds have not healed yet, and if they reopen you might damage your shoulder ligaments permanently.”

“But-”

“I need you to stay here,” the blond man interrupted. “Especially now, with what happened to Kirishima and all hell breaking loose.”

Still looking disheartened, but at least showing the first signs of resignation, Shinada nodded in silence.

“Suoh-sama…”

The voice coming from the door made the two men turn around. One of Sion’s junior security operatives was clutching a cell phone, looking particularly concerned.

“What is it?” Suoh asked.

“The house…” the man replied. “Majima’s residence… it went down.”

“Down?”

“Bombs. They were detonated in the basements, the entire place collapsed.”

The words made all blood drain from Suoh’s face.

“Suoh-sama…” he heard Shinada whisper by his side. “Are you okay?”

After a quick nod, the head of security stepped out of the room, trying to control the tremor in his hands as he reached for his own phone and sped dialled one of the numbers in his contact list.

“Pick up the phone, pick up the-”

_“The number you are trying to reach-”_

He ended the call before the automated message could intensify his fears. There was no point in assuming the worst, really, there were a million reasons why Li Jiao would be unable to answer his call at a time like that…

 _‘Don't assume the worst,’_ he repeated mentally, a second before his phone started buzzing.

_**Wei Shen** _

“Wei, where are you?”

_“Heading to the hospital. Li got shot.”_

The bodyguard felt one of his eyes twitch.

“Sir, it’s Mine again.”

Another operative had materialised by his side holding out a phone, but Suoh raised a hand to prevent another interruption.

“What hospital?” he asked.

 _“The one in Kariya Towers,”_ Wei Shen replied, _“it’s the closest one to-”_

“No, no, listen,” Suoh said, raking his fingers through his short hair, wishing the strands were just a little longer so that he could tug at them. “Bring her here, bring her here.”

_“Here **where**?”_

“I’ll text you the address, it’s Asami Ryuichi’s private clinic.”

_“How far is it?”_

“Just two blocks away from the Towers.”

Suoh paused to draw in a long breath, and the operative he had been ignoring until then took that chance to speak again.

“Sir, Mine says it’s really urgent.”

The head of security frowned, trying to reorganize his thoughts. Much as he wanted to keep pacing the hallway, worrying about the woman’s state and their unborn child, there were far too many things competing for his attention, and he was still on duty.

“Mine, what happened?” he asked, after ending the call with Wei Shen and typing the first characters of their current address.

_“Ochida got Takaba-san.”_

His heart skipped a beat.

Sengoku Hiroshi abducting his boss’s daughter, and his maniac of a lieutenant getting hold of the man’s lover was his very definition of a nightmare come true.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Only then did he realize he had stopped typing, and Wei Shen was calling him again.

“Text our address to Wei Shen,” he said, after storming into Shinada’s room and passing him the phone.

 _“And I lost sight of Asami-sama,”_ Mine continued.

“Where are you?”

_“Tojo Headquarters.”_

Suoh squeezed his eyes shut, trying to organize the logistics of who should be doing what, when and where. Half of their tactical team was receiving medical attention, Kirishima’s condition was still unknown, Shinada would not be able to go to the field, their boss had gone missing in action. It was not the first time he was forced to think on his feet; he had seen chaos before, more than once.

It was the first time, however, he would have to do it all without Kirishima by his side.

“Sir, another call from the field,” said another operative, passing him another cell phone.

“Mine, hold the line,” he said. “Suoh speaking.”

_“Suoh-sama, the Omi appears to be retreating.”_

“Confirm location.”

_“Tojo Headquarters, five BMWs just left the area.”_

“Send license plates to security team at Sion, I want all of those cars tracked.”

_“Yes, sir.”_

He was about to lead the other phone back to his ear when a commotion near the entrance announced Wei Shen’s arrival.

Suoh immediately let his eyes travel to the gurney by his side.

He could barely see Li Jiao’s face, which was partially covered by an oxygen mask, but from the little he could see, he could tell the woman was unconscious, and awfully pale.

“She’s pregnant,” he whispered, after approaching the gurney and squeezing himself between two nurses to touch her face.

“How many weeks?” one of the nurses asked.

“Thirteen. Or fourteen, I don’t…” he replied, trying not to trip on his own feet as he looked at the woman’s bloodied legs. “I don’t know, I’m not sure…”

“We’ll do our best,” the nurse replied, before rolling the gurney one of the elevators.

When the chromed doors closed and Li Jiao disappeared from his sight, he slumped onto one of the chairs on the hallway, waiting until his foggy mind was ready to function properly once again.

The two phones on his hands were buzzing, just like the one inside his pocket.

“Maeda-san,” he said, after asking Mine to hold the line once again, and dialling the number of Sion’s head of cyber security. “I need you to go back to Sion.”

_“Yeah, yeah, I’m watching the news.”_

Suoh’s eyes went wide.

“What are they saying on the news?” he asked.

_“About the boss? Nothing for now, but from the looks of it someone will get our people on vid pretty soon.”_

“We can’t let that happen.”

 _“I figured that’s why you’re calling?”_ the head of cyber security replied. _“You want me to hack their stations or something?”_

“No, no…” Suoh answer, shaking his head as he spoke.

He hadn't even thought about that, to be honest. Public Relations was Kirishima’s turf, not his - he knew how to protect people’s lives, but preventing backlashes to their image was by no means his specialty.

He was positive, however, that in Asami Ryuichi’s case both things went hand in hand.

“I’ll check with Kirishima… I mean, Kirishima’s assistant,” he quickly corrected, with another pang in his heart. “I called because you and the team have to hack some surveillance cameras across town. I need you to return to Sion right away.”

_“On my way.”_

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, and looked down when the soft beep coming from the elevator announced its doors opening.

“Anything?” he asked, when a visibly exhausted Wei Shen appeared from behind the chromed doors.

“No,” he replied, sitting next to him. “They say she needs surgery.”

“What kind of surgery?”

“Knee replacement.”

Suoh nodded, feeling whatever was left of his energy was slowly fading away after the sequence of unexpected events.

“Call me when they’re done,” he said, after getting up.

“Have they found Takaba?” the Chinese man asked.

“I don’t know…” Suoh replied. “I'm heading to the Tojo Headquarters to find out.”

The head of security made a quick detour to get himself a triple espresso from the coffee machine outside Shinada’s room, checking the cartridge of his pistol as he waited for the drink to be ready.

“Suoh-sama, is there anything I can do?” Shinada asked.

“Yes,” Suoh replied. “You stay here, and keep me posted on Kirishima’s condition.”

“Yes, sir.”

The blond man nodded, and took the fuming paper cup of coffee to his lips.

He was about to take a much needed first sip when Asami Ryuichi burst into the lounge with Takaba Akihito in his arms, both of them covered in so much mud and blood they were a vision of hell.

++++

“Asami-san.”

He was vaguely aware someone was talking to him, but the fog inside his head was too thick for him to bother responding.

“Asami-san, can you hear me?” the female voice asked again.

When soft, gentle fingers wrapped around his wrist, he jumped on his seat, and finally looked up.

“What?” he asked, staring at his counsellor’s face.

_Where was he?_

He looked around, his eyes travelling from the half empty glass of water by his side to the people pacing the hallway ahead, and frowned. He had no recollection of how he had ended up in that armchair, or of having asked for water or even drinking from it.

The last thing he remembered…

“Where is Akihito?” he exclaimed, jumping from his seat as images of his pale lover flashed before his eyes.

“He is undergoing surgery,” Makoto replied.

“Surgery?” he asked, wincing in pain when his muscles protested at the sudden change of position.  

“Yes,” she said, urging him to sit down again. “He suffered severe head trauma, the doctors are trying to relieve the pressure inside his skull.”

“How bad is it?”

“They still don't know.”

Asami swallowed, feeling the bitter taste of fear and anger linger on his tongue.

He needed to see Akihito, he needed to look at him and know he would be fine. He needed to catch Ochida and make him pay. He needed to end that conflict before things got even worse, he needed to call the Minister...

There were many things he needed to do, so many he didn't even know where to start.

Before he could speak again, the counsellor continued.

“He also had a partial laceration in his pancreas because of a knife wound, but the vest he was wearing absorbed most of the impact.”

He forced himself to draw in a long breath as he closed his eyes and let his head rest against the armchair.

“Maya... Where is she?” he asked.

“With Kimura-sensei,” the woman replied. “Kirishima is undergoing surgery too.”

She paused to take a seat next to him, feeling around for the glass of water and speaking again after her fingers closed around it.

“I hope you don't mind, but I asked Suoh-san to go get you a fresh change of clothes,” she said.

“How long have I been here?”

“Twenty minutes or so,” the counsellor replied. “The nurses have tried to patch you up but you didn't let anyone come close to you. How are you feeling?”

“I don't know…” he answered, with his eyes still closed.

“You've lost a lot of blood, at least drink some water or you will pass out.”

“I need... I need to go back…”

He knew he should stand up and leave, but it was almost as if he was floating many miles above himself, his thoughts separated from his body by a thick, warm cloud that made his eyes feel too heavy to remain open.

“Thanks, Makoto.”

“You're welcome, sensei.”

When he opened his eyes again, he saw his private physician close the door behind him and walk in his direction.

“Asami-san,” the older man said, before taking a small flashlight from his pocket and examining his eyes. “Makoto here is the only one who's been following all the cases with me so I hope you don't mind her staying as I examine you?”

“It's fine.”

After his response, however, Asami realised he didn't exactly have the time for a medical examination, but Kimura-sensei seemed very little inclined to let him go anyway. In a matter of seconds, the old man had stripped him off his shirt and pants, his multiple wounds coming into view all at once.

“How is Maya?” he asked, trying to ignore the pain pulsing through his spine every time he moved his legs.

“Sedated,” the doctor replied, frowning deeply as he looked at his stomach. “Can you stand?”

He did, despite the excruciating pain that forced him to grit his teeth and press both hands against the wall. He could feel warm blood trickling down his lower back, probably from one of the many cuts he had gotten himself at some point of that endless day.

“My goodness, Ryuichi…” he heard the physician whisper. “Come, you need a shower. It will help lower the fever, too.”

When the man walked towards another door, Asami followed without questioning. Maybe a shower would wake him up; there was no point just rushing out of the clinic to pass out at its doorstep.

He shuddered when the first jets of lukewarm water touched his injured skin, the burning sensation making his hands curl into fists.

“About the girl…” the physician whispered, his voice no longer carrying the note of shock from moments prior. “No major injuries other than the one in her leg. I have given her all the antibiotics and a hormonal shot to prevent any complications, we will have to test her in the next coming days to detect anything out of the usual. So far things are looking good…”

“But she will need someone by her side when she wakes up,” Asami heard his counsellor add. “That kind of experience is always very traumatic.”

“Is there anyone, other than you, that can keep her company?” Kimura-sensei asked. “Another relative, a friend?”

His head was spinning.

Even though he knew very little about his daughter's life, he knew for a fact he was his only relative still living. As to friends… other than Akihito and Kou, he couldn't really think of anyone else.

“There's... her boyfriend.”

“The kid named Kou?”

Asami replied his physician’s question with a short nod.

“I see,” the older man muttered. “He asked to see her but she didn't let him…”

“It's understandable,” Makoto whispered in response. “Is there anyone else we can call?”

And then, he remembered.

“Tanimura.”

“Tanimura Masayoshi?” she asked. “The cop?”

“Yes,” Asami replied, shifting on his legs uncomfortably as his doctor cleaned the injuries on his legs. “He's her friend. Is he alive?”

“Yes,” the man answered. “He was shot in the arm but my team is already patching him up.”

“Don't tell him what happened,” Asami whispered. “It should be her decision.”

“Of course.”

He rested his forehead against the wall, revelling the coolness of the tiles as his physician shut down the water and started patting him dry.

“I am worried about the wound in your thigh,” the doctor said, after pressing a bandage to the only injury that still seemed to be bleeding profusely. “I can't use the glue if there are still pieces of bullet inside.”

“I don't have time,” Asami responded. “Just give me a shot.”

“A shot?” he heard Makoto ask.

“Yes, a cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics…” Kimura-sensei replied, pushing his glasses farther up his nose when the counsellor raised both eyebrows. “I know, I know, it’s risky but I'd rather supervise him than let him do it on his own, which I know that he will.”

He could feel the older man’s glare even without looking at him.

“You listen to me, Asami,” he continued, after opening a cabinet and retrieving a pile of bandages, as well as a syringe and four small bottles. “You are already running a fever, these drugs will push your body to the limit…”

“The shot, Kimura,” he replied. “Just give me the shot.”

The pain was unbearable. He felt every inch of his body was being pierced by searing hot knives, and he was already sweating again.

“Let me finish your bandages first.”

“How long until the drugs begin to wear off?” Asami asked.

“Half an hour or so.”

“ _Half an hour_?”

“I am giving you the minimal dose, your system would crash if I gave you more,” the physician replied, frowning as he prepared the injection. “Stop complaining.”

Despite the minor dis, Asami chose not to argue. Without a word, he ignored the sting of the needle entering his arm, and proceeded to put on the suit Suoh had brought him.

He really had no more time to waste.

“Who's with Akihito?” he asked, realising in awe that his counsellor had taken on the mission of settling his tie around his neck.

“Our best neurosurgeon,” the physician replied. “He couldn't be in better hands.”

“What about Kirishima?”

“They are still removing the fragments from the bullet in his back, it's a delicate procedure, might take hours,” the older man said, after a long sigh. “I had to fly in a specialist in spinal cord injury from Osaka, she will cost you a small fortune but she is the best in her field in the entire Asia.”

“Spend all the money you need,” Asami responded, the fog inside his head finally dissipating as the drugs began to kick in.

He was about to walk towards the door when his private physician addressed him one last time.

“Listen, I know you're a tank and all, but…” he paused, his concern evident in every line of his tired face. “Don't overdo it.”

Asami nodded quietly in response, stealing a quick glance towards the mirror behind them just to find out the Windsor knot around his neck was impeccable. How Makoto could do it without being able to see was quite the mystery, one that he unfortunately would not have much time to think about at the moment.

“When… When Akihito wakes up,” he said instead, his eyes darting nervously from the counsellor’s face to the door. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

“He won’t be,” the woman replied quietly.

“Tell his friend to keep him company,” he continued. “He hates hospitals.”

“Yes, he does.”

“When he wakes up, tell him…”

Asami bit his lower lip for a second. There was so much he wanted Akihito to hear, and yet nothing came to his mind, at least not clearly enough for him to voice it properly.

“Tell him that I’ll be back soon,” he said. “Tell him he’ll be fine.”

“I will,” Makoto whispered, with the same soothing tone as usual. “Go.”

With much stronger steps than he would have been able to give when he first arrived at the clinic, Asami Ryuichi walked down the hall, took a turn left, and disappeared from sight.

++++

Maya was still lying down, facing the wall, when she felt the mattress shift by her side, as if someone had sat on the bed right next to her.

Her eyelids, however, felt too heavy for her to open them and find out who it was.

Hopefully not Kou.

She really was not ready to look at him, not yet.

“Suoh, what’s the situation?”

Even though the man was whispering, she could tell right away it was her father speaking.

“Ochida has taken off, but our cyber team has tracked him through the surveillance cameras in the area,” another voice replied, quietly. “His car was last spotted near the Millennium Tower.”

She almost jumped when fingers carefully touched the back of her head, stroking her hair very lightly.

It felt strangely good.

Fearing that the only reason why her father was doing that at all was because she was apparently not awake to notice it, she remained immobile, breathing as quietly as she could.

She would take what she could get.

“As to the other Tojo outposts, they are no longer under the Omi's control, thanks to... Fei Long's intervention,” she heard the other man continue, eliciting a quiet chuckle from his counterpart. “The Jingweon Mafia tipped the scale at the Tojo's Headquarters. Ochida's men were slaughtered.”

“What other families are helping him, do we know?”

“We have a tentative list, yes.”

Then, the mattress shifted again, and the heat that had been seeping through the man’s clothes was gone.

“I want names.”

Her father’s low voice now sounded more distant, as if he had walked towards the door, but not quite left the room yet.

“Yes, sir. I will contact our cyber team to get an update.”

Maya’s eyes snapped open.

Finally, something she could do to help her pass the time.

++++

By the time he and Suoh had entered the BMW waiting for them outside the clinic, Asami was already sweating profusely once again.

“Mine, is the air conditioning on?” he asked, as soon as they pulled out into the road.

“Yes, sir.”

“Crank it up,” he replied, reaching for the phone inside the pocket of his jacket to make the phone call he was supposed to have made hours prior.

 _“Asami-san!”_ answered the man on the other side of the line, sounding positively exasperated.

“Minister Tamiya, my apologies for not calling any sooner.”

 _“I will accept your apologies, depending on the news you bring,”_ the man responded. _“Is this insanity over?”_

He stole a glance out of his window, and saw that the entrance to the Millennium Towers was less than three blocks away.

“It's going to be, very soon,” he answered.

 _“How soon is 'very soon'?”_ the minister asked in espouse, his pitch once again higher than usual. _“My phone won't stop ringing, I am on my way to meet the Prime Minister, we have a press conference in ten minutes. What am I supposed to say to the journalists, to the country, to the world?”_

“Tell them that the disruptions have been contained,” Asami replied, after drawing in a long breath.

_“But they haven't, have they? I can't lie on national television, Ryuichi!”_

“Politicians do it all the time.”

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. Dealing with the members of the Diet required a lot of tact and patience; politicians with a bruised ego tended to cooperate less in times of need.

_“Now's not the time to get salty, my old friend.”_

Luckily for him, the Minister of Defence had a thick skin.

 _“We both know that a reckless lie is just as devastating as an untimely truth,”_ the man on the other side of the line continued. _“Tell me: how much more time do you need to put a stop to this mess?”_

“Half an hour,” Asami replied, glancing at his watch after wiping a drop of sweat off his forehead.

_“Fifteen minutes. I cannot delay a press conference by twenty minutes!”_

“Twenty minutes.”

He could hear the minister mumble under his breath on the other side of the line, and waited in silence for his ally to come to a decision.

 _“Fine!”_ the man finally said, after an unhappy grunt. _“Goodness grief, I hope I won't regret this…”_

The call ended without the usual formalities, and with Asami once again glancing out of the window.

“What floor are they in?” he asked, when the car stopped in front of the towering skyscraper.

“The Omi operation center is on the 70th floor,” Suoh replied, while tapping the screen of his cell phone.

“Please tell me they haven't shut down the elevators…”

“Central, confirm status of elevators in the Millennium Tower?” the bodyguard said, after putting the call on speaker so that they both could hear the answer.

_“Panel control indicates they have been shut down, sir.”_

“Fuck,” Asami hissed in response, closing his eyes as he loosened the tie around his neck.

He could tell that his fever was getting worse, and that it was a matter of time until the brain fog came back.

“I guess that's the good thing about being friends with the police,” he heard someone say by his side.

_Someone that was not his bodyguard._

“What?” asked the blond man wearing a mauve suit, looking at his own nails as he spoke. “It’s the truth.”

Hayashi Kazuki would have looked perfectly fine and real, if it weren't for the blood dripping down his temple when he turned his head.

“What?” he repeated.

“Boss?”

“You…” Asami whispered.

_“Boss?”_

Suoh’s strong voice brought him back to reality.

“What?” he asked.

“You said something about the _police_?” the bodyguard explained, with a confused frown. “I'm afraid I couldn't hear you very well.”

Asami drew in a long, deep breath. If that was his mind talking to him, then he'd better understand what it was trying to tell him.

“Never mind…” he replied, before tapping a number on his phone and leading it to his ear.

_“I was begin-”_

“Kuroda,” Asami quickly interrupted. “I need a helicopter, now.”

++++

“Yoh, follow their car.”

Fei Long was still in awe.

He had seen, with his own two eyes, Asami Ryuichi take bullets, knife wounds and more as they fough their way out of the Tojo Headquarters, apparently immune to all pain as he carried an unconscious Takaba Akihito to the BMW waiting for them outside.

When the man finally agreed to take a seat at his doctor’s office after the photographer had been taken from his arms, Fei Long could have sworn he would simply pass out.

Not even half an hour later, though, there he was, walking out of the place looking impeccable in a clean custom made suit, his step firm and gracious as if he had barely suffered a scratch.

“They seem to be going to the Millennium Tower,” Yoh said.

He nodded quietly in response.

At some point during their exit, he had seen Omi operatives depart from the Tojo Headquarters as well, after his team and Korean allies had pretty much wiped them out.

It made sense that Asami would come to their central base of operations in Tokyo - that was probably where Ochida had run to.

What didn't make sense was the fact he didn't seem to have brought any reinforcements with him other than two bodyguards.

“You wait in the car.”

“Where are you going?” he heard Yoh ask, as he got out of his BMW and walked towards the helicopter that had just landed in the middle of the Millennium Tower’s garden.

“Check where the Omi’s office is located, meet me there,” he said, reaching for his pistol as he picked up his step.

 _“Asami, I swear to-”_ he heard a bespectacled man say from inside the helicopter.

_“I know, I know. Lots of paperwork for you.”_

_“Where are we going?”_ the man asked.

 _“The rooftop,”_ Fei Long heard Asami reply.

 _“The rooftop? Of the Millennium Tower?”_ the man’s voice was loaded with disbelief. _“Oh please, don't tell me that's where they took the fight... It will all be on national television.”_

Asami was about to shut the door on his side when Fei Long stopped it from closing with his pistol, a loud clank making all heads turn to look at him.

“What the f-”

“Let me in,” Fei Long said, ignoring the three guns that were now pointed to his head.

When his eyes locked with the golden orbs staring at him, though, he knew he was not going to have his brains blown out - not that day, at least.

“Go away, Fei Long!” Asami snarled, putting his gun away and urging his bodyguards to do the same. “You have no business here anymore.”

“Open the goddamn door,” Fei Long hissed in response, when the other man tried to force the door closed once again.

“No.”

“Stop being a dick.”

“What do you want?” Asami snapped, glaring daggers at him.

“Asami, what the hell is going on?” the bespectacled man asked, turning around to check the reason for all the commotion.

“ _Let me in,_ Asami!”

He clenched his jaw, making it clear he was not going to cave. Either he got in or none of them would get off the ground.

“Why do you keep forcing yourself into my affairs…” Asami complained, before finally pushing the door open so that he could step inside.

“Is that your way to thank me?”

“Thank you? For what?”

 _Obviously._ What other response could he possibly expect…

“For trying to pry this country out of my hands?” Asami continued, his eyes so fierce and dangerous they looked like two pools of molten lava. “That's what you came here for, isn't it? Mikhail surely played you like a fiddle…”

Fei Long had to stifle a chuckle.

“Mikhail came to me asking for my help,” he replied.

“Which he knew he probably wouldn't get,” he saw Asami reply, with just as much confidence as before, “so he used his only trump card, which is your obvious confidence issues when it comes to me, to ensure that you would be bitter enough not to help me either.”

The leader of the Baishe felt his face heat up, out of embarrassment and anger.

He wished he could say Asami was wrong, but even with all his pride, the truth was far too obvious to be ignored.

All that time, he had thought his move was the third option no one was accounting for, except that it was precisely what Mikhail had expected him to do, and what Asami knew he would do, by default.

“And clearly, you fell for it,” he heard the man add, his voice no longer loaded with the irritation of moments before.

When strong fingers grabbed his chin and forced him to turn his head so that their faces were dangerously close, Fei Long felt his breath catch in his throat.

“You always complain that I don't give you enough credit, Fei Long, but the truth is that you are the one that keeps selling yourself short,” Asami whispered, their faces so close that he could feel the air coming out of his mouth on his own lips. “It's time to wake up.”

And then the golden eyes locked with his for a silent second, before the doors on either side of them opened with a loud bang.

Only then did he realize they had already reached the rooftop, and that Asami’s bodyguards had already gotten out of the helicopter to hold the doors open for them.

++++

Inside the Omi’s operation center on the 70th floor of the Millennium Tower, the eight family leaders that were still standing after the night’s sequence of catastrophic events paced the room, whispering to each other as a tall, strong man looked out of the window.

“Ochida,” one of them finally gathered the courage to say. “It's over.”

When the Lieutenant of the Sengoku’s family turned around, his dark brown eyes seemed to be tainted by a ferocious red gleam.

“The fuck you talking about?” he snarled.

”Look around,” the family leader continued. “We have no more men to spare! The Jingweon Mafia annihilated us in he Tojo Headquarters, now the Tojo has followed us here…” he said, shrugging nervously as he spoke. “We...we have no chance. It's over.”

Ochida’s lips curled into a lifeless, bitter smirk.

“So you're just gonna bail, is that what you're telling me?” he asked.

“You should do the same. Sengoku is probably dead by now.”

“Do what, walk away?” Ochida whispered, slowly approaching his counterpart on the other side of the room. “And then what? Do you think the Chairman is waiting for us with open arms in Osaka?”

With the same merciless smile, and his eyes narrowed dangerously, the Lieutenant looked around, and scoffed.

“We are here against his orders,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “There's nothing to go back to.”

“We can wait for the heat to die down. Then think of an ap-”

The word gave way to a splutter when Ochida cut the man’s throat open with a swift move of his knife.

“Holy f-” exclaimed another family leader, staggering backwards as the officer fell to the ground, trying to stop the blood that kept oozing from his neck.

“You all were so fucking happy when the chance to take a slice of Asami Ryuichi's fortune came up, huh?” Ochida yelled, the bloodied blade of his knife shining dangerously as he opened his arms. “Now you're all just gonna scatter like rats…”

And indeed, in a matter of seconds the other officers were running towards the exit doors, without looking back.

“Cowards…” he whispered, wiping a string of saliva off the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “No... I ain't going nowhere.”

His eyes were frantic as he opened and closed cabinets, drawers, boxes and chests spread across the room, looking for anything he could use as a weapon.

He was running out of bullets.

“I'm gonna take them both down. Asami and the Tojo,” he said to himself, as he grabbed a bunch of rusty chains from inside a box. “And you will all bow to me, you fucking pussies.”

Some of his men were still fighting on the floors below - gunshot and screaming echoed loudly near the emergency exit staircase.

Without much of a second thought, he walked towards the source of all the noise. It was rare for him to come to Tokyo, so he knew very little about the labyrinth of hallways and rooms in the Millennium Tower.

He could, however, smell blood and anger from miles away, so he let his instincts guide him to where he knew he was being waited.

In no time, he found himself looking at a man with a Geisha tattoo covering his back.

“Now, now…” he chuckled, wrapping the chains around his wrist as he waited for the man to turn around to face him. “If it isn't the good old Dojima Daigo.”

++++

The 70th floor of the Millennium Tower was deserted by the time Asami reached it. Judging by the stains of blood on the floor and on the walls leading out of the Omi’s operation room, he had missed Ochida and his supporters by minutes.

“They headed downstairs,” Suoh said, as he pushed the emergency door open so that they could all get to the floor below.

Asami deliberately let his two bodyguards and Fei Long go first - he didn't want any of them to realize that his clothes were drenched in sweat, and that the untreated wound in his leg was finally charging its price.

He had barely managed to go down the single flight of stairs that separated them from the rooftop without collapsing; chances were he wouldn't be that lucky a second time.

If anything, he could still salvage some of his dignity by going down an alternative staircase, where any potential staggering would not be witnessed by others.

When the sound of gunshot grew closer, he hid behind a pillar to avoid being shot as he checked the cartridge of his gun.

“You're bleeding,” said a female voice next to him.

“I'm used to it,” he replied, only to realize a moment later that he was hallucinating again.

“Fuck…”

“Yeah…” Hayashi Mirai replied, hiding behind a pillar as well as she reloaded her pistol. “Good to see you too.”

“You're not real,” he whispered. “You're not here.”

“And yet you're talking to me,” she replied, before raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head when the woman jumped from her hiding spot to shoot at the Omi officers that had showed up at the end of the hall.

“Go,” she screamed. “I'll give you cover.”

As he watched the bullets fly, he found himself unable to move for a moment. His mind seemed to be having a hard time telling reality from delirium, and when he finally decided to make a run for it, all the noise was over. The Omi officers, dead or alive, were nowhere to be found, and he cursed under his breath at the obvious mental malfunction.

_That damn fever._

The only upside of that brief, unhinged intermission was that he had ended up finding a trail of blood leading to very heavy wooden doors.

He got the feeling that was exactly where he was supposed to be.

The doors were unlocked but not fully open - there were rusty chains and a padlock keeping their two sides connected, a small gap showing what was inside.

Or who, in that case.

Crouching in front of a shattered glass panel, was none other than the man he had come all the way to kill, staring at him with a small smile of triumph in his lunatic face.

“And he finally gets to his destination…” he heard Ochida mutter, his voice cold and full of disdain.

Asami frowned.

There was something wrong.

He moved to the right so that Ochida wouldn't be able to see him as his eyes tried to scan the rest of the room. Everything was strangely quiet, and when he moved left to check the only corner of the room he had not been able to inspect, he finally understood why.

Dojima Daigo was on his knees, chained to a wall, with a particularly large - and sharp - shard of glass hanging from the ceiling and pointing at his chest.

It didn't take long for Asami to realize that the moment he shot the lock, the shard would be released and pierce the Chairman of the Tojo Clan right in the middle of his chest.

“What now, Asami, huh?” Ochida asked, and the excitement in his voice was so tangible Asami felt his hair stand on end.

_The sick fuck._

“See, nine years ago, everyone thought I had failed when I was assigned to kill this idiot of a Chairman here,” the man said, getting close to the corner where Dojima was. “But I didn't. And you know why?”

He remained silent, using the time Ochida would waste with his useless monologue to scan the premises and try to find a way in that did not involve killing the leader of the Tojo in the process.

“Because when his... when his kid was sliced in half,” the lieutenant continued, bursting into laughter in the middle of his sentence, “haha… this man here, this weak piece of shit, died as well.”

And then, his voice lost all humor, and he walked back to the window.

“And I just did the same to you, can't you see? Even if you don't die…” Ochida explained, “you care about that little whore of a photographer, don't you?”

The words made Asami’s finger tremble against the trigger of his Beretta. He had never wanted to kill someone so bad as he did at that moment, and yet a part of him wanted to keep that lunatic alive just so he could torture him over and over again.

“Asami! Shoot the lock!”

He ignored Dojima’s words - that was exactly how Ochida wanted it to happen.

There had to be another way.

“When I put him in that coffin he was not even moving, did he survive at all?” Ochida continued, in an obvious attempt to get under his skin. “I guess that even if he did... he's probably brain dead, you know? I slammed that head pretty hard.”

“You can't let him get away…” Dojima whispered, just loud enough to make himself heard.

Asami narrowed one of his eyes as he tried once again to take aim, but the son of a bitch kept walking around on purpose, hiding behind pillars and going into blind spots where he knew he would not be a target.

All he needed was one shot. One good shot, and it would all be over.

“Chances are he'll be a fucking vegetable for the rest of his life,” the lieutenant scoffed. “Not that it matters, right? I mean, who needs a brain with an ass like that, I know I would still fuck him raw, anyway…”

Whatever self-control Asami had been able to have so far flew right of the window when the man in the far end of the room moved his hips back and forth, the tip of his tongue flicking against his upper lip.

“Asami, shoot the lock!”

“Yes, Asami, _shoot the fucking lock!_ ” Ochida roared.

There was no other way.

His ears were buzzing, his head felt many pounds lighter, his blood pressure was probably dropping out of anger and as a result of the punishing fever that had been ravishing his body for the past few hours.

Still, he managed to voice an apology loud enough for the Chairman of the Tojo to hear.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

With a final nod, Dojima Daigo gave him the green light to do what needed to be done.

“Do it,” he whispered in return.

The doors opened with a bang the moment he shot the lock, the rattle of chains on the ground announcing that the shard of glass had finally reached its destination.

Ochida’s maniac laughter as the Chairman of the Tojo Clan choked on his own blood was so loud it seemed to reverberate around the room and much beyond it.

“Holy crap!” he exclaimed. “You did it, you really did it, fuck, haha…!”

Once again, the man was hiding behind pillars to avoid being a shot, and at that moment, Asami knew.

Screw the single shot plan. He would make that man suffer.

“Fuck, look at all that blood…”

When Asami turned around, he saw Ochida staring at the shard of glass stuck in the middle of Dojima Daigo’s chest, carving a hole all the way from his stomach to his neck, some sort of strange fascination in his eyes as he watched the other man slowly bleed away.

“You are one sick fuck, Ochida.”

When the man turned around to look at him, Asami figured he could simply shoot him between the eyes, and he would be done with it all with time to spare.

However, a rabid animal like Sengoku’s lieutenant did not deserve the privilege of a quick, painless death.

Instead, he pointed his gun to the man’s left knee and shot, doing the same to his other knee after Ochida collapsed to the ground.

“I still win…” he had the nerve to mutter, his face becoming paler as blood oozed from the holes in his joints.

“No, Ochida…” Asami replied, before climbing on top of the Omi’s lieutenant and pressing both thumbs against the man’s windpipe, forcing it down until it cracked.

Ochida’s eyes went wide as he tried to pull air into his lungs multiple times and failed, his trembling hand trying to uselessly force a knife into Asami’s side.

“You…” Asami said, snatching the knife from the man’s hand, “...don't win…” he continued, rotating the blade in his fingers and lifting one of Ochida’s arms so that it was resting against one of the wooden doors, _“...shit.”_

When the knife pierced Ochida’s right wrist, pinning it against the door, he finally let out a strangled cry of pain.

“Not in this life, and not in the next, you son of a bitch,” Asami hissed, before retrieving Ochida’s other knife from one of his pockets and repeating the same procedure with the man’s left wrist.

His knees faltered when he tried to stand up for the first time, but after drawing in a long breath that seemed to burn his airways all the way to his lungs, Asami was finally able to approach a still breathing Dojima Daigo.

After flinging one of his arms over his shoulder, he managed to drag them both to the place where Ochida was wheezing and coughing, all color fading from his face as his wrists and knees continued to bleed.

Asami’s eyes fell to the shard of glass still stuck in the man’s chest. There was no point in trying to remove it; chances were the sharp edges would only make more damage on its way out. It was a matter of seconds until Dojima Daigo fell dead, but at the very least, he deserved the chance to deliver the final blow that would put an end to Ochida’s life once and for all.

Trying his best not to pass out himself, Asami placed his Beretta on Dojima's cold hand, helping him wrap his finger around the trigger and lead the muzzle to Ochida’s chin.

He kept holding the man’s hand in place until it was firm enough to carry the deed out on its own.

“This… son…” the Chairman spluttered, most of his words drowning in his throat as he pulled the trigger.

Asami, however, knew exactly what he meant, and probably, so did Ochida.

When the Lieutenant’s lifeless body dropped to the side, after a splash of blood covered the door behind his head, the Chairman of the Tojo Clan finally embraced his destiny, letting his weakened body fall to the ground with his eyes fixated on the ceiling.

“A...sami…”

The voice was so low and distant that Asami though he had imagined it.

Dojima’s eyes, however, had shifted to his face, so he leaned over to hear what the man had to say.

_“Arigato…”_

And then, his eyes went blank, still open, still staring at him.

Asami blinked, trying to remain conscious as the ringing in his ears intensified. He had time to touch the Chairman's eyelids and close his eyes, before he felt he was freefalling into a bottomless pit, his body once again separated from his thoughts.

Maybe he had pushed himself too hard, but at least it was over.

He closed his eyes, and imagined himself at a beach with Akihito splashing water on him as he tried to read the newspaper, both of them so far removed from all that chaos that his spirit felt ten thousand times lighter.

They deserved more of those moments, just the two of them, in some place where neither of them would have to worry about killing, about being shot, or stabbed, or buried alive.

There had to be more to life than just waiting for the next tragedy.

_“Asami!”_

When a familiar voice screamed his name, he was no longer conscious to react, although he could still feel the floor vibrating as people rushed towards where he was.

_“Yoh, help me get him out of here.”_

 

 


	55. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > **_crossroads_**  
>  /ˈkrɒsrəʊdz/  
> noun  
> 1.  
> an intersection of two or more roads.  
> 2.  
> a point at which a crucial decision must be made which will have far-reaching consequences.
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! What a crazy two weeks! =o I can't thank you enough for your patience!!
> 
> This chapter was tough to write, mainly because of all the medical stuff. Science is not my area, folks! Therefore, if there are any doctors/surgeons/scientists/ patients reading this, I apologize for any potential blunders! I tried my best!
> 
> A warning: there is a lot of Fei Long and his connections in this chapter, mainly because all of them will play a major role in how this story will end. ^_^
> 
> ~~Now back to responding all the wonderful comments that I am ridiculously behind with!~~

 

“Fuck... he's not answering the phone.”

Majima Makoto’s tattooed bodyguard kept pacing the hospital lounge as he spoke, his eyes filled with the fury of an animal ready to tear someone’s throat open.

“I swear, I'm gonna kill that motherfucker,” he hissed, throwing a deadly glare towards the Chinese crime lord who had just walked out of the clinic.

“Wei,” Tanimura finally replied. “He fought with us at the Tojo Headquarters.”

The cop’s words elicited an angry scoff.

“Yeah, so he showed up out of nowhere and helped you and Asami Ryuichi rescue Takaba, so what?” Wei Shen retorted. “Since when can anyone trust a viper like Liu Fei Long?”

“We don't know what happened to Sachi.”

“Exactly! He was supposed to call an hour ago…”

For the first time, Tanimura noticed that the other man’s anguish was more evident in his voice than his anger.

“What if-” the bodyguard started, shaking his head instead of finishing the foreboding sentence. “I have to find him.”

“Do you even know where to look?”

“Ueno. Roppongi. He was raiding the Tojo outposts that the Omi had occupied. That son of a bitch was supposed to help.”

“If you think you can find him, don't waste time picking a fight here,” Tanimura said. “Just go.”

“I can't leave my boss alone, Tanimura. Li is undergoing surgery, half of our staff is either injured or dead, I can't just... take off.”

“Yes, you can.”

After a startled jump, Wei Shen bowed respectfully to greet his boss.

“Majima-sama…”

“Go do what you have to do,” she said.

“But-”

“I will stay with Li Jiao. Plus, there's nothing you can do about the injured or the dead.”

Tanimura saw the bodyguard’s eyes shift from his face to the counsellor’s, and then to the door.

“Go,” the woman said quietly.

“Thanks.”

The cop waited until Wei Shen had gone past the front door to speak again.

“Is Akihito still asleep?” he asked, shoving both hands into his pockets, and trying to sound as casual as he could.

“Yes,” he heard the counsellor reply. “Still in a coma.”

The word made his eyes instantly fill with tears.

Ever since the doctors had announced how critical the photographer’s condition was, he had been making each and every possible effort to avoid any factual medical terms.

He refused to be part of a reality in which Akihito dying was a possibility.

“How long til he wakes up?” he asked, after sniffling quietly and clearing his throat.

“They don't know.”

Tanimura let out a shaky, ragged breath. He still hadn’t gathered the courage to go see him.

“You are Maya’s friend, aren't you?” he heard the woman by his side ask, and his chest felt less constricted for the fraction of a second.

He would welcome any topic that distracted him from the dark thoughts filling his mind.

“Yes,” he replied.

“What do you think would brighten her up?” she asked. “I mean, no one will leave this hospital anytime soon, and I want her to have something to pass the time.”

“Uh… I think her laptop,” he answered, scratching the back of his neck as he thought about other options. “Maybe a PS4.”

“I don't know where to find her actual laptop, but if I give you my credit card, would you mind buying her a new one?” the counsellor went on, passing him the card. “And while you are at it, get one for yourself and one for the other kid, too. Kou.”

After blinking several times, Tanimura picked up the plastic.

He couldn’t help but be in awe of people that, unlike him - who was now a pile of messy, disconnected emotions - could think of practical, objective stuff in times like those.

“And whatever else she might like,” she added.

“OK.”

“My driver will take you to the store. I'll call him when you're ready.”

The counsellor probably thought he had plans of doing the one thing he had been avoiding so far.

Sadly, he would have to prove her wrong.

“I’m ready now,” he quickly responded.

++++

When his BMW parked right outside his destination, Fei Long looked at his cell phone for the first time in hours.

It was almost nine in the morning.

He let his eyes shift to the window for a brief moment before getting out of the vehicle, wondering what he would find when the heavy doors of the nightclub were pushed open.

Once inside, the first thing he noticed was that his men had done a great job cleaning the area. All the bodies had been taken away, and the broken furniture and debris had been pushed to a far corner of the lounge.

To the general public, it looked like the scene of a random bar fight, and for the time being, that would have to do.  

_“Sayonara noooo...kotobaaa daaakeee  ga furue…”_

The low, singing voice coming from the stage made his lips curl into a smirk.

_To think that for a moment he had feared he had gone too hard on that man._

“Oh,” a still wide awake Sachi whispered, as soon as Fei Long came into sight. “He’s back.”

Despite a very noticeable black eye and the trail of dry blood dripping from the corner of his mouth to his chin, and from there all the way down his white, half-opened shirt, the procurer looked strangely comfortable with the rope around his neck and both wrists.

“I thought you would leave me here to starve to death,” he said, trying not to wince as he crossed his legs.

“It takes longer than twelve hours to starve someone to death.”

“I'm parched.”

“Of course you are,” Fei Long replied, walking towards the bar to grab a bottle of water. “You can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“You should have let the radio on. I hate silence.”

“I see,” he whispered, tilting the bottle towards Sachi’s lips. “That explains the singing.”

When all the water was gone, Fei Long stood up, tossed the empty bottle aside, and proceeded to undo the knots around the other man’s body.

“So?” the procurer asked.

“What?”

“You didn't do it, did you?”

Fei Long remained silent. He knew that eventually his former associate would put him on the spot, and he also knew that if he were unwilling to talk, he might as well have sent one of his subordinates to set the man free.

“Do what?” he asked quietly.

“Kill him.”

“Him who?”

His half-hearted question made one of Sachi’s eyebrows go up.

“No,” he answered, watching the other man stretch his limbs before getting rid of his torn, bloodstained jacket.

“Did we win?”

“Yes.”

He waited until Sachi had wiped away the blood on the corner of his mouth to speak again.

“I see you still have the tattoo,” he said, tilting his head towards the mark on the procurer’s right wrist. “I figured you would have it removed by now.”

The red-haired man chuckled.

“Because of Wei?” he asked.

“Obviously.”

“Well, the Baishe is a part of my story just like the Sun On Yee is a part of his,” Sachi explained. “I guess we both learnt to live with it.”

Fei Long nodded in silence, and headed to one of the seats that had not been thrown around or broken during the chaotic fight that had taken place hours prior.

The events of the night had tired him.

Under any other circumstances, he would ask the procurer what he wanted to know and be on his way, but his body and mind could do with a break.

It was not as if there was anyone waiting for him, anyway.

“That being said, I do wear bracelets an awful lot,” Sachi continued. “But I take them off when I want to ruffle his feathers,” he added, with a malicious smirk curling his lips. “Works beautifully.”

“How long have you been together?” Fei Long asked, letting his eyes close as he rested his face on his hand.

“You’re gonna laugh…”

_He doubted it._

“Eighteen years,” the procurer finally replied, and Fei Long acknowledged the answer with a slow raise of eyebrows.

That was, indeed, a lot of time.

“He was my first boyfriend,” Sachi explained, after a long sigh. “We had some ups and downs when he moved to the US and I came to Japan… but I always knew he was the one,” he said, his voice calm and quiet as he stared at the floor, mindlessly.

“The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew it,” he continued. “Even when he joined the Sun On Yee, I couldn’t stay away from him anymore.”

“Is that why you left the Baishe?” Fei Long asked, and his question was met with a silent, slow nod. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you would be pissed. Disappointed,” Sachi shrugged. “First, because I was in love with the enemy, and second, because you always came across as a fucking homophobe.”

With his eyes still closed, Fei Long tried to snort.

Whether because it was not his nature to do so, or because he was just too tired to do it properly, what came out of his mouth instead was a low, melodic whistle.

He took that chance to open his eyes. That might as well be his cue to get to the point.

“How did you end up on Asami Ryuichi’s payroll?” he asked.

The blue eyes stared at him for a long moment before Sachi smiled again, raising an eyebrow.

“See, it's funny that you left me tied to a stage, because that’s where it all began,” the procurer said. “On a stage.”

Fei Long straightened his back as the other man spoke. Knowing his counterpart, that was bound to be a long, serendipitous tale.

“When I left Hong Kong and came to Tokyo, I had nothing. Nothing. Not even documents,” Sachi explained. “I was approached by gangs, by the yakuza, but you know…I was kinda done with that life.”

He paused, and let the back of his head rest against the elevated platform behind him.

“My dream was to live of my art,” he continued, his arms going up and around graciously. “Dancing, singing, entertaining the crowds… Things I never got to do back home because the stakes were too high.”

“But here? What would stop me? No one knew me anyway,” the procurer shrugged, after tucking a strand of red hair behind his ear. “I went around. It was tough to find a place where I wouldn't have to… do some backstage stuff as well. I worked in bars that never paid me. Then in clubs where I was almost killed… One day, I landed a job in a dance club in Shibuya. I would make my shows every Friday night, on a stage just like this one.”

Fei Long was nearly asleep, but the procurer’s next sentence made his eyes open again.

“And that was my life, until the day I found out that Club Sion was looking for a new MC.”

Sachi paused, his eyes still distant as if he was immersed in his own memories.

“ _The_ Club Sion. Back then it was nowhere as famous as it is now, but people were already talking about it. A lot,” he said. “So I applied. Made a video and all.”

As expected, the procurer didn’t seem to mind the fact his audience was struggling to keep his eyes open, and continued his monologue without sparing any details.

“Got no response. It was a Monday, I think, I would just wait tables and go to the back room every five minutes to check if anyone had called. Nothing,” he continued, his voice just enthusiastic as his eyes, which kept dancing around the room as he spoke. “Then on Friday, the club’s patrons are invited to leave, because the house would close for a private event.”

Despite his best efforts, Fei Long felt he was falling into dream territory.

Sachi’s voice was now distant, as if he was listening to it from behind a glass wall.

_“And in he comes, in all his glory. Club Sion’s owner, Asami Ryuichi.”_

He still remembered the first time he had laid eyes on that son of a bitch.

_“Good thing I was wearing spandex, ‘cause... mmmm! What a man… **What. A. Man.** ”_

He shifted on his seat, with a half smile on his lips.

_“His hair slicked back... Those mile long legs and wide shoulders covered by that perfect suit, that chiseled jaw, those eyes…Oohh…”_

_Yes._

_“I couldn't take my eyes off him. He took a seat, maybe two rows behind where you are now, crossed his legs, and that was when I realised that was the job interview…”_

And then, Sachi’s voice disappeared, and instead, a much younger version of himself was on the backseat of his car, looking at Asami Ryuichi’s face for the first time.

_‘That was quite a rough welcome you had planned for me…’_

Drinks, gunshots, kisses...The jumble of images that followed made him wake up with a start.

“...a contract, almost a week later,” he heard Sachi say, and at that point, he was not sure what he was referring to. “And the only thing Kirishima says is, “he would be honoured to have you work at Sion.”

The procurer then paused, his eyes sparking with a mixture of pride and nostalgy.

“ _Honoured…_ ” he repeated. “I, an openly homossexual illegal alien without a single penny in my pocket, working three jobs to make a living… It was the first time someone ever said they would be honoured to have me in their team.”

When Sachi finally lowered his gaze to his face, his voice was grave and serious.

“That man didn't save my life, Fei Long,” he said. “He saved my dignity.”

About that, Fei Long had an observation to make, but before he could open his mouth, the procurer spoke again.

“On my first day, he met me at the club, and he asked me to tell him everything. About who I was, where I came from. And I did. I told him everything. I get the feeling he knew everything already, anyway, but the truth is that I knew I would be safe and trust me, Asami Ryuichi has never failed me,” he explained, the words coming out of his mouth with the same pride and enthusiasm that his face was showing. “So yes. I would die for him. And I'll be by his side until the end.”

“He hired you because he knew you were Baishe,” Fei Long finally retorted. “He knew you were close to me.”

“You mean, because of the Toh incident?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Sachi scoffed in response.

“Yes, he did.”

“He didn't,” the procurer insisted. “Look, whatever source he used to gather info about you, they were in a much higher league. He never approached me to ask about you, only-”

When Sachi paused, his lips pursed as his eyes dropped to the ground, Fei Long felt his heart skip a beat.

“Only what?” he whispered.

“There was one time, and one time only, when he came to me to ask something.”

“What did he ask?”

There was another pause, and this time Fei Long felt like strangling the man in front of him.

“Tell me, what did he-”

“He asked me _if you liked men_.”

Just when he thought nothing about the events of ten years prior could embarrass him more…

“What did you answer?” he asked quietly.

“The same thing I told you before,” Sachi chuckled, but this time his voice was void of amusement. “That you were a fucking homophobe. And then his lips just curled up and he had that look in his eyes, of a man who had just hit the jackpot.”

Fei Long felt one of his eyes twitch.

 _Why had he even brought it up?_ What kind of confirmation was he seeking?

He had always suspected everything that had happened between Asami and him back then had just been part of a larger scheme…

_Why did he keep torturing himself?_

Still lost in his own thoughts, he stood up, and walked towards the bar to grab a bottle of bourbon.

It had been a while since he last got plastered, and the occasion just called for it.

“Ok, I have to ask, this has been killing me for years.”

Behind him, Sachi’s voice had regained its enthusiasm.

“Did you two fuck?”

With a bitter frown, Fei Long poured himself the first glass of liquor, and downed it with a large gulp.

“Did you?” he heard the procurer ask again, still oblivious to his misery. “Huh, Fei Long?”

“Everything was calculated…” he mumbled in response. “Everything…”

He had just started choking on his second dose when Sachi materialised by his side.

“Hey, let me tell you something,” the procurer whispered, his delicate and yet ridiculously strong hand grabbing his arm to force him to turn around. “Fei Long, let me tell you something.”

He hated the compassionate tone in Sachi’s voice, he hated the fact that even a man he had not seen in over a decade seemed to know perfectly well how to hit his Achilles’ heel.

“One thing that I learnt about Asami Ryuichi after all the years working for him, is that he doesn't just see what a person is,” the procurer whispered into his ear, as he filled a third glass of bourbon without blinking. “He sees what a person can become. It's more than seeing potential, it's like seeing the future, and then making that future happen.”

An increasingly inebriated Fei Long snorted, this time with great success.

“Whatever it was he expected to find when he met you, I know, I know you surpassed it,” the procurer continued, trying uselessly to take the bottle away from him.  “You swept him off his feet. And that is why you are still a part of his life.”

The two of them were now clutching the bottle - the procurer trying to pry it away from Fei Long’s fingers, Fei Long himself refusing to let go.

“That is why- Give me the bottle, sugar, you’ve had enough already - that is why…”

“I must have hit you way too hard if you think I need your pity.”

“I just- _fine!_ ” the procurer exclaimed, stumbling back after a less than gentle shove. “Drink all you want, but as I was saying, that is why you are still a part of his life, and he is still a part of yours.”

Instead of feeling victorious for guaranteeing access to yet another dose of bourbon, Fei Long let his shoulders droop, staring at his own feet as he put the bottle down.

“No,” he whispered.

“No what?”

“We didn't.”

“Sachi!”

He never got to hear the procurer’s reaction to his response, because at that very same moment, a very agitated Wei Shen entered the club, with Yoh following closely behind.

“Wei!” the procurer exclaimed, before limping towards the former triad leader and jumping onto his arms. “What happened to your head, are you alright?”

“It’s just a cut, I’m fine…” Wei Shen replied, and Fei Long noticed his eyes were like two sharp daggers pointed at him. “What about you? Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine…”

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not. My makeup is melting.”

When the procurer pulled the other man closer and the two shared a searing kiss, Fei Long looked away, grimacing.

“Wei, can you wait outside?” he heard the procurer behind him whisper.

“Why? Hasn’t he done enough damage already?”

“You are being unreasonable,” the procurer replied.

“Oh, am I? I just don’t understand why everyone cuts this _asshole_ so much slack.”

_‘Asshole’, he says._

Smirking to himself, Fei Long grabbed the bottle in front of him and whipped it around, but the amount of alcohol in his bloodstream made him much less gracious than usual, and his target had time to quickstep and hit him right under the chin.

“What the shit, Wei!” Fei Long heard the procurer scream when the side of his head hit the counter with a dull thump.

The room was still spinning when he managed to grab hold of a stool and force himself up, just in time to see Yoh knocking down his opponent and then running towards him.

“Goodness, are you okay?” his assistant asked, his dark eyes full of concern and care.

“I'm fine, I'm fine.”

Whether he had said that before or after throwing up all over Yoh’s chest, he really couldn't tell.

++++

“I am just following orders.”

At the hospital, Hayashi Maya struggled with a different problem.

_Mine Kyohei._

“Oh yeah?” she asked, when the young bodyguard refused to go along with her plan of getting a computer and doing some...cyber investigation. “And what are the orders?

“To keep you safe.”

“Oh well,” she scoffed. “I guess that part is ruined already.”

“It can always get worse,” he replied, with a visible bruise where Maya had hit him on the chin the night prior. “I'm afraid I can't let you put another target on your own back.”

The girl rolled her eyes.

The last thing she needed was to be held captive inside a sterile hospital room, without any sort of distraction or a person to talk to other than her pigheaded bodyguard.

She needed to do something useful, she needed to fill her mind with something before the memories of everything that had happened to her in the past 24 hours rushed to the front of her head. Her stepfather. Kou. Now her father, brought back to the hospital with his life hanging by a thread, not to mention all the moments of horror with Sengoku Hiroshi,  that disgusting pig…

The thought made her narrow her eyes.

“What did he want Sengoku's body for?” she asked quietly, as she remembered her father’s orders to Mine before she was brought to the clinic.

“I don't know,” the bodyguard replied. “I didn't ask.”

“Is that how it works? You just do what you're told, period?”

“Yes. That's exactly how it works.”

“How long have you been working for him?” she asked, watching the man retrieve a lollipop from the pocket of his pants.

“Two years,” he replied, as he unwrapped the candy. “Only, not as a bodyguard.”

“He seems to trust you a lot…”

“He knows I'll do the job,” Mine answered, taking a seat across from her bed, his built-in glare and grave voice a stark contrast to how childish he looked with a lollipop in his mouth. “Whatever the job is.”

“Right…” she whispered in response.

She had never paid much attention to her own bodyguard, partially because he did a very good job hiding in the shadows most of the times. Now, however, that the young man was basically breathing down her neck 24 hours a day, she was finally noticing how much of an enigma Mine was.

“I don't know anything about you,” she said. “Do you even have a family or something?”

“No,” he answered, crossing his legs without making eye contact.

“Well, if you are not going to let me do what I want, at least entertain me with answers that are longer than one syllable.”

She watched as the bodyguard slowly lifted his eyes to her face.

“No, I don't have a family,” he said.

“Were you born in Tokyo?”

“Yes.”

When Maya raised an eyebrow, he cleared his throat and rephrased his response.

“ _Yes,_ I was born in Tokyo.”

“How did you get recruited?”

The question elicited nothing but a deep, unhappy sigh.

“What? I'm asking, because... you chose a very non-conventional career,” Maya explained, leaning her crutches against a chair and sitting on the bed as she spoke. “You're young. You don't look like a punk with no other options, I heard you speaking French on the phone the other day. How many languages do you speak?” she asked. “Like, fluent-”

“Five.”

“ _Five?_ ” Maya’s eyes went wide. “And you're working as a body- I, I don't understand.”

A soft knock on the door made the two of them turn their heads.

“Excuse me,” she saw Tanimura whisper, peeking from the gap between the door and its frame. “May I come in?”

“Masa!” she exclaimed, standing up once again.

“You shouldn’t be moving around so much,” Mine complained, while helping her hold the crutches. “The doctors said you should rest…”

“As if she knew how to stand still...”

The cop’s remark made Maya grin widely, and Mine cast a suspicious look in his direction.

“How are you doing?” she heard him ask, smiling sadly as he entered the room with two large bags in one of his hands..

“Been better.”

“Haven't we all…” he whispered in response, and for the first time Maya noticed his eyes were puffy and reddish.

“How's your arm?” she asked quietly.

“Numb,” he shrugged. “I guess the painkillers are still at full blast.”

“Excuse me… what is _that?_ ”

Behind them, Mine was pointing to the two large bags, his frown more intense than ever.

“Macs,” the cop replied, his voice causal although Mine’s harsh tone had made him raise an eyebrow. “One for me and one for her, why?”

“Her access to the Internet is restricted.”

“Since when?”

“Since _now_ ,” Mine replied, taking the bags from Tanimura’s hand without much preamble.

“Hey man, what's up your butt?” Maya heard the cop ask, the casual tone long forgotten.

“You better mind your tone.”

“Else what, _kiddo?_ ”

Maya was about to put down the crutches and sit on the bed when the two men got dangerously close to each other, stuffing their chests like two peacocks ready for a fight.

“How old are you, anyway? _Sixteen?_ ” Tanimura asked, giving Mine a look that was nothing short of derisive. “I didn't know Asami Ryuichi employed underage-”

Before he could finish his sentence, though, the bodyguard had shoved him against the wall, making his lower back collide with the concrete with a loud thump.

“Hey!” Maya exclaimed, using one of her crutches to nudge Mine on the butt. “Let go, Mine!”

It took another energetic nudge for the man to finally release the collar of Tanimura’s shirt, the two of them staring at each other like two rabid dogs as they walked to opposite corners of the room.

“What the fuck, Masa?” she asked. “Why the attitude, man?”

She saw when her friend’s gaze dropped to the ground, his slightly dishevelled light brown hair covering one of his eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered, raising his head to look at Mine. “My apologies,...”

And then his eyes shifted to her face, his lips mouthing a very silent _‘what’s-his-name’._

‘Mine,’ she mouthed in return.

“... _Mine,_ ” the cop added, before letting out a sigh. “I'm not having a good day.”

Mine’s only response was a quiet nod mixed with a semi-glare.

“I just... I brought the computer because she is having a shitty day, just like all of us,” Masa explained, sitting by her side on the bed, with a small smile curling the corners of his lips as he held one of her hands. “Maybe even worse, what do I know... I don't want her to be in danger either, ok?”

“She wants to hack the Omi again,” Mine replied, and the words made Tanimura’s eyes go wide.

“You want _what?_ ” he asked.

“Look, lemme-”

“Maya! No!”

“What, are you siding with him, now?” she asked, pointing to Mine, who was now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a very satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Are you... are you out of your mind?” the cop exclaimed, with a deep frown. “What for?”

“Sengoku had other family leaders backing him up,” Maya explained. “This is not over until we find out who they are.”

“Asami-sama is already looking into it.”

“No, he's not,” she argued, glaring at her bodyguard. “He barely made it through the night, he is just another one of us on a hospital bed.”

“He will be fine.”

“Another reason why we should be working,” she said, her voice slightly shaky with anger and frustration. “To make sure that his efforts were not in vain-”

“Hayashi-san…”

“-that Kirishima getting shot, and Akihito, and Kou, and my mother, and you,” she yelled, the corners of her eyes prickling as she pointed to Tanimura, and then to herself, “and me… that _it was not in vain._ ”

She paused to catch her breath, and wipe away the stubborn tears that had fallen from her eyes.

“None of us is safe until we have them all listed and dealt with,” she hissed. “And we are wasting time. We are giving them the chance to run back to their headquarters, to get organised... and to try again.”

She watched as both men exchanged a look of concern.

“But we can stop that from happening,” she continued. “The three of us.”

“I'm not a hacker,” Mine quickly informed.

“The two of us,” she corrected, turning to look at Tanimura, who nodded his agreement after a resigned shrug. “And you will be making a bad decision if you try and stop, Mine.”

The young bodyguard was now pacing the room, his hands on his hips as he shook his head.

“Goddammit,” he whispered. “We'll need a third computer.”

“You just said you are not a hacker,” Tanimura interjected, eyeing the other man with a mixture of distrust and confusion.

“I'm not. But if you tell me what to do…”

“Yo, I don't think that's how it works…”

Without warning, Mine started one of the laptops, and typed furiously fast as his eyes remained fixated on Tanimura’s face.

When he turned the screen around, the cop and Maya could see multiple windows open showing live feed of half of the surveillance cameras in Tokyo.

“How the fuck-” the cop muttered, his jaw nearly dropping to the ground.

“Don't underestimate me,” Mine hissed in response, with a glare that could instantly sour milk..

Tanimura rolled his eyes at the gratuitous demonstration of hostility.

“Wow, your father really knows how to pick them…” he scoffed, while turning on the other computer.

Maya’s eyes went wide.

_Since when did he know?_

“What?” the cop asked, apparently oblivious to his _faux pas,_ looking from her face to Mine.

After another moment of silence, the confusion of the cop’s face finally cleared.

“Oh,” he whispered.

“How do you know?” Maya asked.

“Why else would you have this kind of protection?” Tanimura replied, quietly, as his eyes drifted to the bodyguard across the room. “Plus one would have to be blind not see how much the two of you look alike,” he continued, scratching the back of his head. “I just put two and two together.”

“How long have you known?” it was Mine’s turn to inquire.

“Well, I can be pretty oblivious to some stuff so the first time I came face to face with him I just got the feeling I had seen him, like, up-close before,” the cop explained, typing his login details after another quick shrug. “It took me a while to remember where I had seen those eyes before.”

And then, again, there was nothing but silence.

“What?” he asked, this time sounding positively exasperated. “I'm not going to go around telling everyone, ok?” he said, his eyes once again shifting to Mine and his trademark frown. “Just drop the damn scowl for a change…”

“Don’t let her leave this room,” the bodyguard replied. “I will get more equipment.”

Maya waited until the other man had left the room to speak again.

“Ok. You ready?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“How come no one invited me to the party?”

When she lifted her eyes to the door, she felt her heart had dropped to her feet.

“Kou…” she whispered.

She could see, from the corner of her eye, Tanimura look at her face and then at the door.

“Well!” he exclaimed, “I would normally give you two some privacy but we are in the middle of something here, dude.”

“Something illegal, I imagine?” Kou asked, closing the door behind him and walking towards the bed.

“Very,” the cop replied.

“Lemme in,” Kou insisted, his eyes full of energy despite the bruises spread across his body and the bandage tied around his head. “Come on, you can't say no to a man in a gown!”

By her side, Tanimura giggled at the other man’s polka-dotted outfit, but Maya simply let her gaze drop to the floor.

“You should be with Akihito,” she whispered.

“The doctors are taking him for another scan, I’ll go back when he's back,” he replied quietly, taking the other place by her side on the bed. “Lemme stay.”

When their legs touched, she felt her entire body tense up.

She was not ready to deal with that just yet, but at the same time, now that Kou was there, she could not bring herself to ask him to leave.

In silence, and quickly averting her eyes to the computer screen, she nodded her consent.

“Looks like we will need an extra computer…” Tanimura chanted, a malicious smirk curling the corners of his lips. “ _Ha,_ more work for that cocky bodyguard of yours…”

++++

_**The following day, at the Peninsula Hotel…** _

When Fei Long opened his eyes, he was on the king size bed of his hotel suite, tucked under soft cashmere blankets and surrounded by pillows.

He sat up, feeling the side of his head throb uncomfortably, and his wince appeared to have prompted Yoh to show up by his side.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, passing him a glass of water.

“What happened?”

“You drank too much and got into a fight.”

“Ahh…”

He blinked a couple of times as the water washed down the bitter taste in his mouth. He was not sure he remembered a fight; last thing he could recall with clarity was Wei Shen showing up at the club, and then everything was a blur.

“Do you remember now?”

“Vaguely,” Fei Long replied. “Not much.”

“I got you the flowers you asked.”

“Flowers?” he frowned.

He didn’t remember asking for flowers either.

“Magnolias and lotuses,” Yoh explained. “You asked for them to be arranged before you left for the nightclub.”

Ah. That.

Fei Long nodded in quiet agreement, but when he pulled the bed covers away, another frown wrinkled his forehead.

“I wasn’t wearing this when I left,” he whispered, staring at the light blue changshan clinging to his body.

“No. I had to give you a shower.”

Fei Long’s eyebrows shot up.

_He didn’t even want to ask why._

“What would I do without you?” he whispered, looking at Yoh’s usually emotionless expression give room to a small smile. “Thank you.”

By the time the two of them left The Peninsula, it was almost five in the afternoon.

“How is he?” Fei Long asked, as soon as they entered Asami Ryuichi’s clinic. “Asami?”

“Being medicated. He will survive.”

“And Akihito?”

“Still in a coma,” Yoh replied, and Fei Long felt an invisible hand had just squeezed his heart. “The doctors are still trying to assert the damage to the brain.”

His concern, however, was briefly disrupted by the vision of a young woman in a robe heading towards Asami’s room.

“Is that the daughter?” he asked, although he suspected he already knew the answer.

His eyes were fixated on the girl’s face, studying the strong, golden eyes that spoke for themselves. There was something in the proud way she held herself, despite the bandages around her leg and the crutches, that reminded him of Asami and not quite, almost as if the girl had absorbed some of her father’s strength but missed out on the calm and control that seemed to come with it.

When he was about to take the last step separating him from Asami’s room, an arm prevented him from moving.

“Please step back, sir.”

His eyes then shifted to the face of a very young man, nearly as tall as him, his chin tilted slightly up to further highlight a less than amiable glare.

“You are...?” Fei Long asked.

“Security.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you're still not letting me pass?”

“I have express orders not to allow any visitors in.”

That kid had balls, he would have to concede.

“What a cute, obedient pet Asami got himself,” Fei Long chuckled, even though his eyes showed no amusement. “I just want to give the lady some flowers and my wishes for a quick recovery.”

When the bodyguard outstretched his arms, the leader of the Baishe couldn’t help but purse his lips in a feeble attempt to hide his growing irritation.

“Much appreciated,” he heard the younger man whisper, bowing politely as he collected the fancy bouquet from his hands.

“Mine?”

The female voice made them both turn their heads.

“Hayashi-san...”

“Who are you?” the girl asked, after a long, meticulous stare.

“Liu Fei Long.”

“Fei Long-sama has gotten you these flowers,” the young man explained, passing her the arrangement with his eyes now respectfully glued to the ground.

“Magnolias,” Fei Long said, watching as the girl smelled the purple and pink petals with a considerable amount of distrust in her eyes. “To support you in your healing.”

_She looked so much like him._

Maybe a younger version of him, yes, but it was all right there. Even with the deep cut in her lower lip and the bruises on her left cheek, even with the pale tone of her skin and cracked nails, she still had that distinctive flair of royalty and unmatched beauty that had always made Asami stand out in a crowd.

“You have his eyes,” he said, to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them.

The comment, however, was not received with enthusiasm. He saw the moment her eyes shifted back to her bodyguard, filled with alert and anger, dropping to the pistol tucked into his shoulder holster.

“I'm not an enemy,” Fei Long added, trying to mitigate the damage before she herself pulled the gun and pointed it to his head. “I was the one that brought your father in.”

Still showing signs of distrust, the girl’s eyes once again searched her bodyguard’s, and only after his reassuring nod did her shoulders relax.

“And?” she asked, her eyes once again piercing his. “You expect me to thank you?”

_Asami's daughter alright._

Fei Long drew in a long breath.

“Actually, I-”

“Thank you,” she interrupted, her voice amiable but still strong as she bowed. “You helped save Akihito, too, yeah?”

The unexpected gesture left him at a loss of words.

“Thank you very much for your help,” she said, bringing the flowers closer to her chest. “And for the flowers. They are very nice.”

When a small smile curled the corners of her lips, Fei Long felt his jaw had dropped a little.

He had never imagined he would live to see the day Asami had a child, let alone that one day he would talk to said child, and have her smile at him.

Those were very confusing times.

“Excuse me,” he heard the girl say, before disappearing behind the door.

He hadn’t even gotten round to asking her name.

++++

Asami woke up with a start.

There were tubes and catheters coming out of his veins, and he was quick to rip them all out as he sat up, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

His blood pressure did not seem to have followed his plans, though, and soon enough he felt his body tilt to the side, almost falling off the bed.

“Wait, wait!”

He could hear a quiet female voice whisper as gentle hands helped him get back on the bed.

“I don't think you're supposed to get up that fast…”

After another moment of confusion, he managed to focus on his daughter’s face, and finally understood he was on one of the hospital beds of his own clinic.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked, accepting the glass of water the girl was offering him.

“Two days.”

“T _wo days?_ ”

“Yeah… It was pretty bad,” he heard Maya reply. “They had to put you in a tub filled with ice, your fever was so high that it could damage your organs or something...”

Slowly but steadily, the fog inside his head began to dissipate, and after inhaling deeply a couple of times to control his nausea, he reached for his daughter’s hand.

“How are you doing?” he asked, wondering it is was his hand that was too hot or hers that was far too cold.

“Better,” she replied quietly.

He could tell her smile was far from genuine, but chose not to press the matter any further.

“Where is Akihito?”

“He's still unconscious,” Maya whispered, and for the first time Asami noticed her eyes were very swollen and red. “Kou is with him.”

“What about Kirishima?”

Her silence made him turn to look at her face, just in time to see her chin tremble.

“Maya?”

When her eyes started filling with tears, he realised there was something very wrong.

“Maya, what happened to Kirishima?”

“He flatlined.”

Asami frowned.

Although he feared he knew where that conversation was going, especially now that his daughter was sobbing uncontrollably, he needed to hear it.

“What do you mean, ' _he flatlined'?_ ”

“They brought him back, b-but…” the girl sobbed in response. “He w-won’t be able to w-walk again!”

His mind was a confused mix of relief and unrest.

Part of him was grateful for the mere fact Kirishima was alive, but another seemed to be experiencing a dull ache in the middle of his chest.

He suspected that was also due to the fact his daughter wouldn't stop crying.

“Maya, Maya, look at me,” he said, grabbing the girl as gently as he could by the arms and forcing her to face him. “Go get some rest. Can you call Kimura-sensei for me?”

He watched as she sobbed another couple of times, and blew her nose on a handful of tissues she had just retrieved from the pocket of her robe.

“I need to give you something first,” she said, her voice nasal and hoarse.

“What is this?” he asked, when the girl handed him a folder with at least fifty pages inside.

“The location of all the other Omi families that helped Sengoku and the emails showing that they were working together.”

“How did you get this?”

Judging by the fierce look in his daughter’s quickly drying eyes, _he already knew the answer._

“Did you-”

“I gave a copy to your Head of Security,” she interrupted, before walking towards the door. “I will call Kimura-sensei.”

He cursed under his breath. Two days asleep, and the girl was already getting into trouble, again.

_He would need to have a talk with Mine._

“And he wakes up, at last.”

He was about to stand up when his private physician entered the room.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked, before warming up his stethoscope and pressing it against his chest.

“Been better.”

“Of course you have.”

“What is it I hear about Kirishima not being able to walk again?”

“Ah… The girl told you,” Kimura-sensei whispered. “Deep breath, please.”

After inhaling deeply and letting the air out through his mouth, Asami spoke again.

“You said you had flown in the best specialist in the country.”

“Which is true. And she has been working nonstop since day one,” the physician explained. “But spinal cord injuries are always complicated… she was able to prevent the damage from spreading to surrounding nerve cells, but that kind of lesion, incomplete or not, is tricky…” he trailed off, examining Asami’s eyes with a small flashlight before taking a step back. “I’d say he has a very long way ahead of him.”

Asami ignored the other man’s stretched hand when he moved to get out of the bed, his mind reeling with a new set of unanswered questions and worries.

“But is he going to be paralysed… _forever?_ ” he asked.

“Hopefully not. Knowing Kei, and knowing the amount of money you are willing to pump into his treatment…” the doctor replied, a genuine smile bringing another wrinkle to his senile face. “' _Forever'_  sounds like way too much time.”

Asami nodded in agreement, putting on a white shirt as he continued to look at the doctor.

“What is going on with Akihito?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual and unaffected although his face was probably giving away all signs of concern.

The doctor’s foreboding silence, and the disappearance of his smile, did not make Asami feel any better.

“Kimura, talk to me.”

“I think you should talk to the Head of Neurosurgery.”

“Why, what’s going on?” he asked, and at that point he didn’t care if he sounded desperate or not.

Much to his distress, however, his private physician was determined not to give him any further details.

“Go take a shower, shave, get dressed, have a meal,” he heard the man say. “We’ll be waiting for you at the conference room.”

++++

“There is nothing we can do at the moment.”

Asami Ryuichi’s private physician let out a long, deep sigh when the Chief of Neurosurgery repeated his verdict.

“Tell me again why you don’t want to operate?” Kimura-sensei asked, as the team composed of other two surgeons and three nurses looked at the multiple scans of Takaba Akihito’s brain.

It had been almost fifteen minutes since the CEO had woken up, and it was a matter of time until the man joined the meeting and demanded an explanation about the photographer’s current condition.

“He’s young. He’s healthy,” the other doctor explained. “We should give his body a chance to heal before jeopardizing his life with such a risky intervention.”

“What if he doesn’t heal fast enough?”

Tokyo’s most senior neurosurgeon pursed his lips, and raised both eyebrows.

“We are choosing the lesser of two evils,” he answered.

“Is that what you’re planning to tell Asami Ryuichi, when he gets here?”

The elderly physician could already imagine the younger man’s reaction as soon as the medical team informed him they were taking the “cautious” route.

“It’s the truth,” the neurosurgeon continued. “Either we wait for him to heal until the clot dissolves and is reabsorbed by the body, or we risk a surgery that can make him bleed to death the moment we make the first incision.”

“You’d better come up with a better alternative.”

“ _Waiting_ is the best alternative.”

“Waiting is a _gamble_ ,” Kimura-sensei insisted. “The clot might dissolve, yes, but it might also burst and fry his brain. Not to mention that it is already affecting circulation, the occipital and temporal lobes are already suffering. The longer we wait, the more function he will lose.”

The other doctor took off his glasses with another sigh, showing the first signs of exasperation.

“It is still our best option.”

“The best option is to have it removed.”

“It is too risky.”

It was Kimura-sensei’s turn to shake his head, in silence.

”The clot is lodged in a critical spot,” the neurosurgeon explained, pointing to a tiny dark spot in one of the scans. “This is a minefield. I take it you can see it?”

“Yes, I can see it, but the question is…” the older doctor whispered, after taking off his glasses and letting out a tired sigh. “What _can’t_ I see?”

The entire room was drowned in silence as he stood up.

“We need to go beyond,” he said. “If the conventional solutions are not what we need, then we need to think of something else. We need a better alternat-”

“What’s the situation?”

Asami Ryuichi’s no-bullshit tone made the other doctors and nurses straighten their backs against their chairs, every one of them trying to find a spot to look at other than the fierce eyes of their boss.

Kimura-sensei saw the younger man greet him with a slight bow, and reciprocated the gesture while at the same time making room for him to take the lead of the meeting.

“We were able to control intracranial pressure, repaired the bleeding vessels and tissues…” the neurosurgeon explained, “but there is a clot, and that is affecting circulation to certain parts of his brain.”

“How do you get rid of it?” he heard the CEO ask, after taking his seat at the head of the table.

“We wait.”

The doctor’s eyes shifted to Asami’s face, just to find that his eyes had narrowed dangerously.

“Normally, we would initiate therapy with thrombolytic drugs,” the Head of Neurosurgery continued, “but in his case it could lead to severe bleeding and make things worse.”

“What about surgery?”

“Not worth the risks.”

The silence that followed after the brief exchange was so thick that the other members of the team seemed to be holding their breath.

Asami Ryuichi’s eyes were fixated on his counterpart, one of index fingers resting against his lips as he inhaled deeply.

“So what exactly are you telling me?” he finally asked, his voice low and serious.

“That we should wait,” the neurosurgeon replied, after a sigh of his own. “There’s nothing we can do right now.”

The moment Asami’s nostrils flared, Kimura-sensei shifted on his seat.

_That had not been the right answer to the question._

“Suoh, Makoto, _leave_.” the CEO whispered to the two people near the door. “Nurses too.”

And leave they did, perhaps a little bit too fast, even. Unless he was very wrong, they had reason to look terrified.

_Asami Ryuichi was a grenade whose pin had just been pulled._

“Kimura,” he said next, casting a glance towards the door when their eyes met.

After a nod of agreement, the elderly physician stood up, and looked at the Head of Neurosurgery and the two other doctors in charge of Takaba Akihito before walking towards the door.

_“Is that what they teach you in medical school, that there is nothing you can do?”_

He had barely closed the door behind him when Asami’s strong voice began to address his audience.

_“Be quiet.”_

He exchanged a quick look with Suoh Kazumi, who had a frown of concern that seemed to match that of his boss.

_“If you don't think you can perform the surgery that can save his life, **then find someone who can!”**_

They both jumped when the thunderous voice grew loud enough to be heard many floors above.

**_“Make calls! Do your fucking research! This hospital is the best hospital in Japan, you have all the equipment you need, all the budget you need!”_ **

All the roaring made a concerned nurse show up at the door.

“Kimura-sensei, there are patients sleep-”

“It will be over soon,” he said.

Better let the man get it all out of his chest.

**_“So don't you ever,_ ** _ever_ **_tell me to sit and wait again!”_ **

And then, just as he predicted, it was all over.

Looking just as calm and composed as he had been the moment he entered the room, Asami Ryuichi opened the door, straightened his tie, and looked over his shoulder at the doctors still sitting on their chairs.

“I want a solution, and none of you will leave this hospital until I get one,” he said, in his normal - yet not less menacing -  tone. “So call your wives, let them know you're not coming home tonight, and get to work.”

When none of the men showed signs of moving, he spoke again.

“ _Now._ ”

When the doctors and nurses finally headed back to work, Kimura-sensei saw Asami release a breath he seemed to have been holding for a while.

“Where is Akihito?” he asked quietly.

++++

In the meantime, Liu Fei Long had found his way to one of the clinic’s Intensive Care Units, which had been prepared and equipped to treat one patient, and one patient alone.

Takaba Akihito.

He felt a pang in his heart as he glanced at the photographer through the small glass window, his face pale and tired, with a ventilator and breathing tube attached to him.

_“Eh?”_

As soon as he entered the room, a shocked gasp drew his attention to the wall opposite Akihito’s bed.

“How the hell did you get here?” he heard a slim, dark-haired young man ask.

Fei Long narrowed his eyes.

That face looked awfully familiar.

“You are one of Akihito’s friends, aren’t you?” he asked, only to be met by an even deeper frown. “What's your name again?

“Kou.”

“Kou. I-”

“Leave.”

The less than amiable reaction to his presence was understandable, of course.

“I'm not an enemy,” Fei Long replied, trying not to let his anger and pent-up frustration at the current circumstances ruin his chances of getting the visit Yoh had to work so hard to facilitate.

“Well…” Kou replied, still unconvinced. “Your track record says different.”

“I just want a moment with him.”

“Are you carrying any guns?”

Fei Long had to avert his eyes to the ceiling.

He wondered how much longer he he would be able to stand people testing his patience.

After removing his butterfly knives from under his belt, and his two pistols from their holsters, Fei Long raised his hands.

“May I?” he asked, his voice void of emotion even though at that point, his eyes were as dangerous as two burning daggers.

“Fine…” he heard Kou reply, not entirely at ease.

“In private.”

“I'm not leaving him alone with you.”

Fei Long pursed his lips, and forced himself to inhale deeply.

There would be no point causing a scene and disturbing the ch’i flowing in the room - that would only hinder Akihito’s recovery.

When his heartbeat slowed down, he approached the bed, and brushed a strand of blond hair away from the photographer’s face.

“Hello, Akihito,” he whispered, ignoring Kou’s presence in the room. “It’s me, Fei Long.”

He paused, and touched one of the younger man’s cold, bluish hands.

“These are some strange circumstances, huh? To think that the last time we were face to face I was the one lying on a hospital bed,” he chuckled quietly. “We need to up our game, don't you think? This is getting silly already.”

It had been a very long time since Liu Fei Long had shed tears for someone he held dear.

It was a strange feeling.

“I brought you lotus flowers,” he said, clearing his throat after wiping away the salty droplets with the tips of his fingers. “You like them, don't you?”

“It's no wonder you do,” he continued. “Just like you, the lotus represents the ultimate purity. It rises untainted and beautiful from the mud. I know I told you this before but it's always good to remember who you are,” he added. “Strong and beautiful.”

Takaba Akihito was the one person in his life that deserved that comparison. The one person that deserved, more than anyone he knew, to thrive and to find happiness, but that instead kept being dealt the worst hands possible, falling prey to the most unspeakable atrocities, including by his hands.

“Please get better soon,” Fei Long whispered, his voice coming out slightly weaker than he wished. “I know you want to rest but there are still many battles to fight.”

He paused, and reminded himself that his distress was of no benefit to anyone, let alone to the photographer, who needed all kinds of good energy around him.

“There are lots of people waiting for you to wake up,” he said, the words coming out stronger after he drew in a long breath. “Me included.”

Still holding the photographer’s hand, Fei Long remained by his side even though he could not think of anything else to say, until many minutes had gone by and the sound of soft, and yet firm footsteps made him turn his head to look at the door.

++++

He should have known that he wouldn’t be the first one to be at Akihito’s side, not after two days of blackout.

However, to see Liu Fei Long, of all people, caressing the photographer’s hair while holding his hand was beyond unacceptable.

“What is this?” he asked, to announce his presence and also to understand why the entire room seemed to have been redecorated with white and red lotus arrangements.

“My private physician said that that familiar scents might help awaken Akihito from his coma,” Fei Long replied. “When he was in Hong Kong, he once said he liked the smell of flowers in my garden."

“What a considerate captor you are…”

Only after the words had left his mouth, did he realize that Kou was also in the room.

“Asami-san,” he said quietly. “Please… I don’t mean to intrude in your business, but if you two are going to argue, could you please do it outside?”

He raised an eyebrow, studying the designer’s face for a moment.

“I just… I don’t think it is good for Akihito, he might get agitated…”

Asami’s expression softened when his eyes finally fell upon the photographer’s face.

There were so many lines and tubes connected to his body that he felt a rush of panic flood his bloodstream. Akihito's usually fierce expression had been replaced by a semi-frown, one that made it clear his sleep was neither peaceful nor enjoyable.

“We are not going to fight,” he whispered, after having forgotten that Fei Long was still in the room for a good full minute. “You can leave, Kou.”

He was so concentrated looking at the photographer that Kou’s quiet footsteps went unnoticed. Instead, his eyes and his ears, his touch, his thoughts, all of his senses were exclusively targeting the unconscious man in front of him, trying to detect any possible sign of discomfort, trying to identify something he could do or say to make him feel better.

“I see you still resent what happened in Hong Kong,” he heard Fei Long say.

“Of course I resent it,” he responded shortly and without emotion, intent on making good on his words to Akihito’s friend.

He was not going to pick a fight, nor let Fei Long start one.

“Akihito might have forgiven you, but I don't let things go that easily.”

“You should.”

After a moment of silence, Fei Long spoke again, despite Asami’s little interest in addressing the topic.

“You know what they say... Resentment is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

The words made Asami frown.

_Of all people to say that..._

“I, of course, speak from experience,” Fei Long continued.

“You should kn-”

“Ten years ago,” the younger man interrupted. “Was there even a moment… in which you actually cared about me?”

It came as no surprise that Fei Long would choose that particular moment to ask a question like that. He probably knew it was the kind of circumstance in which his feelings were far too close to the surface for him to come up with a vague, impersonal comeback.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Don’t lie to me, Asami.”

“I’m not lying,” he said, finally averting his gaze to Fei Long’s face. “But it would never work out, you know that.”

He could not mend his mistakes from over a decade prior, but he could at least give that man the truth, and the opportunity to move on from it.

He watched as the dark eyes darted back and forth, searching for some kind of confirmation, before shifting to Akihito’s face, and from there to the ground.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” he heard Fei Long whisper in response.

“Fei Long.”

The leader of the Baishe, who was a mere step away from the door, stopped on his tracks, but did not look back.

“About the Jingweon Mafia… and everything else,” Asami said. “I’m glad you came to your senses.”

When Fei Long finally turned around, a small smirk was curling the corner of his lips.

“I suppose this is the closest I will ever get to receiving a "thank you", isn’t it?”

“I can't let you have the upper hand,” Asami replied.

_And it was the truth._

That push and pull was what fueled whatever convoluted relationship they had, after all.

“You're welcome,” Fei Long replied, looking at him and Akihito one last time before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akihito, wake up! Wake up, Akihito!


	56. Game changer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days go by at Asami Ryuichi's private clinic, and the CEO of Sion finds himself surrounded by thoughts of parenthood, love and revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter has a lot going on! Although a lot of people feature in it (Kou, Suoh, Li Jiao, Tanimura, a new OC, Shinada, etc), the truth is that all of them, somehow, make Asami come to some sort of realization/action/reflection. Please bear with me ^_^
> 
> That being said, a warning is in order: this is probably the longest chapter of this fic with over 13K words, so grab a snack and a drink if you choose to read it all at once! Basically, I could have left some of the scenes here for the next chapter but chose not to because of... reasons! XD

 

_**Day 3** _

Asami was vaguely aware that it was already very late at night when he finally left Akihito’s room. Outside, doctors and nurses kept themselves busy at all times, which made it hard to tell what time it was.

They sure had many more patients than normal.

“What's this?” he asked, when his private physician showed up at his side and handed him a thick black folder.

“The surgeon we are looking for,” the older man replied. “Her success rate in endonasal surgery is… unprecedented.”

With a frown, Asami opened the folder, and found himself looking at the picture of an Indian woman wearing very thick glasses, her long dark hair tied up in a perfect braid.

“According to her file, she has a 99% chance of performing the procedure successfully,” the doctor added.

“What do we know about the other 1%?”

“Not much. Information protected by a non-disclosure agreement.”

Asami browsed through the pages filled with medical terms and images of brain scans without actually bothering to make much sense of them; he was far too tired and worried to even pretend he was in any condition to debate the physician’s choice on proper grounds.

“She is the one,” Kimura-sensei concluded.

“Bring her in, then.”

“Ah…”

The older man’s disheartened sigh added an extra wrinkle to his forehead.

“What?” Asami asked.

“That's the problem,” the doctor replied, after taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “She's under a contract in the Cedars-Sinai and fully booked until the end of the year. I called the directors earlier today but they were adamant about her staying at least until the end of the week to perform a surgery on a famous politician…”

“We don't have that kind of time.”

“I know. But the family of the patient is a very generous donor…”

When the other man put his glasses back on and looked at his face with a smirk, Asami felt a sudden wave of relief.

If the problem was money, then it was solved already.

“How much did they donate, do we know?” he asked, fully aware that the older man knew him well enough to have done that kind of research already.

“49 million dollars.”

“Was that the highest donation the Cedars-Sinai got?”

“Probably not.”

“Find out, and when you do, contact my junior accountants at Sion and say that we are doubling it,” Asami replied, reaching for the cell phone in his pocket as he spoke. “I want the money wired as soon as possible.”

Under any normal circumstances, he would take his time negotiating until he was able to extract the best possible deal from his counterpart, but after so many years of treating personal tragedies as commodities, he had finally realised that certain things in life were worth more than any price tag.

Saving Akihito’s life was one of them.

“What number did you call?” he asked, heading to his improvised new center of operations, in an office strategically positioned between Kirishima’s room and Maya’s, right across Akihito’s unit.

++++

_**Day 4** _

Suoh Kazumi was not having a good day.

Then again, he doubted that anyone around him was. No one other than him, however, seemed to be struggling with the exact type of problem involving an unborn child and a potential halt in his career.

He had seen his boss pry around the room where Li Jiao was, exchanging words with the woman’s boss, casting sideways glances in his direction.

He knew the man was just waiting for the right moment to corner him and make the necessary _adjustments_ to his job description.

All of that on top of Kirishima still being in a coma, and him trying to coordinate the remaining team at Sion, who was working beyond their limits to make up for the absence of a significant number of operatives, its most senior officers and CEO.

But if he was honest with himself… none of that was actually the reason for the nausea that had been plaguing him since the first hours of the day.

He glanced at his watch, and inhaled deeply.

In less than ten minutes, Li Jiao would get her first ultrasound after the surgeries she had been submitted to.

Honestly, he did not know what to expect.

After clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders, he pushed the door open, just to see the woman on the bed raise her deep brown eyes to his face without any hint of enthusiasm.

“Hey,” he said, after sitting on the armchair next to the bed.

“Hey.”

“How are you doing?”

Li Jiao shrugged in response, the dark bags under her eyes making her exhaustion evident.

“The doctors said that the surgeries went well,” he said.

His words elicited a fierce sideways glare, and he was half relieved that the woman was not completely despondent, after all.

“I will have a limp for the rest of my life,” she hissed in response. “That is, when I manage to walk again, which might take weeks, months... years, who knows.”

When she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, with the usual frown wrinkling her forehead, Suoh couldn't help but smirk.

“Don't be so dramatic,” he replied.

“That son of a bitch!” Li Jiao quickly interjected, one of her hands curling into a fist as she spoke. “It wasn't enough to kill my son, to destroy my marriage... now he had to go and take my career away as well.”

“I'm sure Majima-san will still-”

“I can't defend her, Kazumi!”

When she looked at him again, Suoh realised that her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and his heart skipped a beat.

He did not remember ever seeing her so close to crying. Not that they had known each other for that long, but still… That display of raw emotion has at the same time disturbing and fascinating, and he realised he couldn't actually look away.

“Even if she wants me to continue in her payroll, I can't. I'm useless if I can't fight,” she continued, her voice far from steady as she blinked back the tears. “It's early retirement for me. Goddammit, I'm gonna kill that motherf-”

“You can't,” Suoh interrupted, grabbing her wrist before she could punch the mattress on her side. “Dojima Daigo killed him already.”

When the anger in her eyes seemed to dissolve into concern and surprise, Suoh squeezed her hand in silence, his thumb drawing circular patterns on her skin.

“Daigo?” she whispered. “How do you know?”

“Asami-sama was there.”

“Daigo…” she repeated, her eyes dipping to their hands as she spoke. “Is he... is he okay?”

Suoh felt a lump expanding in his throat.

_He could not actually believe no one had told her yet._

Probably they were all worried that it would make her even more stressed, and that it would not be good for her or the baby, but what could he do? Was he supposed to lie?

In silence, he shook his head.

“He didn't make it,” he said, finally lifting his eyes to her face. “I'm sorry.”

He squeezed her hand harder when her chin trembled, and he could tell by how strongly she was pursing her lips that sooner or later the tears she was trying to hold back would eventually fall.

“He fulfilled his last wish,” she said, after drawing in a sharp, unsteady breath. “I'm sure his soul will rest in peace now.”

After nodding in agreement, Suoh tucked a long strand of black hair behind her ear, and tilted her head to the side so that she was looking at him.

“About your job…” he said, in an attempt to change the subject. “Just think of the bright side. At least you will have more time to spend with the baby.”

_Another glare._

“What?” he asked, a confused frown wrinkling his forehead.

“What are the odds the baby survived all of this?” she scoffed, her eyes shifting to the ceiling.

“I don't know,” Suoh replied quietly, watching her expression change from indifferent to worried, and then back to blank. “What were the odds of the baby being conceived in the first place?”

He was beginning to learn how to read the small messages hidden behind her stone-cold facade. The play of muscles along her jawline, the quick blinking, the irregular breathing patterns.

He could tell she was worried _sick._

“Maybe we just need a little faith,” he whispered.

“Any news about Akihito?” she asked in return, her voice louder and stronger, as if to dismiss his obvious attempt to comfort her.

“Yes. He will be operated on, very soon.”

“They found someone to do it?”

“Yes.”

“He will be fine,” he watched the woman by his side say, her eyes still fixated on the ceiling. “He will be fine, right?”

“That kid is tough as nails,” Suoh replied, after a quiet chuckle. “Yes, he’ll be alright.”

His confidence, however, didn't seem to lift Li Jiao’s spirits, and once again he saw her eyes fill with tears.

“It's my fault,” she whispered. “What happened to him is my fault.”

“It's not your fault,” he was quick to say. “Ochida is the only one we can blame.”

“No. Akihito was trying to save me.”

Her voice was quiet and distant, matching the brown orbs staring lifeless at the ceiling. Her fingers were cold as her chin started trembling again, and if before he had been fascinated by her display of emotion, now he felt his heart was being squeezed inside his chest.

He definitely did not like to see her suffer.

“He came back to help me,” she continued. “I should have protected him, I should-”

“May I come in?”

When the doctor finally appeared at the door, Suoh let out a deep, relieved sigh.

He had no idea what he would do if Li Jiao finally broke into tears.

He had never been good at comforting people.

“I take it you are the father?”

The words brought him back to reality, and he felt a strange flutter at the pit of his stomach.

_Father._

“Yes…” he whispered in response.

“Okay,” the young woman replied, smiling quietly. “Let's see what we have here.”

As the doctor prepared the equipment for the ultrasound, he had a moment to wonder. How did other parents do it? Was it normal to feel that restless, or was he just overreacting?

He felt like an idiot. He had seen that in movies, he had heard other people talk about it, he had never paid much mind to any of that.

But now it was his turn, and he was not dealing with it very well.

“See? Right here.”

At first, it looked like he was staring at nothing but a blur on a screen. When the doctor finally pointed to the distinct shape of a tiny nose sticking out of a circle, he finally understood what he was looking at.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, knowing that his jaw had probably dropped to the ground. “It has a nose already.”

The surprised, almost pitiful looks he got in return made it clear he couldn't possibly have found anything more idiotic to say.

Who cared, anyway.

“Now let’s check the heartbeat.”

When Li Jiao squeezed his fingers with all her might, he finally realised that the heartbeat was the part that actually counted.

He had a lot to learn, apparently.

When there was no sound, he thought his fingers would break.

“What does that mean?” he asked, fully aware that he was exposing, once again, his absolute ignorance about everything baby-related.

“It sometimes takes a while,” the young woman responded, still moving the transducer around Li Jiao’s abdomen.

When the silence persisted, and the doctor’s expression began to show the first signs of concern, Suoh felt his heart was trying to jump out of his throat.

Even an uneducated fool like him could tell that was not good.

He was about to turn around to look at Li Jiao’s extremely pale face when the thunder of galloping horses filled his ears.

“Oh,” the doctor finally said, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. “There you go.”

Suoh let out a gasp, his eyes fixated on the screen, his mind miles away from any tangible reality.

That was a child’s heartbeat.

 _His child_ ’s heartbeat.

In what alternative universe he would have even thought that day would ever come...

“Let me turn it up,” the young woman said, and not a second later the galloping sound was even louder and clearer. “132 bpm, that’s within the normal range for a healthy baby, and all the other exams show no alterations,” she added. “I'm happy to say your baby is fine.”

He felt like he had won the lottery, which was strange, considering the fact that until ten minutes prior, the mere idea of becoming a father terrorised him.

“See?” he chuckled, grinning widely as he turned around to look at Li Jiao once again. “What did I tell y-”

His words died in his throat when he realised the woman was sobbing quietly, one of her arms covering her face as her chest heaved up and down.

He had just reached for her face to wipe away the tears dripping down her chin when the doctor spoke again.

“Would you like to know the sex?”

Li Jiao’s reddish eyes quickly peeked from under her arm.

“Can you tell already?” she asked, her voice nasal and hoarse.

“Yes, the position is perfect.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and nodded in agreement.

“Yes,” she replied, blowing her nose on the handkerchief Suoh had passed her.

“It's a girl,” the doctor replied. “Congratulations.”

And again, this time much louder than before, Li Jiao sobbed into her hands, her shoulders shaking as Suoh brought her closer to his chest.

He didn't notice the doctor excusing herself, just like he didn't notice the four times his phone had buzzed during the brief appointment.

Very soon, he would have to go back to the problems outside, to all those other demands, but at that moment, he would give himself a break.

At that moment, everything else could wait.

++++

**_Day 5_ **

When Asami Ryuichi woke up the following day, he immediately realised something was wrong.

“Why…” he muttered, struggling to keep his eyes open as he spoke. “Where am I?”

“You are still at the clinic,” he heard his private physician say. “I was planning to send you home but your Head of Security didn't let me.”

His eyelids were heavy, maybe just as heavy as the rest of his body - it was almost as if he had been tied to a rock that insisted on pulling him down every time he tried to sit up.

When he finally managed to keep his eyes open for longer than five seconds, he noticed he was wearing flannel pajamas.

He had no recollection of wearing pajamas.

_He had no recollection of anything, actually._

“Have you drugged me?” he asked, wincing when the first beams of sunlight hit him in the eye.

“Yes, I have.”

Kimura-sensei’s voice was casual, verging on amused.

At that point, it was no secret that his private physician liked to push his luck.

“What time is it?” Asami asked, rubbing in his eyes as he groggily climbed out of the bed.

“You needed to rest,” the older man replied. “Give your body a chance to recover.”

“I'm fine,” he responded, getting out of his pajamas as fast as his still partially numb body allowed him to. “I have work to do, Kimura. I can't just sleep all day long.”

The doctor continued to look unfazed. Since he apparently had no interest in continuing the debate, Asami spoke again.

“I need to ask Kirishima about this week's reports…” he mumbled, buttoning up his shirt as he checked his reflection on the mirror, quickly reaching for a comb to tame the jet-black strands that insisted on falling in front of his eyes.

When the physician let out a tired, unhappy sigh, he finally realised his slip.

“I mean, Kirishima’s assistant,” he quickly corrected, unwilling to admit that for a fraction of a moment he had completely forgotten Kirishima was still in a coma.

The older man let it slide, and instead opened the door so that he could step outside after finishing his morning routine.

“Where is Akihito's doctor?” he asked, during his routine stop at his lover’s bedside. “The one from Cedars Sinai?”

“Flying,” Kimura-sensei replied. “She must arrive in a couple of hours.”

Asami nodded in silence, his fingers sliding down the soft blond strands of hair before he pressed a kiss to the young man’s forehead.

At least he no longer needed to be hooked to a ventilator, which meant his condition had improved enough for him to breathe on his own.

He smiled as he watched the lean chest heave up and down.

_Once a fighter, always a fighter._

The room across from Akihito’s unit, however, was empty, and the realization made Asami raise an eyebrow.

Even though she was not supposed to be moving around, it was obvious Maya was not exactly following doctors’ orders.

He wondered whom she had gotten all that stubbornness from.

“You can leave, Shinada,” he said to the man who was taking a nap on the armchair next to Kirishima’s bed.

Shinada, however, continued to snore quietly, his head falling to the side.

_“Shinada.”_

His tone made the man wake up with a start, nearly tumbling off the chair as he looked around.

“Y-yes, sir,” he said, excusing himself after a long, deep bow.

When the bodyguard finally closed the door behind him, Asami couldn’t help but smirk.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he whispered, before taking off his jacket and placing it on the back of one of the chairs, “I’d say Shinada has a crush on you. He hasn’t left your side since the doctors started allowing visits.”

He chuckled at the mere thought of Kirishima’s reaction to his comment.

“But don’t get your hopes up,” he continued. “Shinada Tatsuo is as straight as they come.”

With a satisfied sigh, he crossed his legs and turned on his laptop. One of his greatest joys in life was to taunt his first assistant.

The fact that he was not conscious to respond was a mere detail - he could only hope everything was being registered in Kirishima’s brain so that he could entertain him with his usual witty comebacks as soon as he woke up.

“I know that you must not approve of me being away from the office for so long, but just so you know, I have been working,” he whispered. “As a matter of fact, I have a videoconference with our partner office in Vienna in a few minutes... we are ready to move on with that airline deal, it will open new markets for us in Europe.”

He blinked slowly, trying to take in all the tabs that he had opened in his previous session, one of them flashing with at least 87 new notifications.

“You might also be happy to hear that I ended up following your advice some weeks ago, when you told me not to buy any of Eastern One shares in the stock market,” he continued, his eyes scanning a series of graphs as he spoke. “They did crash, as you had predicted.”

After another deep sigh, he raised his eyes to his secretary’s face.

“Your algorithm never fails, does it?” he muttered. “I wonder how many losses it prevented us from making in the past few years…”

His eyes dropped back to his computer screen, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You know who else is making a loss these days?” he asked. “We.”

It had been difficult to mitigate damages with so much happening around him. Even though he had been cautious enough to train a team of experts ahead of time so that they could assist him in times like those, there was too much to be done, and only one of him.

“Sion's shares plummeted,” he continued. “We are finally beginning to recover but my phone won't stop ringing. The investors are worried after the fallout in Tokyo hit the news…”

After a quiet chuckle, he looked at Kirishima again.

“Funny how these things can fall apart…” he whispered, before a bitter smirk curled the corners of his mouth. “Not coincidentally, the corporations Arbatov controls have been making historical profits. Good thing that Kuroda can think on his feet, when the JSDF questioned him about the incident, he said he was convinced it had been a terrorist attack involving the Russian mafia.”

He felt his nostrils flare, and he knew that his eyes were probably showing his thirst for blood.

“I mean, we did leave a trail of Russian corpses for everyone to find… Kuroda's just waiting my orders to make the story public,” he explained. “The Russian president will be pissed, I'm sure Mikhail's contacts in the Kremlin won't be enough to put out the fire this time.”

No one threatened his business and his family and lived to tell the tale.

It was time to teach Mikhail Arbatov a lesson.

“I can't wait to fuck that id--”

“May I come in?”

The female voice coming from the door made him stop mid sentence.

“Of course,” he replied quietly, watching as his daughter entered the room, and limped towards the bed with the aid of a pair of crutches.

“Where is Shinada?” Maya asked,  before letting her body slump onto one of the chairs on the other side of the bed.

“I told him to take a break.”

“Oh.”

“What is that?” he asked, looking at a small box resting on the girl’s lap.

“Cheese tarts,” she replied, slightly out of breath as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Want one?”

He politely declined when the girl raised the box towards him, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth as he studied her face.

Anyone that didn’t know her well enough would think she was doing just fine, if her casual tone was anything to go by. But he, perhaps thanks to nothing but instinct, could detect the shadow of sadness in her eyes even when she avoided looking at his face.

At least she was _trying._ It was already something.

“So you are the one going around giving everyone sweets?” he asked, resting his face on his hand as he spoke. “The nurses looked particularly delighted.”

“It's not just any _sweets_ ,” she replied, her voice serious as she raised both eyebrows. “It's Hokkaido baked cheese pies.”

Her tone was so reverent and serious that he couldn’t help but smirk.

“Still, you shouldn't be walking around,” he replied. “Let Mine do it for you.”

“Yeah, he is the one going around, but-”

When she paused to clear her throat, their eyes met, and she quickly looked away once again.

“I wanted to see how he is doing,” she whispered, while fidgeting with the box. “Do you mind if I stay?”

“No. Go ahead.”

She was not going to say it, and neither would he, but he knew that just like him, she was wondering why Kirishima had not gotten back from his coma yet.

Unlike Akihito, though, there were no other conditions to be addressed, so they had no option but to wait.

_And waiting was the worst part._

He drew in a long breath as his gaze dropped to the computer on his lap. After minimizing one of the windows, he once again let his mind wonder, his eyes idly scanning the contents of the other tabs, which ranged from spinal cord  treatments and traumatic brain injury recovery to live feeds of the stock market and a restricted access area to every newsroom in Japan.

++++

_**Day 6** _

He could feel her fingertips touching his hair, so gently and quietly that sometimes he just felt like turning around to see if she was really there.

It was not the first time Maya entered his room when she thought he was asleep, and it was not the first time she remained in silence while sitting by his side on the bed.

He wanted to turn around and face her, but he knew that would probably result in her storming out of the room and never coming back. When he was awake, she would avoid him like the plague, which was somewhat mind boggling. In the only occasion when she had agreed to be in the same room as him, she had barely looked at him in the eye.

He wondered if she blamed him for everything that had happened, if she thought that he had been too dumb and weak to let himself be captured by the enemy.

He had been watching, even if from a distance.

She had been walking around the place, her head up and a proud smile on her face, but he could see there was something else.

Something she didn’t want to tell him.

When the slender fingers withdrew and he heard the door click only a few seconds later, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and felt the room around him grow smaller, colder, stranger.

The fingers tightly wrapped around his neck, the vicious punches and kicks that had cracked one of his ribs and left him with a concussion and all sorts of bruises…

For the first time, he realized that Akihito might have lied to him and Takato much more often than he imagined. All those times they had seen him injured, as a result of “accidents during work”...

He wondered how many times Akihito had been captured and submitted to that kind of violence.

_Or worse._

When he felt the first tears stream down his face, he shook his head, and forced himself to sit up.

He was just overwhelmed.

Takato had been calling him practically everyday to try and understand what was going on, and he had found himself lying every time. How could he explain what had happened without exposing all of them to even more danger?

He _hated_ lying.

He hated a lot of things, he had come to realize after the latest events in his life.

“Asami-san,” he said, many minutes later, after knocking on the door of Akihito’s room and announcing his presence to the one person who had been guarding his friend's bedside like a watch dog.

When the golden eyes shifted from Akihito’s face to his, Kou feared the man already knew what he was about to say and found it all extremely unpleasant.

Even so, he couldn't let his resolve falter.

“I thought I should let you know…” he whispered. “I'm calling Akihito's parents.”

The designer swallowed when the man next to the bed remained silent, his piercing eyes still fixated on his face.

“He is going to be operated on, isn't he?” Kou asked. “His family should be here.”

“Where are they?”

“New York.”

“You should have told me earlier,” he heard Asami reply. “I could have arranged for them to be in the same jet that brought Akihito's surgeon in.”

“I don't think getting a last minute flight will be a problem for them, they have money,” the designer said, his words eliciting a slight frown on the other man’s face.

“What do you want me to do, then?”

Kou swallowed. There was no easy way out, Akihito’s parents were not dumb. Even though he knew Akihito had been extremely secretive about his life in the past three years, there was no way they wouldn’t notice Asami’s overwhelming presence in all the affairs involving their son.

“It's just... they will ask questions,” he muttered in response. “I think... it's been a while since Akihito last talked to them, I don't even know how much they know. Or if they know anything at all, about you, about... everything.”

“So you want me to _lie_?”

Again, Kou found his throat was going dry. There was something profoundly intimidating in how Asami held himself, but he had to stand his ground.

_He was doing what he thought was right._

“I don't know,” he finally answered, forcing his head up after steadying his voice. “I know that Akihito would want to tell them on his own terms, but… he is in no condition to make that choice n-”

“One week,” Asami interrupted.

“ _Uh_?”

“Let's wait another week, chances are his condition will improve significantly after the surgery,” he heard the man explain, his voice calm and unaffected despite the seriousness of the situation. “It should be his choice. He's not a child anymore, and from what I understand it's not as if his family was notified the other times he was in trouble either.”

“But-”

“Either way it shouldn't be you contacting them.”

Kou felt his jaw slacken. That arrangement defeated the purpose of calling Akihito’s parents in the first place - the reason why he wanted them to be there was that despite Asami’s confidence in the procedure, it was a delicate surgery regardless, and if something happened to Akihito, Kou would never forgive himself for not letting his family be by his side.

“If he doesn't wake up in a week, I will call his parents myself,” Asami continued, apparently oblivious to the designer's internal conflict. “You should not have to deal with the backlash that will follow, anyway. It is my responsibility.”

Kou let his eyes shift to the sleeping figure on the bed in front of him.

He had no reason to agree to Asami’s terms, but if he were honest with himself, he knew there was a great chance that was what Akihito would want as well.

“One week,” Asami repeated.

Still unsure as to whether that was truly the right thing to do, Kou nodded his agreement, turned on his heels, and left.

++++

It was unsettling that one of the world’s most renowned neurosurgeons was an Indian woman half his size, not to mention the fact she looked no older than a teenager.

“What's her age again?” he discreetly asked Kimura-sensei, who was sitting by his left side at the head of the table.

“28,” the man replied, with a small smirk curling the corners of his lips. “I'm beginning to think you didn't read her file…”

“But she seems so… _small._ ”

He had each and every reason to worry. The surgery Akihito required demanded the most absolute precision, and he was not going to take any chances.

“I don't think she’s tall enough to operate,” he whispered. “Seriously, how tall is she?”

“I use stepping stools,” the woman replied, from the other end of the room. “I can assure you that does not affect my precision in the slightest.”

When Asami turned his head to look at the doctor, he realized she was sporting a somewhat defiant smirk, despite her overall demeanour showed she strangely uncomfortable in her grey woolen skirt suit and purple flats.

“Dr. Dhawan, I presume?” he asked at last.

“Yes. Are you Asami Ryuichi?”

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise.”

After another moment of uncomfortable silence, in which both parties continued to stare at each other as if their counterpart was a creature from another planet, Dr. Dhawan spoke again.

“How may I assist you?”

“I believe your boss at the Cedars-Sinai filled you in on the details,” Asami replied, his gaze dropping to the doctor’s file.

“He gave me an overview, yes. Severe traumatic brain injury, with a clot that is affecting circulation between occipital and temporal lobes, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Asami responded, without lifting his eyes from the folder in his hands. “Do you think you are qualified to perform the surgery?”

“I certainly hope so,” she chuckled. “Otherwise I just took a long flight here for nothing.”

So she didn't let herself be intimidated that easily.

_Good._

But was it _good enough_?

“You’re not even thirty yet, are you?” he asked, touching his lips with both index fingers as he rested his elbows on the table.

“No.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for a neurosurgeon to gain their title under the age of 30,” he continued, his voice showing no signs of enthusiasm - _or trust_ \- as he spoke. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s more than 10 years of education before that can be achieved?”

“Yes. Eleven years, in my case.”

“The math doesn’t add up,” he pointed out. “How old were you when you started college? Eighteen?”

“No. I was eighteen when I graduated.”

Once again, she chuckled, but this time there was a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Is this a job interview?”

“What went wrong?” Asami then asked, his golden eyes piercing the bespectacled ones staring back at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You have a 99% success rate. What went wrong with the other 1%?”

If he was going to trust Akihito’s life to a complete stranger, _he needed to know_. Whether or not the woman at the other end of the table would feel offended by the question was her prerogative, but unless he was one hundred percent convinced she was able to do her job properly, she would not go anywhere near the photographer.

“There was… an undiagnosed medical condition that led to multiple organ failure during surgery,” she replied quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor for the fraction of a second. “But Mr. Takaba is young and healthy, Dr. Kimura was careful enough to run a comprehensive metabolic panel and I am convinced he has all it takes to make a satisfactory recovery.”

After a polite nod towards the older man, the neurosurgeon let out a small smile.

“I’m not convinced you have what it takes,” Asami replied, after a long minute of silence.

Much to his surprise, however, the doctor’s confidence did not seem to falter.

“I’m sorry, I’m not very well acquainted with Japanese etiquette,” she said. “Does that mean I’m supposed to leave?”

“It means you are supposed to _convince me_ ,” he answered. Although he didn't consider his concerns a waste of time, he knew that conversation was already taking too long. “Every doctor I talked to said it would be impossible to perform the surgery that you claim you can-”

“Because it is a difficult one,” she interrupted. “From the sinuses to the area where the clot is lodged, there are critical spots. One millimeter to the left or to the right can cause some substantial damage,” she explained. “It requires extreme precision and it is difficult, but not impossible.”

After drawing in a long breath, the dark eyes were once again staring at his face behind the thick lenses of her glasses.

“I was born with hypothyroidism and wasn’t treated until I was 5 years old. Doctors said I would be lucky to finish elementary school, if I lived long enough for that,” Dr. Dhawan continued, her expression fierce and calm at the same time. “My father had to raise nine kids on his own, and I grew up with him defying anyone that told him the life he wanted us to have was not possible.”

After a brief pause, she squared her shoulders, and tilted her chin upwards.

“It _is_ possible,” she said. “I can perform the surgery.”

Without saying a word, Asami stared at the small woman whose skill Akihito’s life - and his own, by default - now depended on.

“Are you convinced now?” he heard his private physician whisper into his ear.

_Yes, he was._

‘I can perform the surgery,’ she had said.

He sure as fuck needed her to.

++++

**_Day 7_ **

Suoh had just put his phone away when his boss showed up by his side, reaching for the pack of Dunhills inside one of the pockets of his jacket.

“Any news from the field?” the bodyguard heard him ask.

“Yes, sir,” Suoh replied, after lighting up the man’s cigarette. “We captured one of the family leaders, I assume we should proceed with the protocol?”

A quick nod and a sideways glance were the only response he got.

“So we only got one so far?” his boss asked, after a long minute of silence.

“The others must have gone into hiding, but our contacts in Border Protection have guaranteed they have not left the country,” Suoh explained. “It's a matter of time until we find them.”

“When you do, take them all to Warehouse 15,” the other man replied, his eyes still fixated on the fountain in front of him. “That's where we are keeping Kazuki's body as well, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

That was probably the time to ask what his boss’s plans were in regards to Maya’s stepfather, but Suoh had known Asami Ryuichi long enough to know when there was an opening and when certain questions could trigger an unexpected outburst of rage.

Given the fierce gleam in the golden orbs, he found it wise to remain silent.

“What about Dojima?” the other man asked, his voice low and serious. “Do we have the details of the funeral yet?”

“Not yet,” the bodyguard replied, after shaking his head. “Apparently Minami had to undergo surgery, so they are waiting for him to recover to make all the arrangements.”

There was another pause, in which Suoh found himself pondering.

Things had been so chaotic that even bidding farewell to the ones that had passed had to be put on the back burner.

After lighting up a cigarette for himself, the head of security cast a sideways glance towards his boss, and then let his eyes wander around the patio outside the clinic, where at least another dozen men in suits took their cigarette breaks, some of them looking at their phones, others talking to each other, and some too busy staring into nothing, in some kind of caffeine-induced trance.

“How is Li Jiao?”

The question made his stomach sink.

That was why he had been able to step outside, then… The visit to the HR Department that he had been able to avoid for so long had finally been replaced by a one-on-one chat, and he was not sure it would be any better.

“Fine,” Suoh finally replied, his answer coming out clipped and low.

“And the baby?”

“Fine, too.”

He wondered if that was a good time to apologise for telling such a lame story about his sister being pregnant when the topic of babies first came up weeks prior, but he suspected they were way beyond that point.

He knew his boss had never bought that lie, anyway.

“It's a girl,” Suoh said, before taking another drag off his cigarette.

He kept the smoke inside his lungs for as long as he could, almost as if hoping the nicotine entering his system would make the silence between them less uncomfortable.

_He was going to be fired._

“Congratulations,” he heard his boss say instead, his voice without a hint of anger.

Sadness, perhaps. But not anger.

“How far along?” he asked.

“Fourteen weeks.”

At that point, the answers were coming out of his mouth without any restraint. It was almost as if, one by one, they were soothing the burden on his shoulders.

“That island…” the bodyguard heard his boss scoff. “I knew that place was a game changer, but still…”

Yeah, that island.

That _one time_ , in the island.

_Talk about a game changer._

“It's strange,” Suoh replied, his voice no louder than a whisper. “I never actually thought that I would want a child...until today.”

And there it was, the biggest confession of all.

“As I was looking at that screen…” he continued, staring at the cigarette between his fingers. “Listening to that heartbeat...I thought my heart would stop.”

When he looked to the side, he realised the other man was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“I'm sure you'll be a great father,” he said, after smashing what was left of his cigarette on the rail and clearing his throat.

“Asami-sa-”

“Beginning tomorrow I am reducing your hours.”

“But sir-”

“My plan was to have you go on a one-year leave at least, but with what happened to Kirishima, I can't really afford to let go of another senior associate, I hope you understand.”

“Sir, _may I speak?_ ”

The question might have come out louder than he expected, but that was not exactly surprising considering the fact the other man was nearly screaming as well.

He took one last deep puff and waited for it to soothe his nerves before speaking again.

“I don't want to resign,” he said.

“You have a family now,” was the curt response. “You need to be there for them.”

“I know, and I have no intention of walking out on them, but--”

His voice trailed off when he realised what he had just said.

The face staring back at him showed no reaction, the golden eyes gleaming resolute just as they always did, no muscle moving to show any kind of annoyance despite the unintentional dis.

“I didn't mean--”

“Take the rest of the day off,” Asami Ryuichi said, before turning around and walking back to the building. “You don't need to come in until ten tomorrow morning.”

There was no anger or resentment in his voice, and yet Suoh felt a strange, dull ache spread across his chest, almost as if he had just been at the receiving end of a very powerful punch.

++++

_**Day 9** _

It had been two days since Akihito’s surgery.

A very successful procedure, with no complications.

And still, _he would not wake up._

“Is he in pain?” Asami asked the doctor, who was standing next to him in front of Akihito’s bed.

“He might be,” the woman replied. “The grimace is a reflex signal that originates in a primitive part of the brain stem. It is not connected to conscious experience.”

With a slight frown, Asami blinked slowly.

Every day, _every hour_ at that hospital felt like an eternity.

Every minute spent by Akihito’s bedside made him age years.

“But it’s hard to tell what is making him uncomfortable, we can only rely in what the monitors can detect and there is nothing indicating problems,” the doctor continued. “He is taking painkillers as well so…”

“It might be the pillow,” he whispered. “He doesn’t like pillows that are too firm.”

The mere idea that maybe he could give the other man some kind of comfort filled him with energy and determination.

“Can I change it?” he asked.

“Not alone, no. It’s important to keep his head stabilised at all times so ask for a nurse’s help when you do it.”

Asami nodded in agreement, despite not being completely pleased by the answer.

He wondered when he and Akihito would be able to have time alone, just the two of them, without nurses coming and going every five minutes.

He knew he was being unreasonable, that the fact the photographer was never alone meant he was receiving a level of care that many patients in his condition would never even be able to dream of, but he missed the privacy.

He missed being alone with him.

“I'm sure you already know it, but it is my job to tell you.”

The doctor’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Whereas there is all reason to believe he will wake up soon, you must be prepared,” she said, and her tone was unusually serious. “Even though we were able to contain the damage to his brain and we are using stem cell therapy to try and recover the areas that were affected, there are still chances he won't be able to function the same way he did before.”

He drew in a long breath.

Yes, he had been reading about that.

He had been reading _a lot._

“He might have trouble hearing or seeing, recognising faces, remembering things…” the woman explained, after letting out a sigh. “Loss of long-term memory is not uncommon in this type of case. There might be changes in personality, changes in sexual behaviour, visual hallucinations, even… loss of vision.”

“Are any of those reversible?”

“They are _treatable_ , yes, but… The harsh truth is that we are far from understanding how the brain heals,” he heard the doctor whisper. “Once an area shuts down, it is… very difficult to reopen it.”

“But not impossible.”

When she turned to look at him, Asami saw the hint of a smile curling the corners of her mouth.

“But not impossible.”

_That was all he needed to hear._

He would not pretend he was ready for Akihito to wake up without remembering who he was, or being unable to hear, speak, or see.

But he was ready for Akihito to wake up.

Whatever came after that, they would find a way.

“My father.”

The woman’s voice, once again, broke his reverie.

“What about him?” he asked, watching as the woman by his side removed her glasses to clean their lenses with a handkerchief.

“He was my 1%.”

With a saddened smile, she put the thick glasses back on, and lifted her head to look at him.

“We were living in New York. He worked as a taxi driver and one day he had a seizure while driving,” she explained, her eyes distant as she spoke. “He was taken to the hospital where I worked, and I found out he had a brain tumour. Not even an hour later I was already scrubbing in.”

She let out a chuckle, but there was no amusement in her voice.

“I was so sure I could save him…” she continued. “If I had taken my time I would have found out his kidneys were too weak for his body to resist the anaesthesia, but… I just wanted to make him proud.”

The doctor paused, and a frown wrinkled her forehead.

“Isn't that ironic?” she asked. “He believed in my abilities and hard work since day one, I grew up to become a doctor and he was the one patient I failed.”

Asami’s eyes dropped to her tiny fingers as they rested on the edge of the bed, smoothing the blanket covering Akihito’s feet.

“I guess the universe always finds a way to teach us to be humble…” she whispered.

After another moment of silence, she drew in a long breath, and walked towards the door.

“I'll leave you two alone.”

Before he knew, there it was, the moment of privacy he had been asking for.

Except that now, he didn't really know what to do.

“I am not usually the one that initiates the conversation, am I?” he said, after a long minute staring at the photographer’s face.

“Li Jiao is fine, by the way. She had both knee caps replaced but she is fine,” he added. “So is the baby.”

After taking his usual seat by Akihito’s side, Asami covered his fingers with his hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. A smile curled his lips when he realised it was warm, much warmer than it had been the day prior.

_He was getting better._

“You know, when Mirai had Maya, she almost bled to death,” he said. “The hospital called me, apparently I was the only one on her contact list.”

That was not the right topic for small talk, but if anyone had earned the right to know his secrets, it had to be the man whose hand he was holding.

He might as well just say whatever came to his mind.

“I was not there during her pregnancy. I didn't even know she had this kind of… autoimmune disease. When I got to the hospital the doctors said her body must have been trying to get rid of the baby for a while, she was doing really badly,” he continued. “Maya was taken to the neonatal ICU as soon as she was born.”

That was probably the first time he ever told anyone else what had happened that day, and on the days that followed.

It was like picking the scab of a wound that had never fully healed.

“Mirai was asleep when I got to her room. I walked in, stopped by the side of the bed, just like I am with you, right now,” he whispered, his eyes dropping to the photographer’s face for a moment. “But I didn't say a word.”

“Instead, I just took these two stacks of bills from my pockets… It was a lot of money, it was pretty much all I had made in almost a year,” he went on. “I put it all inside an envelope and left it under her pillow.”

He could see it all as if it had happened yesterday.

The hospital was nowhere as fancy as his own clinic, and at the time there were at least other two patients sharing the room with the 16-year old girl.

“And then I left,” Asami continued, after a disheartened sigh. “I didn't even stop at the neonatal ICU, I just wanted to get out of there.”

The more he thought about it, the less he understood how Mirai had managed to forgive him later on.

“I never got to hold Maya as a baby. I only met her a year later,” he said. “Because when I left that hospital, I was determined never to see her or her mother ever again, but the truth is that the moment I got back in my car, all kinds of thoughts started going through my head.”

He felt as if he was in some sort of trance.

The fact Akihito remained so far removed, his slumber still unaffected by that shameful part of his past, was all the encouragement he needed to just keep talking.

“What if Mirai ended up dying? Would the baby be taken to an orphanage? I didn't want that, but I didn't want to go back either,” he said. “When I called the hospital one week later, they told me Mirai had left as soon as Maya was good to go home, even though she herself still needed medical attention.”

He shook his head, and averted his gaze to the ceiling.

“I think she was afraid of the same thing as me. That the baby would be taken away,” he continued.  “I eventually found them, living in a guesthouse in Sapporo. I stalked them for an entire month, just watching. Wondering,” he whispered. “When I finally gathered the courage to knock at their door, Mirai looked like she had aged so many years, so fast.”

He shifted on his seat, and poured himself a glass of water.

It felt weird to look back. Even though that was a part of his life, even though those had been his choices, thinking of his 16-year old self was like looking at an entirely different person, with whom he had no connection.

“I thought she would tell me to fuck off. That is, if she didn't just slam the door on my face,” he chuckled bitterly. “But instead, she just hugged me and cried her eyes out.”

He paused again, this time to wonder what Akihito would think of him if he were conscious.

But then again, if he were, he probably would not have the courage to tell him.

“I don't even know how long we were standing in that doorway until she stopped sobbing,” he continued. “When she calmed down she showed me the small room she and the baby were living in. She said she was saving the money I had given her because she hadn't been able to get a job because of her health.”

He pondered that not even Kirishima knew exactly how much that part of their lives had been tough on Mirai. Although they both had been engaged to marry at some point, he suspected she had never told the secretary, or Kazuki for that matter, that she would never be able to have kids again.

But _he_ knew. It was part of his punishment, to know the exact extent of the damage his neglect had caused.

“I could tell she was not well. But Maya… one look at her plump, rosy cheeks and there was no doubt she was being well fed, well taken care of,” he said. “That was the kind of person Mirai was. Always going to great lengths to protect the ones she loved, when I met her she would do the same thing for Kazuki.”

Another person that he had never bothered to thank. Despite all his flaws, he had been a loving partner and a supportive parent.

Two things that had always been beyond Asami’s capabilities.

“I never once thanked her for everything she did. Or apologised,” he whispered, running his fingers through the photographer’s hair to distract him from the shame and guilt tearing a hole in the middle of his chest. “We always think we’ll have a chance to make amendments, that time is in our side…”

When the first tears dropped from his long eyelashes to the photographer’s chest, he felt like a hand had just grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him from under the water.

_Get your fucking shit together._

After clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders, he took a quick look around to make sure no one had witnessed his moment of weakness.

Perhaps he was just too tired.

After another long sigh, he held Akihito’s hand again.

“Well, I'm not sure what I was trying to accomplish with that monologue, it has nothing to do with you, does it?” he whispered, leading the photographer's fingers to his lips and closing his eyes when the smell of his skin filled his nostrils.

All kinds of impure thoughts were running through his mind as he pressed the tender flesh against his mouth, the throb in his groin - immoral and inconsiderate - begging him to do things he knew he would regret later on.

He put Akihito’s hand down before crossing that threshold, though. Although it was hard to convince himself of that after his minor breakdown instants prior, he was still a man completely in charge of his emotions - _and desires._

“I just need you to wake up,” he said, pressing a kiss on his forehead, and then on his lips. “I don't want it to be too late for us.”

He kept studying the photographer’s face without blinking, hoping to see some kind of reaction, anything.

“I can't… I can't lose you, Akihito,” he whispered. “Do you understand? You need to wake up.”

Another kiss. And then another.

Sadly, though, he had to face the fact that was not a fairytale, and even if it were he doubted he would be cast as the prince.

Akihito remained unconscious.

++++

_**Day 10** _

“So there I was, teriyaki sauce on my titties…”

_“Shinada.”_

Shinada Tatsuo, who had been far too entertained narrating his sexual adventures to an unconscious Kirishima Kei, had just removed the lid from the paper cup he was holding when Suoh’s thundering voice made him jump and splash his own chest with the thick green concoction he had been sipping.

“Shit,” he cursed quietly, before clumsily bowing to his superior. “Suoh-sama.”

“How is he doing?” he heard the head of security ask.

“Still nothing...”

Shinada was still looking at Asami Ryuichi’s first assistant when he saw, from the corner of his eye, that the blond man by his side was frowning at the bag he was clutching.

“What are you eating?” Suoh asked.

Shinada swallowed.

_He had been caught red-handed._

“Caramel popcorn,” he muttered, and if he knew how to do it, he would probably blush at the suspicious glance he got in return. “And a… matcha kit kat milkshake.”

“How many pounds have you put on so far?”

_Ha._

He held his stomach in as the other man studied his slightly chunkier figure, hoping that the results of the constant carb and sugar extravaganzas of the past few days would be less evident to the senior bodyguard’s expert eye.

“Four,” he lied.

“ _Four_ …” Suoh repeated, still looking at his waist with a raised eyebrow, and for the first time Shinada pondered if a Sion employee could be fired for poor dietary choices. “Huh… Anyways, Asami-sama has a job for you.”

Shinada’s eyes went wide.

_Could it be?_

After so many weeks without an assignment...

“Yes, sir,” he said, his voice serious and reverent as he bowed once again.

“He wants you to go to the penthouse and fetch Takaba Akihito’s pillow.”

He was still bowing when the words registered on his brain.

_A pillow?_

_That_ was his assignment?

After clearing his throat, Shinada straightened his back, and looked at the other man without bothering to hide his confusion.

“How… How do I know which one… is… the right one?” he asked.

“I don’t know. And I’m not gonna ask.”

“So… should I just bring all of them?”

The malicious smirk on the other bodyguard’s face made it clear he was having way too much fun with the situation.

“It’s your assignment, so do as you see fit,” Suoh replied, before turning on his heels and exiting the room.

“Right...”

After a long, deep sigh, Shinada put his hands on his hips, and looked at Kirishima.

“OK, I know, _I know_ ,” he whispered, raising a hand. “I’ve put on _eight_ pounds but he doesn’t need to know, OK?”

One glance at the bag of popcorn and his shirt, dripping with milkshake, and his shoulders once again drooped in defeat.

_He needed to get his act together._

“Fine, fine, no more comfort food!” he exclaimed. “What can I do? I overeat when I’m sad. This is partially your fault, why are you still in a coma? You should be here, breathing down my neck as you always do.”

‘If he is actually hearing this, I’m so screwed,’ he thought to himself.

That was no way to address someone who was so many steps above him in the hierarchy ladder.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” he quickly said, as if to atone for his disrespectful manners. “Please get better soon!”

A mix of sadness and anger made him pout as he reached for a clean change of clothes inside the duffel bag he had brought from home.

 _Kirishima Kei was his role model_ , or the closest thing to that.

Such an intelligent man, so skilled in so many areas, so eloquent, so neat, the opposite of him in so many ways.

He now wished he had invited the man for a beer more often. He was sure he would have all kinds of tales to tell.

Kirishima was a good man.

“You did not deserve what happened to you,” he whispered, still pouting.

If there was one thing he knew, though, was that Asami Ryuichi’s first assistant had no patience for cry-babies.

Therefore, it was time to man up.

“Yes, sir!” he muttered. “No more feeling sorry for you, or for myself,” Shinada continued, after buttoning up his shirt and throwing a tie around his neck. “It is time… to get back in the game!”

With a grin, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, and his eyes dropped to the image of his slightly protuberant stomach.

“And to hit the gym…” he whispered, before waving a hand and walking towards the door. “Ah!”

He turned around, and glanced at the secretary one more time before leaving.

“Remind me to tell you how the teriyaki sauce story ended when I get back.”

Shinada Tatsuo then took off, putting on his aviator sunglasses and looking like a man who meant business.

Even when that business meant _fetching a pillow_.

++++

"Are you sure?" Tanimura asked, again, when Tojo's appointed accountant confirmed that no, Dojima Daigo had not made any donations to orphanages, anonymous or not.

 _"Yes, Detective Tanimura, I am sure. After all, I have been in charge of all Tojo's and Dojima's financial transactions for the past five years,"_ the man on the other side of the line explained, his voice tired and low. _"I'm sure Daigo would have appreciated your gratitude, but in this particular case it would have been completely misplaced."_

The young detective apologized for the insistence, offered his condolences and hung up, with a deeply confused frown.

_If not Daigo, then who?_

He saved that thought for later, and made a mental note to visit Minami before his trip. Since the arrangements for the Chairman's funeral had not yet been made, chances were he would no longer be around when the ceremony finally took place, and he wanted to pay his respects, somehow.

He had already reached the door of Akihito’s room when his phone buzzed.

This time, he chose not to ignore it.

“Yes, Prosecutor Kuroda…” he whispered, aware that he was about to be lectured about his lack of adherence to the corporation’s plans.

_“Tanimura, I thought I had been clear when I said you were to report to the International Crime Division in Bangkok ten days ago?”_

“You were, sir.”

_“Then explain why I just got a call from the ICD, asking me why you have not yet shown up?”_

“I’m still in Japan.”

_“I presumed so, your unit let me know you rescheduled your flight for the fifth time.”_

Tanimura stepped away from the door, lost in his own thoughts.

He had to think of something that would allow him to buy more time. He didn't want to leave the country before Akihito woke up, but he was running out of excuses.

_“Tanimura, are you still there?”_

“I just need some more time.”

It was the prosecutor's turn to remain silent for a moment.

 _“You are waiting for Takaba Akihito to wake up, aren’t you?”_ the man then asked, his tone low and serious.

Despite the usual fallouts with Kuroda, the truth was that he had been remarkably generous since all chaos broke loose. He could have move things around so that any request to change his flight was declined, but he hadn't.

And under those circumstances, he didn't find it in him to be the one to start a fight.

“I want to say goodbye,” Tanimura admitted.

 _“You have two more days,”_ the prosecutor replied, before hanging up.

Two days.

Tanimura closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead against the wall near the door.

Perhaps he would just have to accept the fact he would not be able to hear Akihito’s voice before leaving… perhaps never again, if their paths were not supposed to cross in the future.

“Having a bad day?”

The female voice made him turn around so fast that his head spun.

“Are you the surgeon?” he asked, when his eyes fell upon the face of an Indian woman wearing scrubs.

“Yes. Are you family?”

“No, I’m just... a friend.”

“Do you want to see him?” she asked, pointing at the door and giving it a soft knock after he nodded his response. “What’s your name?”

“Tanimura. Tanimura Masayoshi.”

“Mr. Asami?” the cop heard her whisper. “Tanimura Masayoshi is here to see Akihito, may he come in?”

_Fuck._

He felt like punching a wall.

After an entire week biding his time, gathering the courage to go see Akihito, rehearsing what he would say, now he had to do it in front of another person? And not just any person, but _Asami Ryuichi,_ of all people?!

_Fuck all the fucking fucks in the fucking--_

“You may go in.”

The doctor’s words forced him to interrupt his mental rant.

He inhaled deeply, and entered the room, just to find the other man perched at Akihito’s side like some kind of royal eagle making sure no one would go near its nest.

He ignored the extreme, surreal jealousy pumping through his veins and dropped his gaze to the blond man on the bed, trying to imagine it was just the two of them in the room.

Asami, however, was quick to break the illusion, speaking as soon as the detective took a step forward.

“Is this the first time you are seeing him like this?”

“Yes,” Tanimura replied, refusing to lift his eyes to the man’s face.

He knew he should have come earlier, but if anything, he didn't owe Asami Ryuichi any explanations.

Therefore, he would give him none.

“Good call on the ballistic vest,” the man spoke again, and this time the cop couldn't help but to look up. “It saved his life. The knife was caught in the kevlar, so the injuries to his internal organs were superficial.”

Despite the usual arrogant gleam in his amber eyes, Asami sounded sincere.

That might as well be a good time for a truce.

“If he weren’t wearing it he would have probably bled to death,” he added.

The cop, however, didn't find it in him to accept the praise. His role in everything that had happened was still very clear: he was the man who had let Akihito fall behind and be captured by Ochida as a result.

“I need to make a phone call,” he heard the man by his side say. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Whether or not Asami had noticed his increasingly gloomy expression, Tanimura did not know. The man had no reason to be generous and grant him that moment of privacy, so perhaps he should just use those few minutes the best he could.

“Hi Akihito,” he said, his pitch higher than usual.

He pinched his nose, and breathed into his own hands. That casual greeting had sounded lame and unnatural, as if he was trying to display a range of emotions that was not within his reach.

“I’m sorry I took so long to come see you,” he continued, his voice no louder than a whisper. “I just... “

When the corners of his eyes started prickling, he drew in another long breath.

It should not be that hard.

“I already know where I’ll be living when I get to Bangkok. I’m leaving my… contact details here,” he said, after placing a piece of paper with his address, phone number, email address and Skype id on the table next to the bed. “I want to hear from you. Whenever you wake up, please call me, ok? Or… I don’t know,” he shrugged, trying to fake a laugh as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I wish I could stay, but I’m not gonna lie, it looks like Asami is moving heaven and hell to get you back on your feet so I know you’ll be in good hands.”

He chewed on his own tongue as he watched the photographer’s chest heave up and down, his face as immobile as the rest of his body.

“I suck at this, I’m sorry,” he chuckled, noticing that his voice was on the verge of breaking.

He had spent the past week reading about what could be the aftermath of an injury like his, and he could not imagine Akihito having to endure any of that.

He didn't deserve to suffer.

He should have protected him.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t realize you had fallen behind,” he sobbed, holding the photographer’s hand and leading it to his forehead as he spoke. “I could have stopped it all from happening. Please forgive me.”

What a pathetic excuse of a friend he was turning out to be.

Everyone had told him Akihito needed people around him to stay positive, to give him a boost, and there he was, crying his eyes out.

Maybe he shouldn't have come at all, if that was all he had to offer.

His shoulders jolted back when the door opened again, and Asami re-entered the room.

He had really meant it when he said “few” minutes.

Behind him, a man was carrying a pile of at least six pillows, and when he put them down, Tanimura was finally able to recognise him.

It was the same man that he had nearly arrested the day he thought Akihito was being abducted.

Staring at each other like two predators ready to pounce, the man took a step forward, and so did the cop.

“You can leave now, Shinada.”

Without breaking eye contact, the man walked past him, and left.

When Tanimura turned around, he realised that the doctor had entered the room as well, and that Asami was now checking each pillow individually, bringing it close to his nose and fluffing them up, his forehead wrinkled in thoughtful concentration.

“This one,” he said, moving closer to the head of the bed, where the doctor was already positioned.

With a hand gesture, the small woman urged Tanimura to approach as well.  

“We will need a third pair of hands,” she explained, after climbing on top of a stepping stool. “When I lift his head, remove the pillow from under his head very carefully, will you?”

Tanimura nodded, and after wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket, did as he was told when the doctor held Akihito’s head up.

“There you go,” she whispered, gently laying the photographer’s head down.

A minute later, the cop saw her lips curl into a smile.

“And the grimace is gone,” she whispered again. “So it _was_ the pillow. Good job, Asami- _san_!”

When he looked at Akihito again, he too noticed that his face had softened, as if he was now much more comfortable than before.

He let out an impressed gasp.

_Yes, he would be in good hands._

The detective turned on his heels and dragged his feet towards the door, without realising Asami had slipped the piece of paper he had left into his pocket, and hoping that he wouldn't notice he was walking away with the pillow.

“Leave the pillow, please.”

_Son of a bitch._

He gritted his teeth, and begrudgingly put the pillow down on one of the chairs.

Fine, so he was really going to walk away empty handed.

Upon reaching the patio, and after making sure he would not disturb anyone nearby, he punched a wall until his knuckles were about to break, and screamed into his arm until he was out of breath.

“Having a bad day, huh?”

He was about to yell at the idiot that had just leaned against the wall that yes, he was having _a very bad day_ and that was none of his business, but his words got stuck in his throat when he realised the man who had just lit up a cigarette by his side was Maya’s bodyguard.

“Do you smoke?” he asked.

He almost looked like an entirely different person, with his skinny jeans and boots, one half of his face covered by long bangs of jet black hair and the other cast in shadow under the hood of his jacket.

“Taking the day off?” Tanimura asked, after politely declining the pack of cigarettes being offered to him.

“The _night_ off, yeah. You?”

The detective looked around, hands shoved in his pockets as he waited for the evening breeze to lift his spirits.

“I'm moving to Thailand,” he answered, with his chin tilted up and his eyes closed, his hair blowing with the wind.

“Cool.”

“Yeah…”

When he opened his eyes again, he was unsure of what to make of the predatory look the other man was casting in his direction.

“Wanna go for a drink?” Tanimura asked.

Or better, _a thousand drinks._

He had no intention of going back home sober that night.

“Sure,” the younger man replied, with a disinterested shrug.

At that point, he really had nothing to lose, and despite the menacing look in the other man’s eyes, he was pretty sure that kid Mine was all bark and no bite.

He was probably _harmless._

++++

_**Day 13** _

“This is it.”

_One week._

His deadline had come, and Akihito still hadn't woken up.

“I'm about to call your parents,” he whispered to the man on the bed. “If I don't, then Kou will and I don't want to rely on his ability to mitigate the damage.”

Around them, the piles of reports, the suits hanging in the wardrobe and the line of unfinished coffee cups were a summary of Asami’s life in the past days.

“I'm better at lying,” he continued, after tilting his neck to the side in an attempt to stretch muscles battered by tension and bad posture, a result of trying to work fourteen hours a day sitting on an armchair. “I will tell them that we met for professional reasons.”

Which was not a complete lie, when one thought about it.

“That you were injured while trying to get information on the Omi Alliance upon my request,” he added, after loosening the tie around his neck. “And because I feel responsible for what happened, I am paying for all your expenses.”

_No lie in that last part either._

“Then, when you wake up, you can tell them the truth on your own terms,” he whispered, after resting his head and closing his eyes. “Or not. Whatever you choose.”

He now realised that it was not as if Akihito had any reason to want their relationship to become public. Perhaps that was why he had refused to attend a gala dinner with him months prior - because he didn't want anyone else to know of that part of his life.

He couldn't blame him, really. If anyone ever asked the standard question for couples - _so, how did the two of you meet?_ \- he would have to lie from the get go.

Too much unnecessary stress.

“Anyway…” he said, after forcing those negative thoughts out of his mind for a moment. “I’ll let the nurses come in now, it's time for your physical therapy.”

His eyes then shifted to the three bottles of essential oils next to his bed.

“Is this what they use?” he asked, looking at the labels. “Black pepper, marjoram and peppermint. Huh,” he chuckled. “Do they think you are some sort of salad?”

His mouth watered as he spoke, maybe because he had not yet had lunch although it was almost ten at night, or maybe because he had all kinds of good memories involving Akihito and food.

His eyes inadvertently dipped to the young man’s hips. The night before, and the night before that, he had sported rather persistent erections.

He wondered what exactly had triggered them, but more importantly, he wondered when the photographer would wake up so that he could take full advantage of them.

“Never mind me, I have just been feeling… in the mood for all kinds of things,” he said, letting his fingertips travel up and down Akihito’s arm. “Are you doing it on purpose? If yes, it's not funny. I will take my revenge by telling the nurses to add onion to your therapeutic mix.”

He smirked. The list of foods the photographer did not tolerate was not long but onion had a very prominent spot among the top five.

“Onion oil,” he whispered into his ear. “Just to piss you off.”

He really needed to eat something. The lack of food was probably making him hallucinate, because he could swear Akihito’s fingers had moved.

When he heard the distinct sound of a grunt, though, he finally understood his senses were not playing tricks on him.

“Akihito?” he whispered, nervously pushing the photographer’s hair away from his face so that he could better look at his expression. “Akihito, did you say something?”

The hazel eyes were still closed, but when his lips parted again, Asami felt his heart skip a beat.

“...n-no…”

The faint, hoarse voice never sounded so beautiful to his ears.

“...onions…”

Asami was torn between shock and relief.

“Are you serious?” he mumbled quietly, his hand squeezing the slender fingers under his with more strength than necessary. “After everything, _onions_ are what bring you back?”

“Hmm…” Akihito groaned in response, his lips closed again, head slowly falling to the side as one of his hands moved to his throat. “Water…”

Asami knocked the bottle of water at least twice before he was able to pour some of it into a glass, just in time to remember that was not how he was supposed to offer the drink.

His heart was beating so fast, his entire self so caught up in the moment, that he barely remembered to press the button to call a nurse as he searched around for gauze, soaking the only pieces he found as fast as he could and taking them to the photographer's lips.

“Akihito?” he whispered again, when the young man’s fingertips touched his hand. “Do you… do you know who I am?”

Maybe it was too early to ask, but he just couldn't wait anymore.

“Do you know my n-”

“A...A-sa...mi…”

Akihito’s voice had never sounded so weak, but that one word was enough to make him feel a thousand times stronger.

When the photographer opened his eyes, however, the expression on the sleepy face quickly went from relaxed to tense. He watched when the hazel orbs moved around, and a frown wrinkled Akihito's forehead.

By the time he realised the obvious concern turning into panic, it was too late.

Akihito had already brought himself to a sitting position too fast, his body slipping to the side and knocking over a tray with bottles of medicine and bandages on his way down.

_“Akihito!”_

“Nonononono…”

He could see his face moving from side to side, arms outstretched in front of him as he tried to catch his breath, each intake of breath ragged and uneven.

“Akihito!”

_“What happened?”_

At what point the nurses had entered the room, Asami could not tell. He was far too busy helping the photographer back onto the bed, trying to get him to calm down.

“Akihito?” he whispered, as the hazel eyes continued to dart back and forth. “Akihito, look at me.”

And then, the blond man stopped moving, and the slender fingers grabbed his arm as if his life depended on it.

“Asami?”

“I'm here,” he replied. “I’m here, kitten.”

From the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the nurses injecting something into his IV.

“What is that?” he asked.

“A mild sedative.”

“But he just woke up!”

“We can't risk him hurting himself.”

Slowly but steadily, he felt Akihito’s fingers slid back onto the bed, his eyes once again closed as the drugs kicked in.

“What happened?”

Dr. Dhawan’s voice sounded distant, even though she was right by his side.

Before he knew, she was helping him onto a chair.

_“Asami?”_

He waited until the buzz in his ears died down to give the doctor an explanation.

He truly hoped he was wrong, but…

“I think…” he muttered. “I think Akihito can't see.”

 

 


	57. The end of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ He really did not know what to say. It was almost as if Akihito had been given a map of his brain and pushed all the buttons that made it malfunction, freezing his ability to come up with his usual cold, calculated replies. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls from under a rock*  
> I live!!  
> My most honest apologies for the delay - too many projects due on March 31 prevented me from catching up with my writing! To make up for it, this weekend I shall release a double update, so here is the first - the second will be out in a couple of hours. ^_^  
> Thanks for your ongoing support and patience!

The next time Akihito opened his eyes, he felt strong fingers squeeze his hand.

"Akihito?"

The baritone voice coming from his left side was quickly joined by the speeding beeps of the monitor somewhere behind him as his heart beat faster, a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach as once again he found himself surrounded by a mist of blurry grey.

"Akihito, I want you to listen to me, and stay calm."

"A-Asami..."

"Don't try to speak. Close your eyes, just listen to my voice," he heard the man reply, still holding his hand. "Stay calm. If you don't, they will come back to sedate you again."

He had no idea of who _they_ were, or where he was, for that matter. His whole body felt light and heavy at the same time, a strange, dull pain on the back of his head making him wince as he forced himself to inhale deeply.

"You're at the hospital," Asami continued, his strong voice no louder than a whisper. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No."

"You were in a coma for 2 weeks."

He felt small droplets of perspiration form on the patch of skin above his upper lip, and the monitor beeped louder and faster than ever.

"In a coma?"

"You were injured by an Omi officer," he heard Asami explain.

Ignoring the man's instruction for a moment, Akihito opened his eyes and looked around.

It was as if he had just woken up in the middle of the night, with nothing but a faint ray of moonlight escaping from the gap between the panes of the curtains in their room, except that he knew for a fact they were not in their room, and that the lights were probably on.

_He was the only one in the dark._

Feeling slightly nauseated, Akihito blinked slowly, trying to make out what shape belonged to whom or what, focusing on the one place where the light seemed to be coming from. Whether it was a window, a door frame or a lamp, he really couldn't tell.

"Asami…" he whispered. "What happened to my eyes?"

This time, however, the other man remained silent.

"Akihito, my name is Sajita. I'm your doctor."

The female voice that spoke in his place made Akihito jump on the bed.

_Where had she come from?_

"There is nothing wrong with your eyes," she said.

"There is… There is something wrong..." he replied, his voice coming out low and raspy.

"I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes, can you do that?"

As he listened to the woman's request, Akihito found himself clutching Asami's fingers even harder than before.

He felt that the man's hand was the only thing preventing him from falling into a bottomless pit of darkness.

"Now open your eyes," the doctor whispered, as soon as his eyes fluttered closed. "Tell me what you see."

"I don't know," he replied, blinking rapidly as he let his eyes dart around the room. "It's all… blurry..."

"Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

He frowned.

"Where?" he asked, noticing that there seemed to be one extra blotch of grey in the room, but nothing that resembled a hand.

"What about now?" she asked again. "Do you see anything?"

Akihito blinked when a dash of white cut through the semi-darkness.

"I saw something moving…" he whispered in response, "...like light."

He tried to sit up, but gave up halfway. The mere attempt seemed to have drained half of the little energy he had left, and before he knew Asami's hands had moved to his head, cradling it and gently rearranging the pillow under his neck.

He took consolation in the fact that the movement had brought the man's chest closer to his face, and reveled in the scent of his cologne and in the warmth that seemed to be seeping through his clothes.

"What is going on?"

Akihito's voice sounded strange to his own ears, but at that point he really didn't care.

He just wanted to know when his eyes would be fine again.

"The part of your brain that processes images is… having trouble understanding the signals it's getting."

"When will I see again?" he asked, barely bothering to process the doctor's explanation.

"There are a lot of different treatments to help you improve..." she continued, just to be once again ignored.

"Asami," he said, turning his head towards the place where he assumed the man was standing. "What happened to my eyes?"

"Your eyes are fine," Asami replied, the back of his hand sliding down the side of his face. "It's your brain that needs some more time."

"How much time?"

"They don't know. It might take a while."

"How long is a while?"

When the fingers retreated, and Asami remained silent, Akihito once again felt his stomach sink.

"Asami?" he asked, his voice cracking at the end as his eyes darted around the room cast in shadow. "How long is a while?"

"I don't know."

Asami Ryuichi, the man who always had everything and everyone under control, _did not know._

That was how bad his situation was.

He tried to stifle a sob, to no avail.

"Hey."

Again, the warm hands of the CEO were laced with his, and he turned his face away when the first tears fell from his eyes.

"You'll be fine."

Akihito shook his head, lips pursed as the other man continued to squeeze his fingers with so much strength his fingertips were beginning to go numb.

"Ok?" he heard Asami whisper, the warmth of his lips now pressed against his knuckles. "We'll find a way."

Under any other circumstances, those words would fill him with the confidence he needed to keep going.

That was the first time, though, that Asami's promise meant absolutely nothing to him.

++++

It was four in the morning when Maya woke up.

On her way to the coffee lounge, where her daily flat white awaited, she noticed the hallways were more crowded than they usually were at that time, with men in suits whispering to each other and coming in and out of rooms in a hurry.

"Takaba Akihito woke up," she heard Mine say, somewhere behind her.

"I thought you had taken the night off?" she asked quietly, still looking at the door leading to the photographer's room.

"I had, but got called back," the bodyguard replied. "Kirishima-sama woke up, too."

"Really?" I--"

When she turned around to look at the bodyguard, however, her words died on her lips.

"The fuck happened to your face?" she asked, jaw slackening slightly as she stared at Mine's heavily bruised cheeks, a purple, swollen circle around one of his eyes and his mouth sporting a cut that made his lower lip look twice its regular size.

"I got into a bar fight," the man replied, after shifting on his feet for a moment.

"With a war tank?"

"Kind of."

Maya's eyes then drifted to an equally visible bruise on his neck.

That injury, though, _did not look like the result of a bar brawl_ , unless Mine had gotten into a fight with a _biter._

Noticing the girl's insistent stare, the bodyguard pulled the collar of his shirt closer to his neck, and cleared his throat.

Judging by the man's obvious discomfort, chances were that the so-called bar fight had actually been a date gone wrong.

 _'Or right,'_ she thought to herself. _'Who knows what he's into...'_

"Well..." Maya finally said, leading the cup of coffee to her lips to hide a smirk. "Better luck next time."

The words made Mine clear his throat again, and Maya had to stifle a chuckle. She was used to seeing the man keep a stiff upper lip even in the most absurd situations - to see him so flustered, eyes darting back and forth as he avoided looking at her face, was far too amusing.

She would gladly keep teasing him about the circumstances, but a buzz coming from the phone in her pocket made her lose momentum.

After stealing a quick glance at the notification on the screen, Maya found out it was not what she had been expecting - the quick beeps were just to remind her she was running out of battery.

"That's weird..." she muttered.

"What is?"

"I've been trying to talk to Masa since yesterday, but he won't answer the phone or reply to my texts," she explained. "I think he's flying to Bangkok today, I don't even know if I'll manage to say goodbye..."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Mine open his mouth, and after a moment of hesitation, close it again. In all likelihood, because her father had just gotten out of Akihito's room, and was now walking towards them.

"How is he?" Maya asked.

"Tired. Confused," she heard her father reply, with both hands on his hips. "Mainly upset because of his vision."

"What about his vision?"

The man didn't immediately reply, and Maya noticed that beneath the power pose he seemed to be struggling with extreme fatigue and worry.

"He's suffering from cortical blindness," he whispered.

The word made her heart sink.

" _Blindness?_ " she asked, feeling that her mouth had gone very dry. "Akihito is blind?"

"It is bound to be transient, chances are he will get better soon."

"Better? As in... normal?"

Her question was met with another pause. Her father's eyes were distant, fixated on some invisible point above her head.

"His 'normal' will probably be different from now on," he finally replied.

"Fuck."

It had been a few days since she had last felt pain.

After an entire week of nightmares and unwanted thoughts going through her head, she had been put on some kind of medication that accomplished the strange feat of turning off not only the emotional distress, but everything else as well.

For nearly a week, she had been swimming in a void, but the news about Akihito, somehow, had cut right through that shell, and _it hurt_.

When her shoulders started shaking, it was as though all the tears she had been unable to shed in the past weeks had rushed to her eyes all at once.

"B-But he's a photographer!" she sobbed. "How... t-that's not fair!"

She kept mumbling to herself, crying so hard that she could barely breathe.

The intensity of her reaction caught her by surprise, but she suspected that the nervous breakdown was a combination of many things. Some had to do with Akihito, yes, but most of them did not.

A quick look at her father's face, and she could see that he knew that, too.

She was still crying when he pulled her into an embrace, and the warmth and strength of his arms were the only thing separating her from an abyss of sorrow and bad memories. Her fingers had dug deep into the expensive fabric of her father's suit, as if she was afraid that if her hold slackened, he too would slip away and be gone forever, just like her mother, just like her stepfather and just like everyone that was slowly but steadily fading from her life.

++++

"He woke up?"

"Yes. He and the secretary."

The counsellor let out a sigh as she took a seat next to her first assistant.

"Kirishima?" she asked, with a slight frown. "At the same time?"

"A couple of hours apart."

"Still..." Makoto responded, scratching her chin as her vacant eyes remained fixated on some invisible spot on the wall. "Two weeks in a coma and they both come back on the same day..." she muttered. "Interesting.”

_Life certainly had some mysterious ways._

It had been a busy couple of weeks, what with having to deal with the police asking questions about how, when and by whom her residence had been blown to pieces right in the middle of one the most popular boulevards in Shinjuku.

People wanted answers, and some of them, she just could not give.

It all tied in, after all, with the Tojo and Asami Ryuichi; part of her job was to ensure that no fingers would be pointed in their direction as the media and civilians in general tried to find someone to blame for all the chaos of the past few days.

Not to mention that now the Tojo no longer had a Chairman, and she was the one in charge of breaking the news to the organisation's previous leader, who had been in exile for the past ten years in a location that only she was aware of.

She wondered if he would be interested in making a comeback, and if he were, she wondered what Asami would think of it...

The counsellor shook her head, and drew in a long breath. She should probably file that thought for later. They all had too much on their plates already, and she had barely had the time to catch up with the latest developments involving her patients and her staff during the days she was gone.

"How is Daisuke doing?" she heard Li Jiao ask.

"Better," the counsellor replied. "But it is going to be a while until he makes a full recovery."

"I heard Wei say he got his jaw broken?"

"A compound fracture, yes, it was pretty bad. He had to be operated on twice," Makoto continued, her lips curling into a half smile as she remembered Minami's episodic rage every time the doctors tried to get him to stay in bed. "He will be fine, but you know him. Impatient. Restless. Hates to stay put or, heaven forbid, follow medical orders."

No wonder her late husband had taken that kid under his wing. Daisuke was a chip off the old block.

"Wei Shen told me the baby is fine," she said, changing the topic when nostalgia and tiredness threatened to fill her eyes with tears.

"He can't keep his mouth shut, can he?" the other woman replied, after a scoff.

"I guess he was just trying to cheer me up, cut him some slack," the counsellor chuckled in response. "Are you relieved?"

When Li Jiao spoke again, her voice no longer carried the hint of irritation of moment prior.

"Yes," she said, and in her mind Makoto could practically see the smile behind the word. "It's a girl."

"A girl?" the counsellor asked, her eyebrows arching up in surprise. "Just like Daigo said it would be..."

The quiet, shaky intake of breath was a response on its own, despite Li Jiao's obvious attempt to hide her grief.

“I'm sure he would be happy for you," the counsellor whispered, holding one of the woman's hands between hers. "I know I am."

"Thanks."

She let out a small gasp when she realised it was her hand that was now sandwiched between Li Jiao's palms. Perhaps, indeed, she was also in need of that kind of comfort...

An entire moment had gone by when she finally cleared her throat and spoke again.

"Have you started doing your research?" she asked. "From what I remember, it took you months to come up with a name for baby Hideki. What is the name of the book, again?"

"The Book of Change."

"Ah, yeah, that, that."

"But in the end we used Jinghai as a middle name and picked a Japanese first name, so all my work was in vain," Li Jiao explained. "His destiny number was all messed up."

The two women chuckled, the memories of a happier time of their lives lifting some of the burden that the current events had placed on their shoulders.

"You take that very seriously, don't you?" the counsellor asked.

"It's a family tradition."

A tradition, a belief, a choice, an act of love. She knew that to Li Jiao, baby naming was all those things.

"So when will the name-hunting process begin again?" she asked. "I look forward to the madness as long as you don't get as stressed as you did the first time around."

Another quiet chuckle.

"Yeah..." the first assistant replied. "Well, this time, I have something else in mind..."

++++

Almost a week had gone by, and Akihito was already getting tired of the boring hospital routine. He just wanted to go home, but that was also a problem.

He was not sure he was ready to go back to the penthouse.

The photographer squared his shoulders and took a deep breath as he tried to focus on the glass of water that had been placed on the small tray in front of him.

Some days were worse than others.

Sometimes, the images he could capture were as distorted as those of an old, malfunctioning TV, all colours blurred or missing mixed with static and weird angles.

And then, some days were better.

Like that morning, in which he could see his bed, the blurred shape of Asami sitting on the armchair to his left, the fading patterns of the window and the door not far ahead.

The problem was the damn glass of water.

His eyes seemed to be playing tricks on him - sometimes, the glass seemed far from reach, and a mere second later, it was close, way too close to his hand.

After another deep breath, he moved his hand forward to grasp it, just to knock it over after the miscalculation.

"Fuck," he cursed, pursing his lips when Asami stood up.

"You are pushing yourself too hard," he said, taking away the tray.

Akihito let the corners of his mouth curl into a bitter, mirthless smirk.

It was stupid to expect Asami to understand what he was going through.

The photographer bit his lower lip, and waited for the man to return to his chair after stopping for a brief moment right next to his bed, as if planning to say something but quickly changing his mind.

_He didn't know why Asami was still there._

Probably he had more important things to do with his life than babysitting a visually impaired man that could barely go to the bathroom alone.

"I t--"

Akihito took the man's initial word as a cue to turn to the other side and pretend he wanted to sleep.

 _He_ really _didn't know what Asami was still doing there._

Many minutes had gone by before the door to his room finally opened and closed with two quiet clicks to indicate the man had left the room, and only then did he allow the tears he had been holding back to fall from his eyes.

"Why is this happening?" he whispered, wiping away his tears on the back of his arm.

"Traumatic brain injury is, indeed, quite a pain in the ass."

The female voice made him gasp in surprise, and he forced himself to turn around to look at the blurred image of a small woman standing next to the door.

"But you are making such amazing progress..." she said, before moving closer to the bed.

"Yeah!” he replied, his pitch a note too high as he forced out a smile. “I am, aren't I?”

"You are," she replied. "But your blood pressure is still far too high for your age, do you know what that means?"

"Nothing good, probably."

"It means that you are putting yourself through too much stress," the doctor explained, her tone cheerful and friendly. "The more you stress, the more tired you get, the less you see--”

"--the more I stress."

"Exactly," she said, after letting out a sigh and pausing for a very long minute. "You need to relax. I know it sounds impossible but we heal in a relaxed state of mind, and you are not allowing yourself to get there."

He let out a nervous chuckle.

 _'Impossible'_ was a good way to put it.

"Right..." he whispered, trying to sound optimistic and relaxed even though he was far from being either thing. "I'll try harder from now on.”

“You just need to find something that works for you,” the doctor added. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how has your libido been?"

Akihito blinked rapidly, and hoped he was not blushing much.

"Depends on the day,” he whispered.

"What is it like today?"

"Maybe a five,” he shrugged. He was probably being too generous; if there had ever been a day to feel the very opposite of horny, that had to be it.

"Has it been close to ten at any point?"

Again, he felt blood suddenly rushing to his cheeks.

That was the kind of question that he felt very weird answering to a stranger, but the woman was his doctor so there wasn't much he could do, anyway.

"Yes,” he replied, after clearing his throat.

Hopefully, she would not ask him about the details, because it would be too embarrassing to tell her that he had been horny enough to ask Kou to buy him condoms so that he could masturbate without making a mess.

It would be equally embarrassing to explain that the condoms had been pointless, anyway, because he hadn't even managed to bring himself to a climax.

"That's normal. Your testosterone levels are still a bit whacky so that oscillation is natural."

Her tone gave him hope that part of their conversation had come to an end, but the enthusiastic intake of breath that followed made him frown.

"By the way, I told your boyfriend already, but I think you should know as well.”

Akihito’s eyes went wide.

“Sex might be too taxing on your body at this point so avoid getting adventurous. I know that orgasms tend to be very relaxing but even when you get to a ten…” she said, after placing a small plastic cup of with two pills inside on one of his hands and a glass of water on the other, “...you should take it slow."

He was at a loss.

The pills and water remained forgotten as his jaw dropped to the floor; he had not even contemplated the idea of having sex with Asami anytime soon, because he felt like garbage and probably looked like garbage too, so chances were Asami would gladly pass the chance to get cozy with him, anyway. And yet, he had clearly taken the time to inquire the doctor about ‘sexual adventures’.

_That man was certainly trying to fuck up his mind._

"Ok,” the woman’s voice derailed his train of thought, and he looked up to follow the shadow moving towards the door. “I will leave you alone for now. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes,” he whispered. “Tell Asami not to come into my room anymore, I need some time on my own."

Akihito realised the doctor took a moment too long to respond, which in his head was an indication that she probably thought he was out of his mind for sending the man away.

He, however, knew better than anyone else that it was a matter of time until Asami got tired of it all, and at the very least he could be the one calling the shots.

"Of course,” she finally replied. “Excuse me."

++++

Asami's patience was wearing thin.

When Akihito started giving him the silent treatment the very next day after waking up, he had given him time. After all, he had been told his humor might be off, and that it would take a while until he felt like himself again.

When Akihito started ignoring his presence altogether, he had not complained either.

He had even put up with the unexpected ban the photographer had imposed to prevent him from walking into his room without permission.

He had honestly thought the other man just wanted to be left alone.

But now days had gone by, half of the hospital had been to Akihito's room and he had finally realised that it was not like he wanted to be alone _at all_.

Akihito's problem was with his presence, _and his presence alone_.

"Asami?"

The voice coming from the back of the room made him whip around.

He had been so distracted walking towards the large glass panels of the conference room he hadn't even noticed there was someone else in the premises.

"Yes, I'm here."

"Are you still waiting for him to lift his ban?" he heard his counsellor ask.

Clearly, the woman was well acquainted with his predicament.

"I was," he responded, after an unenthusiastic scoff. "But I think I've reached my limit."

"Why do you think he doesn't want to see you?"

"I believe there are many factors that go into that."

"Yes, but one matters more than the others."

He had turned around to look at the window again.

The past thirty days of his life had been a blur of sleepless nights and a mix of private and public concerns. When he was not strategising to get his business back on track, he was trying to plan a way to get both Maya and Akihito back on their feet, but he would build another ten thousand empires before either of those two allowed him to help in any form.

Neither of them ever wanted his money, which was his area of expertise and the one resource he would always be more than ready to provide.

Both of them had reasons not to trust him with their wellbeing, and maybe because of that, he felt that both had rather successfully managed to shut him out of their lives.

_It had been a very long time since he had last felt that lonely._

"When I talk to him, it's the same old bubbly Takaba Akihito that never lets himself get beat down," the counsellor continued. "Ask everyone else and they will tell you the same thing. That he is dealing with all of this very well. That he is optimistic. Energetic. Fine."

Even without looking, he could tell that the woman had gotten up and was now quietly walking towards him.

"But he’s not fine, Asami," she said, when the two of them were side by side. "I know that, so does everyone else, and he probably knows that too."

 _'Well, I'm not fine either,'_ he thought to himself, but his 'woe-is-me' moment was short-lived. In the greater scheme of things, it was obvious that Akihito had, once again, gotten the short end of the stick.

"He's feeling lost," Makoto continued. "I have been blind for decades and it has never stopped me from having the life I wanted and from doing things that many people with perfect vision can't even dream of," she said. "I know that being visually impaired is not the end of the world, not even for a photographer. But to him, right now, it is. _It is_ the end of the world."

It was incredibly frustrating that things had gotten to that point.

Looking back, he couldn't help but blame himself for not being there to rescue Akihito earlier. He had been too late to save Maya, too late to save Akihito, too late for Kirishima, and now they were all paying the price. Not to mention that perhaps that stupid conflict wouldn't have happened in the first place if he hadn't agreed to work with the Tojo.

There were just so many things that he wished he could change...

"That is his truth," the counsellor continued, her voice much lower and softer, as if she didn't want to disrupt his moment of reflection. "And he is hiding it from everyone, except one person."

Asami chose to remain quiet as the woman by his side attempted to offer her perspective on his current circumstances.

"He just doesn't want to lie to you," she said. "But he's not ready to deal with the truth either. Are you?"

"What?"

"Ready to deal with it?" Makoto asked. "This is a big change for both of you."

Could he imagine a life without Akihito doing what he loved the most?

_No._

He remembered how Hong Kong had been tough on him years prior, the bruises that refused to fade, the depression, the almost drowning in the swimming pool, the fear in the hazel eyes every time he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat after yet another nightmare.

It had not been their endless hours of sex that had put the photographer back on track, even though he wanted to believe his skills in that department had helped Akihito get at least some of his confidence back.

What had saved him back then, what had brought them together to begin with, was his love for photography.

It was his ambition, his solace, _his passion._

Could he imagine Akihito never taking pictures again?

No.

"He will get better," he said, and his emotionless voice was an inaccurate reflection of his state of mind.

"What if he doesn't?"

"He will," he insisted, and this time his tone was not as neutral. "I know that he will."

" _What if he doesn't_?"

Asami bit the inside of his lower lip.

He knew what the counsellor was getting at - after all, he had to be prepared for the worst case scenario too, but it was just too early to go there.

"It's fine to grieve, Asami. You have the right to be angry, and sad, and afraid, just like he is now, but--”

"I'm not afraid," he quickly interrupted. Angry and sad, perhaps, but not _afraid_. "If he doesn't get better, than we'll find a way. If we can't change his brain then I will have to change everything else, I don't care."

And by 'everything else', he meant _'everything else'_. He had money. He had contacts. There had to be someone, _somewhere_ , that had been through the same problem and come up with a solution. Akihito couldn't possibly be the first photographer in the planet to suffer that kind of brain injury, and if he had to spend every cent he had to find answers, he would.

"I'm ready," he whispered.

He noticed the woman by his side had opened his mouth to speak again, but at that precise moment, a knock on the door made them both turn around.

"Sir? Excuse me," he heard one of his senior associates say. "Kirishima-sama asks to see you."

When he looked at the counsellor again, she was already nodding her permission for him to leave.

"Excuse me," he said, before turning in his heels and walking towards the door.

++++

Kirishima Kei was at his wit's end trying to catch up with all the reports he had missed out on. At such a critical time for Sion and for his boss, it was simply unforgivable to have wasted so much time stuck in a coma.

In a coma, of all things. _How cliche._

When the man appeared at his door, the secretary minimised all the windows he had been looking at, including the one with real-time feed of stock markets around the world and a handful of others showing online stores selling sleek, high tech wheelchairs.

"Good morning, sir," he said, squaring his shoulders and trying his best to look dignified while sitting up on his hospital bed.

He was still having a hard time managing the paralysis affecting his legs, but he was confident it was a matter of time until he looked as sharp as before.

After all, he was Asami Ryuichi's first assistant, and he knew his boss expected no less from him.

"How are you feeling?" he heard the man ask.

"I have had better days."

"You need a haircut."

"Yes, I am aware," Kirishima responded. "And better clothes. I feel silly in this gown."

"I'm sure something can be arranged."

The secretary noticed there was a hint of determination in the golden eyes that hadn't been there the day before. The stay in that hospital seemed to be doing his boss more harm than good and the demands of being emotionally and physically available for at least two very important patients were beginning to show in his physiognomy. He had clearly lost some weight again, and his skin and hair seemed slightly less radiant than usual.

That day, however, something seemed to have blown some extra energy into him.

"You wanted to see me?" the CEO of Sion asked, taking a seat on one of the chairs across from his bed.

"Ahh, yes," Kirishima replied, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "I see our shares have dropped significantly-"

"The financial analysts at Sion are working on it."

"But sir-"

"There is no need for you to worry about that," he heard his boss reply. "I would rather have you focus on your recovery so that you can go home soon. Working in a hospital room is a nightmare," he said, crossing his legs and turning his head to look at the window. "Trust me, I've tried."

A soft knock on the door announced the arrival of one of the secretary's junior assistants, who bowed respectfully before wheeling a trolley into the room.

"Your meal is here, sir," the man said quietly. "Broiled lobster, as requested."

"Broiled lobster?" Kirishima heard his boss ask, before undoing the tie around his neck and tilting his head towards the luxurious meal spread across the trolley. "Get me one of those as well."

After the assistant excused himself with another deep bow, the secretary spoke again.

"I will wait."

"No need," his boss replied. "You can go ahead and eat."

Before he had the chance to start his meal, though, another knock on the door drew his attention.

Within seconds, Suoh's face appeared in the gap between the door and its frame.

"Oh," the bodyguard whispered, after noticing the man sitting across from his bed. "I'll come back later."

"Come in, Suoh."

Kirishima watched when the blond man followed their boss's command and closed the door behind him, pulling a chair to sit close to them.

"You looked suspicious for a moment," the baritone voice said. "Are you okay?"

Kirishima's eyebrows shot up.

_Nothing went unnoticed with that man._

"I thought it was Shinada, for a moment," the secretary explained, with a concerned frown. "He has been acting very weird."

The malicious smirk that followed should have clued him in.

"Really?" the golden-eyed man asked, his voice smooth and low. "Weird, how?"

"I think he's hiding something from me," Kirishima said, his eyes drifting to Suoh, who strangely enough seemed to be sporting a smirk as well. "I just hope whatever trouble he got into doesn't involve wives of politicians _again._ We could do with a break..."

"I'm not sure about _wives._.." his boss replied, and once again his voice was dripping with malice. "I think his problem has something to do... with a _husband_?"

The secretary felt his eyes were about to pop from his head.

"Excuse me?" he mumbled.

Shinada Tatsuo, one of Sion's most relentless _casanovas_ , famous for the rather impressive list of actresses he had managed to romance during his days in the adult entertainment industry, had a _husband_?

He had really stayed in a coma for too long, if people had had that much time to go through such a change in lifestyle…

"When you woke up, you were pretty confused," his boss continued. "Do you remember what happened?"

"When I woke up?" Kirishima asked, frowning. "Not exactly, no. Why?"

His gaze once again traveled to Suoh's face, and then back to their boss.

"I do recall being medicated and examined some days ago, did anything happen before that?"

The brief glance the two other men exchanged in response was simply foreboding.

Those two had been up to something, and when their boss took his phone out of his pocket, he started bracing himself for the worst.

"Press play whenever you want," he heard Asami Ryuichi say, as he passed him the phone with his trademark smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

And play did he press.

His eyes went wide as he watched himself, clearly disoriented, staring at a beaming Shinada.

 _"Kiri-chan!"_ the bodyguard exclaimed, clasping his hands together enthusiastically.

 _"Who are you?"_ he saw himself answer.

_"Honey, you don't remember me?"_

The words were followed by some quiet chuckling in the background. 

_"Say you're his husband."_

Kirishima felt his ears were on fire. The whispered instruction had clearly come from his boss!

_"I'm Tatsuo, your husband."_

_"Husband?"_

He saw his own confusion mirrored in the face staring at Shinada.

 _"I'm married?"_ he had asked, eyes just as wide as his were now. _"To a_ man _?"_

How come he had absolutely no recollection of that conversation?

 _"Honey, you are breaking my heart here!"_ Shinada had replied, his pitch high and unusually affected. _"You don't remember anything?"_

Kirishima cringed when his disoriented self remained serious in the face of the obvious prank.

 _"I'm sorry... no..."_ he had replied, and his tone was sincerely apologetic. _"When did that happen?"_

His heartfelt words made Suoh burst into laughter.

"I am going to kill him," Kirishima snarled, after pressing pause just in time to freeze Shinada batting his eyelids.

"Don't," he heard his boss reply, with an even more devious smirk plastered on his face. "It was my idea."

"Clearly!" the secretary exclaimed. "But he seems to have gotten really invested in his role," he ranted, pressing play again and watching the man grab his hand as if the two of them really were lovers. "Aaaah, take this away from me!" he said, shoving the phone back into his boss's hand.

"I thought you would want to see the kiss."

_He truly hoped that was just another prank._

"The kiss?!?"

After all, he was okay with taking one for the team if that meant their boss could enjoy a laugh, but getting kissed by Shinada was where he drew the line!

_"Shinadaaaaaaaaaa!"_

++++

He and Suoh got out of Kirishima's room just in time to see Shinada heading their way.

"Good luck handling the beast," he said, lighting a cigarette as he walked past Akihito's bodyguard.

Behind them, the secretary's voice was thunderous.

_"You...!!"_

_"Kirishima-sama, I can explain--"_

_"Shut up!"_

"I don't remember there being a kiss," Suoh said, as they stopped in front of Akihito's room.

"There wasn't," Asami replied. "I just wanted to add some fuel to the fire."

He could do with the humour, especially now that he was about to go into the Akihito's room without his authorisation. He was not expecting a warm welcome, but they needed to have a talk and he was done waiting.

"I won't take long," he told the bodyguard, before walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

One look towards the young man on the bed, though, and he could tell he had chosen the wrong day for that conversation.

Akihito looked pale and tired, his eyes darting around the room as he frowned deeply - signs that he was having a hard time focusing and identifying objects.

Some days were better than others, and apparently that was a bad one.

He thought of announcing his presence, but when the photographer squinted in his direction, he realised he wouldn't need to.

"You're still here? Wow."

Akihito's tone was nothing short of disdainful.

"Thought you would be gone by now," he added.

He knew he would have to be very careful as to how he would handle the younger man's frustration, so he opted to let the first dis slide. His intention was not to start a fight.

"Say, did you fuck me in my sleep?"

An involuntary frown wrinkled Asami's forehead.

"Is that why you're here? You wanna fuck me now?"

Judging by Akihito's escalating aggressiveness, he had clearly brought a knife to a gunfight.

"I'm blind, Asami," the photographer snarled. "This is your chance to go find someone else to entertain you."

If he didn't know Takaba Akihito so well, he would have thought the young man actually meant it. His voice didn't lack conviction or anger, and the hardened expression on his face made the words sound even more bitter.

"I don't want anybody else," Asami replied calmly, sitting on his usual spot and crossing his legs.

Much to his surprise, though, the answer seemed to have elicited an even more resentful jeer.

"Are you sure?" the photographer asked, and although his eyes were unfocused, there was such a furious gleam in the hazel orbs that Asami found himself once again frowning. "I don't know... Now that I can't see, I might... accidentally _blow_ someone else."

He felt one of his eyes twitch.

There was just one way he had hoped that conversation wouldn't go and that was exactly where Akihito was heading.

"Or let them _fuck me_ to get a _scoop,_ " Akihito continued, his voice strangely serious and loaded with resentment. "I mean... right?"

Even the scoff that followed was scarily cold.

"One will do what one's gotta do. And then what?" he went on, without missing a beat. "You gonna whip me again? Toss me out on the street?"

Whatever it was that Asami had planned to say, at that point, disappeared into a cloud of guilt and regret.

"What?" the photographer pressed on. "You would, right? You can't help yourself. You can't control it."

He was being made to face his own crimes, and there was nothing he could possibly say to defend himself.

Akihito had no reason to trust him, not after what he had done.

He was cornered.

"I'm an idiot," he heard the younger man scoff, bitterly. "I thought I could handle your insanity. Damn..."

He wished he could say that Akihito's vicious remarks were a result of the trauma, or of the medication, or of his overall dissatisfaction with his current condition.

A part of him, however, feared that the unfortunate circumstances were just the trigger  that had propelled the photographer to finally reveal his true feelings about him.

He suddenly wished he had not entered the room.

"I was already struggling in my career, but now... Now I'm literally in the gutter," Akihito went on, and for the first time his anger got tangled with a profound sense of sadness that made his eyes fill with tears. "A blind photographer," he scoffed. "I got nothing left. Just _you_."

The word had come out of his mouth with so much disgust that Asami felt it hit him like a punch.

"No other alternative but to rely on your charity... This is your dream come true, isn't it?"

Hopefully, that was a rhetorical question, because he really did not know what to say. It was almost as if Akihito had been given a map of his brain and pushed all the buttons that made it malfunction, freezing his ability to come up with his usual cold, calculated replies.

"I've got nowhere to run now..."

He was still staring at the photographer's face when he saw the younger man touch his stomach and immediately cover his mouth with one hand.

As fast as humanly possible, Asami reached for the trash bin and placed it in front of Akihito a second before he started vomiting.

"Calm down," he whispered, holding the photographer's hair as he emptied his stomach into the bin. "Here, have some w--"

"Don't touch me!"

The glass shattered against the floor with a loud crash when Akihito pushed his arm away.

"Just leave, Asami," he muttered, sounding much more desperate and tired than before. "Get out, I didn't ask you to come."

"This clinic belongs to me," he hissed, unable to hold back his own frustration.

 _Those words would cost him_ , he could tell.

"Oh yeah?" Akihito asked, his voice once again dripping with disdain. "I get it."

Asami felt like screaming.

No. The problem was exactly that he _didn't_ get it.

"Well, then," the photographer added, turning to face the wall as he pulled up the blankets. "I'll send my other bills to your office too, I'm sure that using your money will make you feel better."

He spent a good minute looking at Akihito's back, debating if he should take a deep breath and try to reopen the conversation or if it was time to retreat to prevent even bigger damages.

"Goodbye."

The photographer's tone was final, and settled the debate.

_One had to pick their battles._

The first thing he saw after leaving the room and closing the door behind him, was the smiling face of Shinada Tatsuo, who looked quite relaxed having a chat with Suoh.

Without proper warning, Asami grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pushed him against a wall.

"Playtime is over, Shinada," he hissed. "Akihito will try to run away tonight, and if he succeeds, I will personally _murder_ you and send what is left of your body to your mother in Okinawa, do you understand?"

"Y-Yes, sir."

Ignoring Suoh's expression of confusion, Asami marched past the two men and headed to the BMW waiting outside.

Good thing their team had located three of the Omi officers they had been looking for.

He could certainly do with a distraction _._

 

 


	58. The good fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second part of the double update! I intended to post it earlier but some parts were still in need of adjustments and I wanted to do them justice, hihi. *wiggles eyebrows* Enjoy! ^_^

When she saw her father coming out of Akihito’s room, Maya wondered if that would be a good time to go talk to the photographer.

The doctors had advised that too much visitation could do more harm than good, and judging by the number of people coming in and out of his room, he had been having some pretty busy days.

Still, her stepfather's funeral was just around the corner, and if she was really going to do what she was planning to do, she should at the very least leave no unfinished businesses behind.

It was time to bite the bullet.

"Yo," she said, after knocking on his door.

"Yo."

"Look who's awake."

She waited until Akihito got a better sense of his surroundings, turning his head towards the place where her voice was coming from.

His eyes were reddish and puffy, which only made her think that his prior visit hadn't exactly ended on a good note.

"Maya?" he asked, after putting down the bowl of noodles he was holding.

"Yup,” she answered, after moving closer to the bed. “What's wrong, have you been crying?”

“Nah, I'm fine.”

An obvious lie, but she would not force him to talk if he didn't want to.

“Long time no see, huh?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, though, she felt like cringing.

"I mean, _talk_ ," she corrected, the tips of her ears burning with embarrassment. "Long time no talk."

Akihito, however, didn't seem very affected by the faux pas.

"It's okay," he said, after a sniffle and a half shrug. "I'll eventually get used to the "no see" part."

"The doctor said you're getting better, though," the girl replied, sitting on one of the armchairs next to his bed. "And pretty fast at that."

"Yeah... It comes and goes."

The photographer paused, and Maya took that chance to look at the bowl resting on the small table next to him.

No matter how many times she had rehearsed that conversation, the words always got stuck in her throat.

"How are you doing?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Better," she responded, shrugging as she tried to keep her voice casual. "Much better."

Which was not entirely a lie, when she thought of it. Organising her stepfather's funeral was a strangely fulfilling task, one that made her grieve but that at the same time gave her a new sense of purpose.

"What are you eating?" she then asked, before they took a detour and ended up talking about her predicaments instead.

_That was not the reason why she was there._

"Tonkotsu ramen," Akihito replied. "Want some?"

"Nah, I'm good. Just had lunch."

"Right..."

She watched in silence as the photographer's gaze grew distant, as if he was immersed in thoughts.

"Do you know where Masa has been?" he finally asked, frowning slightly. "I might be going crazy, but I think I was supposed to call him or something, and his number is unavailable."

"He probably got a new number in Thailand."

"Oh," Akihito gasped quietly, his eyebrows going up as if he had just remembered something important. "Oh yeah, he's in Thailand now."

"Yup. He hasn't gotten in touch yet, he must be settling in."

Maya squeezed her eyes, a wrinkle of concern on her forehead as she did the math. It had been more than a week, now that she thought about it...

"Are you mad at me?"

Her moment of distraction was brought to an end when Akihito voiced his question, his eyes averted to his own lap as he spoke.

"The things I said..." he continued, but Maya quickly touched his arm and urged him to stop.

"No. Akihito, listen--"

"...I didn't mean to be so hard a--"

"No, Akihito?" she interrupted again. "Don't do that, don't apologise, hell no, no, that's my job."

And there it was. The conversation she had been avoiding for almost a full month.

"I'm the one that owes you an apology," she said, after clearing her throat.

"You don't owe me an apology."

"Just listen, ok? Listen."

"I don't wanna listen, I--"

"But I wanna say it," she quickly interjected, giving the photographer's hand a friendly squeeze. "Please."

She waited until he had drew in a long breath and nodded his agreement before continuing.

"You know, you were right," she said. "At some point, I did hate you."

It was Maya's turn to inhale deeply. There were many things to say, but she should stick to the facts to avoid unnecessary drama.

"About him, Asami..." she continued. "My mother missed him a lot. Not as a man, I think. More like… a friend? I don't know. Maybe as a man, hell if I know," Maya went on, after a quick shrug. "But he never seemed to care about her, or me. Or even my stepfather. He was always so far removed..."

She could feel the lump forming in her throat, that familiar prickling in the corners of her eyes announcing that very soon her voice would break. But she had promised, to herself and to her father, that when she finally gathered the courage to come see Akihito, she would not cry, or make him feel worse than he was already feeling.

She could deal with her own problems later.

"So I told myself that was who he was. A jackass without a heart that didn't know how to love," she said, feeling Akihito's thumb tracing patterns on the top of her hand. "It was not my fault. Or my mother’s. We hadn't done anything wrong, the problem was him."

For more years than she could count, she kept telling herself she didn't care, but deep down, the truth was that she had always hoped her father would show some kind of remorse for walking away on them. Small and mean as it was, she wanted him to feel dejected, lonely, _guilty._

At the end of the day, she was just as much of a bad daughter as he was a bad parent.

"I think… Damn," she chuckled nervously, noticing she was on the verge of going off on a tangent. "Ok. No beating about the bush, yeah?"

She cleared her throat again.

"So... I came to Tokyo, and one day I saw the two of you together, just talking. And the way he looked at you…"

Her voice was just as distant as her eyes as she revisited that particular memory.

"The way he _smiled..._ " she said, pursing her lips for a moment. "My problem with you… was that smile."

She had to congratulate herself for the great job she was doing hiding the fact that every word leaving her mouth hurt like a motherfucker. The chuckle that left her throat was just as artificial as her cool, collected tone, but at the very least Akihito would not have to put up with one of her embarrassing breakdowns.

"I couldn't remember the last time my father had smiled at me or my mother like that," she continued, her voice still steady although Akihito's hand squeezing hers was making her chin tremble slightly. "I'm really sorry, Akihito. I was selfish, and small, and…. I'm sorry that I tried to separate you two out of spite," she added, squeezing his hand back. "I feel I never deserved to have you as a friend."

"Shut up."

"I mean it," she replied, a small smile curling the corners of her lips Akihito rolled his eyes. "But I really want to be your friend, if you can forgive me."

"Just snap out of it, we’re fine," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Of course I want us to be friends, you are being way too dramatic."

Before she knew, the two of them were laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.

One glance at the photographer, though, and she noticed that there was a shadow of sorrow in the usually bright hazel eyes that did not match the wide smile on his lips.

Just like her, he seemed to be working very hard to keep up the happy facade.

"I wish things could have been different. Lots of things," he said, and this time his voice did not carry the energy of moments prior. "And I hope we are still going to be friends even after your father and I… you know... go our own, separate ways."

Maya's eyebrows shot up.

_Where had that come from?_

"Sorry, _what?_ "

"What kind of life can the two of us have now, Maya?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual although the words were coming out weak and shaky. "I don't want him to stay with me out of guilt, out of pity, just because... I'm _like this_."

"'Like this', how?"

"I can barely see. I need five thousand different medications just to get out of bed, sometimes my mind is so foggy I don't even remember my name," he responded, the last bits of calm and confidence flying out of the window as his chin trembled. "This is not the person he fell in love with," he whispered. "This is not _me_."

It was Maya's turn to squeeze the fingers laced with hers, and when she did, Akihito had to stifle a sob.

"You will get better," she whispered back. "You were in a coma for two weeks, of course you're feeling strange. But things will get better," she added. "You're still _you_. Just... a new version of you."

"I don't like this new version..."

"Well... I don't think you can ask for a refund," she chuckled, watching as a faint, saddened smile curled the corners of his mouth. "Too late."

For a long minute, neither of them said a word. Much as she wanted to cheer Akihito up, she knew that the battle against those unwanted thoughts and negativity was a lonely one, and there was just so much she could say or do to make the photographer feel better.

"What did they do to you?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

"The Omi, did they...?"

Of course, Akihito had seen her being taken.

What had happened after that was the kind of memory she did not want to revisit, but it felt wrong to just dismiss her friend's concern.

"Did they... _hurt_ you?"

The way he had put emphasis on that word made her realize that the _hurt_ in his question was supposed to mean something else.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding slowly after a sniffle.

Those damn stubborn tears.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, the corners of his mouth drooping as he spoke. "Did you tell Kou?"

_Kou._

Another person she would eventually have to make amendments with, at some point.

"No, not yet," she replied. "But I will, before I leave."

Akihito let out a surprised gasp.

" _Leave?_ " he asked.

"Yeah."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That I'm leaving Tokyo and… going somewhere else."

"Where?"

Maya pursed her lips, scratching the back of her neck as she pondered how to handle the question.

"I can't tell you," she finally answered. "Not yet. It's...I just don't want any of you to worry."

"Well, you're not helping by not telling us where you're going."

"I know," she replied, hoping that they would soon be able to change the topic. "I'm sorry, but that's how it's gotta be."

It felt wrong to keep her plans a secret from Akihito now that they had finally reconciled, but telling him - or anyone else, for that matter - that she was headed to a _buraku_ in Kansai would only make things worse.

"Wait..." he said, his tone now showing a very obvious hint of irritation. "So you're telling me not to give up on Asami, but you're just gonna walk out on everything, just like that?"

"It's not the same thing."

"How is that not the same thing?"

"It's not," she answered her voice slightly louder than expected. "My father and Kou are not the same person, Kou needs time."

She felt like a coward for having avoided the designer for almost an entire month now.

In the beginning, while he was still in the hospital with the rest of them, he would call her multiple times a day, send text messages, emails. Then time went by and the attempts to make contact grew scarce, and she knew they would eventually cease unless she finally sent some sort of reply.

Still, it was too hard to face him again, after everything that had happened to him and to her, mainly because of her actions.

"He doesn't know it yet, but he needs _time_. Time to think, time to recover," she said, trying to convince herself that keeping a distance was the right thing to do. "We both do. But my father..."

Maya paused, and lifted her eyes to Akihito's expectant face.

"He has waited for you all his life, I think," she said, a smiling curving her lips as she tousled his hair. "He can handle it. Whatever you are planning to throw at him."

When she realised the hazel eyes were filling with tears, she was quick to change the topic once again.

"Hey, by the way, you should know that your roots need a touch-up, desperately," she said, still playing with the longer than usual strands of blond hair. "And a haircut. But I'm not sure you can dye your hair because of the chemicals, so... maybe you should consider a brunette revival, eh?"

"Fuck no!" he said, his brow furrowed for the fraction of a second before his lips curled into a smirk. "I don't think I can pull it off. Can I?"

"Going brunette?"

"Yeah."

"Damn boy!" she exclaimed, playfully jabbing him on the arm. "Fuck yeah, you can!"

"Shit, I don't know..."

Even though his eyes were still glistening with unshed tears, his smile was genuine this time around, and the realisation that he looked just as radiant as he did the first time she saw him, made Maya nod quietly with a smile of her own.

Yeah.

He could totally pull it off.

++++

"Again," Kirishima said, letting a smirk curl the corners of his mouth when Shinada released a pained gasp.

After rotating his shoulders, the bodyguard once again placed his arms under the secretary's armpits to lift his body from his brand-new, custom-made wheelchair.

Obviously, it was not as if he needed help to get back to the bed and vice versa - all the years of martial arts and cardio had made his upper body strong enough for him to learn the new tricks of manoeuvring paralysed legs fairly quickly.

Shinada didn't know that, though, and it had been just as easy to get him into doing all the heavy work.

Heavy work that Kirishima was making sure was even heavier by relaxing all the muscles in his body every time the bodyguard lifted him.

"Man, it's like I am carrying a block of _concrete..._ " he heard Shinada complain through gritted teeth as he laid him on the bed for the thirtieth time that evening.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Good, because I'm not happy yet. It's still too slow, I'm sure we can do better," the secretary replied. " _Again._ "

The look of despair on Shinada's face almost made him laugh.

"Kirishima-sama, I need a break," the man said, wiping droplets of sweat off his face as he tried to catch his breath. "My muscles are burning!"

"Goes to show you are falling behind with your weight training," Kirishima retorted, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of bodyguard can't lift 160 pounds?"

"I can lift twice as much as that, it's the _repetitions_ that are killing me," the bodyguard replied, frowning.

Clearly, he had hit a nerve.

"Plus, your weight distribution is all wrong, are you doing it on purpose?"

Kirishima allowed himself a moment to fake an expression of sheer surprise.

"I obviously _am not_!" he replied. "Are you making fun of a person with mobility issues?"

The violent blush that crept up Shinada's face almost made him laugh again.

"My apologies, Kirishima-sama!" he heard the man exclaim, bending down in an impossibly deep bow. "I didn't mean it like that, please let me do it again, I'll be faster this time!"

The secretary had to roll his eyes.

_How long until that idiot realised he was pulling one on him?_

"Kirishima-sama?"

Before he could say anything, though, one of his assistants announced his presence after a quick knock on the door.

"I have Sachi on the line, he says he's been trying to call you but you won't pick up the phone."

The secretary quickly reached for the phone resting on his bedside table, and moved back to the wheelchair with so much agility that Shinada's jaw dropped to the floor.

"Yes, Shinada," the secretary said, after adjusting the footrest on the chair and making sure his legs were in the right position. "I have very strong arms, among other things."

With a vengeful smirk, he pressed a button on his phone and wheeled himself out of the room, leaving the flabbergasted bodyguard behind.

"Sachi?"

 _"Hold on, let me hang up the other line,"_ the procurer replied. _"Here, done."_

"What happened?" he asked, bringing the wheelchair to a stop when he reached a deserted corner of the sunlit patio.

 _"_ Your boss _happened, Kirishima-san, what else?"_

"I don't know what you are getting at."

_"Ok, so here is the thing. He has a gala dinner to attend tomorrow, am I right?"_

"Yes."

_"One with the CEOs of Japan's top notch tech companies, representatives of the Chamber of Commerce, yadda yadda, yeah?"_

"Correct."

That gala dinner, just like so many others, was a necessary evil to bring their business back on its feet. Now more than ever, Asami Ryuichi would have to charm investors, public servants and celebrities, even if that meant faking pleasantries and interest in people he couldn't possibly care less about.

_"Yes, I got the list of the attendees, I can tell--"_

"Sachi, could you please just cut to the chase?"

 _"Sure,"_ the other man replied. _"I just texted you the requirements your boss sent me in regards to his escort."_

"Okay."

 _"No, sugar, it is_ not _okay. I would like you to take a look at it before we go on."_

After a long, unhappy sigh, Kirishima swiped the screen of his phone and tapped the message the procurer had sent seconds prior.

The frown wrinkling his forehead gradually intensified as his eyes scanned the five lines of content.

"I-I don't know what to say," the secretary replied, scratching the top of his head.

That kind of request sounded like a cry for help.

 _"Well, I do, I know what to say,"_ Sachi snarled. " _Either he is joking me or he's lost it. Either way, it can't and won't be done, so if you meet with him anytime soon, tell him I will be sending Kaoru. She has the experience and the looks, and..."_

But Kirishima was not paying attention anymore.

He had assumed that after his boss’s talk with Takaba Akihito two days prior, he had returned to Sion with renewed energy to take care of the pending business affairs he had left behind. Now, however, he was coming to the conclusion that perhaps he had been locked in his office just to get away from it all, and it was time to get the man back on track.

"Ok, Sachi, thank you very much."

The secretary finished the call, wheeled himself back to his room, and allowed one of his private nurses to help him finish getting ready for work. Although he disliked the idea of depending on others, now was not the time to be proud - his priority was getting to Sion, but before that, there was one person he needed to talk to…

++++

 

"I'm still not sure about this..." Akihito told Maya as she spread what felt like a very thick, muddy concoction all over his scalp.

"Where is your adventurous spirit, my friend?" she replied. "Plus, I showed the henna to your doctor and she said it poses no threat to your health."

"Maybe not to my health, but to my looks..." he whispered, a concerned frown wrinkling his forehead. "Seriously now, are you sure you got the right color? I heard that sometimes people get crazy results using henna."

"Using cheap henna, you mean," Maya corrected. "This is high-grade stuff, all natural, and I added some essential oils to the melt so your hair will feel smoother than ever," she said, covering his head with layers and layers of plastic wrap. "So stop complaining already."

"Fine..."

After the mixture had been rinsed off his head, it was time for the step he dreaded the most.

When he heard the first snip cutting his hair, Akihito gulped.

"Don't cut it too short," he whispered, fingers digging into the arms of the chair.

It was bad enough that he couldn't see what his hair looked like in terms of color - the least he could do was make sure the length didn't change too much as well.

"Ok."

By the time Maya was done with blow drying his hair, he was dozing off on his seat.

Even though he had managed to build up some considerable stamina ever since waking up, he still had a way to go, and the two hours involved in the makeover were more than enough to tire him.

"Dude... I swear, this shit is lit!"

The girl's enthusiastic exclamation, though, made his eyes shoot open with a mixture of anxiety and excitement.

"You look so _damn good_!" she added, "Your hair is honey brown now. Seriously, it is so much better than I thought. You look like... I don't know, a TV star? Whatever. I don't know, but I know you look awesome."

"It does feel very soft..." he replied, running his fingers through the strands of hair that now felt silky and nourished. "And it smells like honey..."

"Yeah..." Maya chuckled, taking away the towel wrapped around his shoulders. "Come on, let that smile out, I know you like it."

He brought a strand of hair closer to his nose, reveling in the sweet, delicate scent.

"I do," he whispered, a genuine smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Oh man, I wonder what Asami--"

He cut himself short when the name escaped his lips.

It had been two days since their fallout, and the man hadn't returned to the hospital ever since.

"Nevermind..." he whispered.

"I'm sure he'll lo--"

A knock on the door made Akihito turn his head towards the other side of the room.

"Hey, kid."

As usual, he couldn't see much more than a blur near the entrance to his room, and he frowned as the shorter than predicted shape opened the door wider.

"Li?" he asked, recognising the woman's voice built finding it weird that she looked so small.

"Yes, it's me," she replied. "Mind if I come in?"

With a nod, Akihito welcomed her into the room as Maya pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I should get going," she said.

"Thank you."

"Glad you liked it."

When the door clicked behind her, Akihito let his eyes shift to a tall shape behind Li Jiao, but before he could make any inquiries, the woman was speaking again.

"Love your hair."

"Thanks," he responded, touching his hair with a small smile. "Figured I could do with a change..."

"Looks really good," she went on. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Can't wait to get out of here."

"You will. Sooner than you think," the bodyguard said, her voice strong and amiable at the same time. "Suoh is here too, by the way."

"Hi, Takaba-san."

That explained the tall shape behind her.

"W-Wait, why are you so much taller than her?" he asked, frowning.

"That's because I'm in a wheelchair," Li Jiao replied, and it took him a few seconds to make sense of her explanation.

And then, in a flash, he remembered it all at once: Tanimura calling his name, him walking down dark hallways, Li Jiao bleeding on the floor, _Ochida._

"In a wheelchair?" he asked, his heart beating faster as the memories kept running through his mind. "Why, what happened to you? And the baby, is the baby ok? Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'm fine, it was just my knees," the woman replied, and he felt her warm hands cover his fingers to give it a reassuring squeeze. "Like you, I have a long recovery ahead but I'm sure we will both nail it."

Knowing that statement was probably just an attempt to cheer him up, Akihito nodded slowly and tried to smile.

"Yeah, but... what about the baby?"

"The baby is fine," he heard the woman reply. "Thanks to you."

Akihito let out a relieved sigh. Although he was quite sure his participation in that conflict had been far from successful, at least it had not been in vain.

"We brought you some things..."

Suoh's voice was followed by a sudden weight being gently placed on his lap, and he felt Li Jiao's hand leading his fingers to what felt like a straw picnic basket.

"There is Pocky, candy, rice cakes..." the bodyguard continued.

He looked down at the basket, and was able to identify a couple of colourful boxes amidst a series of other small shapes.

"Hehe," he chuckled, after picking up one of them. "Please tell me I picked Pocky?"

"You did."

"The milk chocolate one?"

"We only bought the milk chocolate ones."

With a smirk, he cracked the box open and offered some of the chocolate sticks to the other two people near him.

"Thanks," he said, chewing happily as he spoke. "You didn't have to."

"It's not enough to thank you for what you've done, but..." Suoh continued. "Thank you."

"It's ok. I'm glad it all turned out fine," he replied.

"It's a girl."

"Hmm?"

"The baby. It's a girl," Li Jiao repeated.

"Wow..." he whispered.

The fact that they already could tell made it even more real. Those two were really having a child...

"Are you happy?"

"Yes," the woman answered. "Very much."

"Good... Have you thought of any names yet?"

Instead of a reply, Akihito heard Suoh shift on his chair as Li Jiao cleared her throat.

"About that..." she said, once again holding his hand. "We would be honoured if you chose it."

"Chose what?" the photographer asked, frowning.

"The baby's name."

His eyebrows shot up.

" _Me_?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"She wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you," Li Jiao explained. "We... _we_ wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you."

"Nah..." Akihito dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. He had just done what he thought was right, and if he had done it well he wouldn't be on a hospital bed after a two-week coma.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I thought you liked picking names and stuff."

"I do. But I like you more."

Her words were followed by a sniffle, and Akihito felt a lump begin to form in his throat.

He owed a lot to Li Jiao. Not only had she and her boss taken care of him in some of the worst moments of his life, but the bodyguard had also become a confidant and a mentor of sorts.

"Well, shit. Are you crying?" he whispered, his voice slightly shaky as he spoke. "You're gonna make me cry too, and I don't wanna cry in front of Suoh."

"Always so proud..."

Akihito noticed that Suoh's voice was slightly nasal, and chuckled nervously in response.

"So, are you picking the name or not?" Li Jiao said in return, her voice strong and fierce as usual. "I got things to do."

"What, you want me to choose _now_?"

"I have to start preparing her room," she replied. "How long do you need to think of a name?"

_Preparing a room._

Those words also triggered memories, and for a full minute the photographer spaced out revisiting events of a distant time of his life.

"You know..." he said quietly. "My parents took their time preparing my room before I was born too."

He paused as images of his childhood kept flashing behind his eyes.

"They would tell me that story every birthday, when I was younger," he chuckled, still lost in his own thoughts. "Everything was custom-made... every piece of furniture had my name carved on it."

And then he paused again, shaking his head.

"Takaba _Sayuri_ ," he said, smirking. "Because it turns out that the doctors had told my mother she was expecting _a girl_."

Li Jiao's surprised gasp made him chuckle again.

"So they say I got home to a room painted all over with small lilies, wrapped in a pink blanket, wearing a pink onesie..." Akihito continued. "They had told my mother I was a girl," he said, his voice distant and low. "Every. Single. Time. In _every_ ultrasound. I don't know if it was the position of my legs or if my... you know... was really small, but..." he said, eyebrows going up as he shrugged.

Suoh's amused gasp, however, made Akihito frown.

"Suoh, if you ever mention this to Asami, I will _murder_ you," he said, just for the bodyguard to start laughing quietly. "Although he knows very well that I am very well endowed!" he exclaimed, crossing his arms with a pout. "Just to get that out of the way, ok?"

"Sayuri?" Li Jiao asked, and her voice had a note of amusement as well. "Do you like that name?"

"Yeah..." the photographer replied, allowing a small smile to curl the corners of his mouth. "It means "small lily". I like it, yeah."

The light-hearted atmosphere was only disrupted when he remembered his parents.

He could see them clearly in his mind's eye, and a feeling of guilt and nostalgia seemed to be tearing a hole in his soul.

It had been so long since he had had a proper conversation with either of them, there was so much he was hiding... Earlier that week, when Kou had told him that Asami had agreed to call his parents, the panic had almost made him throw up.

He knew that eventually he would have to bite the bullet and tell them everything, but how? He didn't even know where to start. Not to mention that now that he couldn't see, they were bound to be even more disappointed. His father had always been so proud that he appeared to be following his footsteps in photography...

When the first tears fell from his eyes, he felt Li Jiao squeezing his hand once again.

"Akihito? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied, wiping his tears on the back of his arm. "I was just thinking of my parents, that's all."

Not entirely a lie, after all.

"Despite all the weird mess up, I know that they chose that name with a lot of love as they waited for me," he said, his voice nasal but no longer shaky after a brief pause. "And I know you are waiting for your baby with a lot of love too."

He patted her hand as he filed his own family problems for later.

_That was not the time._

"Sayuri it is, then," Li Jiao finally said.

"Plus you get a funny story to tell your child when she grows up," Akihito added.

"I'm not so sure it's settled."

Suoh's words made the two of them go very silent.

"We need a plan B, just in case it's actually a boy," he added, and the three of them chuckled in quiet agreement.

++++

Asami woke up with a start, just to find himself still in his office at Sion.

He had fallen asleep in the middle of the preparations for his gala dinner the next day, a pile of files and pictures spread across the shiny surface of his desk as he made notes on what topic to discuss with whom, with what _resources_ and for how long.

He had not missed that part of his business life.

The sound of someone clearing his throat in the opposite corner of the room made him reach for one of the guns holstered to his chest, but the familiar face he saw next to the door made him slacken his grip.

"Kirishima..." he said, after pinching the bridge of his nose. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough," the other man replied, pressing a button in his sleek, high-tech wheelchair and gliding forward effortlessly. "Bad dream?"

"Yes..." he replied, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes for a moment. "I dreamt Donald Trump had become the CEO of Sion."

"Scary."

"Very."

"So...." the secretary continued, and Asami had to applaud how confident and comfortable he looked despite his new circumstances. "My assistants have reported that you spent the past 48 hours in the office carrying out meetings and raising staff morale?"

"Oh, is that what they said?"

"Yes. Why, is that not the truth?"

Asami let a bitter smirk curl the corners of his mouth.

"I saw one of my marketing managers watching cat movies during a conference," he explained, "so I went from desk to desk to let people know I expected them to work hard."

He had always been extremely selective when it came to hiring, and knew his team was composed of very competent people who just happened not to be as competent relieving stress in times like those.

"But actually I was just hoping I would find someone else on social media so that I could send out an angry memo..." he added, trying to add some humor to the situation. "If it raised morale... well, what can I say, must be my personal magnetism."

“Oh, obviously," Kirishima's replied, also smirking. "I am sure that your leisure stroll caused most of our female staff to ovulate, you were all the ladies were talking about when I arrived."

Then, the secretary cleared his throat again, and Asami realised the lighthearted part of that conversation was officially over.

"Sachi called me," Kirishima said.

"I knew he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut," Asami replied, straightening his back after a tired sigh.

"Suoh called me."

"And?"

"What is going on?" he heard his secretary ask.

More to buy himself some time than to properly clean up his desk, Asami started putting all the papers and pictures into a pile.

"So I asked Sachi to find me a woman who's older than usual for the gala tomorrow, so what?" he finally said, the words coming out clipped and low.

"You asked him to look for a _seventy year-old that looked like you_ ," Kirishima's retorted, and his voice carried a very obvious note of disbelief. "Admit it, now that you are hearing it from someone else's mouth, you do realize how bizarre that is, right?"

_Yes, he actually did._

Blinking fast to outrun the sensation that yes, _perhaps he was losing his mind,_ he cleared his throat and decided to steer the conversation onto a different direction.

"What was Suoh whining about?" he asked.

"He was not whining. He was just worried as well."

"About what?"

"The Omi officers?" Kirishima's replied, raising his hands to express his confusion. "You made the team prepare all the torture apparel we had, and used nothing, not even your bare fists," he went on. "Then you spent almost four hours sitting on a chair, just to give them a _mercy shot behind the neck_?"

The eyes behind the glasses were two huge question marks, and it made him uncomfortable to realize that yes, he was giving his most senior subordinates reason to question his decisions.

_That was not his usual behaviour._

"What is going on?" the secretary asked, his voice low and filled with what he could identify as genuine concern.

"Don't try to analyse me, Kirishima, I believe that is beyond your capabilities, unfortunately," he answered.

"Beyond mine, yes," the man replied. "But I brought a specialist."

"Hello, Asami-san."

Majima Makoto, who had obviously been waiting behind the door, took that moment to step into the room.

“Oh, great,” Asami muttered, reaching for an unopened bottle of scotch inside one of his drawers. “What is this, an intervention?”

As he poured himself a glass of the amber liquid, he wondered how and why his life had taken such a strange turn. Months earlier, if anyone had ever told him he would need _an intervention_ , he would have laughed internally.

“It is, isn't it?” he asked, with a bitter scoff. “You've got to be kidding me…”

“I'll leave you two alone,” he heard Kirishima's whisper in response, before leaving the room.

Asami couldn't find it in him to be upset that his faithful first assistant had brought the counsellor into the picture. He had not been well, and not being well, in a world like theirs, was synonym to treading dangerously close to the edge of a precipice.

“And here I am, back in your office,” he heard the woman say. “It feels like it was ages ago, so much has happened…”

He, however, was not in the mood to talk about such distant past.

“Is this going to take too long?” he asked, without bothering to hide his impatience. “I could do with a night of sleep, in my own bed, just for a change.”

“It's been two days since I last saw you in the hospital.”

“Yes,” was his curt reply. “My presence is no longer required and I have business to take care of.”

“What happened?”

He quickly found out he was not in the mood to talk about the recent past either.

“You left after talking to Akihito, it must have been pretty serious,” the woman went on.

When the probe did not have the intended impact, she let out a sigh.

“See, how long this is going to take depends on whether or not you are planning to answer my questions,” the counsellor calmly added, lacing her fingers on top of the desk. “If you want this to be fast, cooperate.”

“I don't do ‘fast’,” he answered, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “I like to take my time.”

“Let's do it your way, then,” the woman responded, apparently pleased with the innuendo. “Take as long as you need.”

“Would you like a drink first?”

“I will pass on it this time, thanks.”

With a nod, he refilled his glass, and stood up to walk towards the window.

Looking at the city’s skyline always gave me a strange sense of security and self-control.

“I don't remember if I told you this or not, but back in the day, I looked for professional help. It didn't last long, but I tried,” he asked, one of his hands shoved into the pocket of his pants. “To understand... why making people suffer made me feel so good about myself.”

He paused to take a sip of his dink, eyes still fixated on the city below.

“I never told him, my counsellor at the time, what had happened to my mother, but he was good,” he continued. “He knew something had happened to me, and he said that it was probably an unresolved situation from my past that propelled me to find pleasure in violence.”

_It had been so many years ago._

He didn't really like revisiting certain parts of his life, not only because there were many things he had done and was not proud of, but also because it reminded him that the clock was ticking and he was not getting any younger.

“And he was right,” he said, after snapping out of the brief, melancholic trance. “But see, if an unresolved situation from my past is at the root of all problems, then I'm not sure there's much I can do about it,” he explained. “I can't go back in time. I can't save my mother, I can't... do the things that I left undone.”

 _Or undo the things that he had done,_ especially to the people he had bothered to care for.

“That is probably why your work didn't make much of a difference, and I'm still... _like this_.”

“'Like this', how?” the counsellor asked.

And then, he remembered the last words he had heard from Akihito.

He had been thinking about them a lot.

“Insane,” he whispered.

“Did Akihito say that you're insane?”

He walked away from the window to once again take the seat behind his desk.

“He's right,” he answered, no sadness in his voice, no fear, no anger, just some sort of calm, detached acceptance. “I am. And he is also right when he says that I can't control myself. That I might hurt him again.”

That was the worst part of it all. Maybe the reason why he hadn't found a proper way to respond to the photographer’s accusations two days prior was because they were all true.

“Because I can't, and I might,” he continued. “I pushed his bodyguard against a wall and threatened to send his dead body to his mother because I was mad. That's what I do. I can't help it.”

“What happened to the Omi officers?”

He blinked, letting his eyes drop to the glass in front of him.

“I wanted to prove him wrong,” he whispered. “I was... dying to break every bone of their bodies, to see them beg for their lives, to watch them bleed…” he paused, taking another sip off his drink when the images of all the brutal plans he had for Sengoku’s allies flashed before his eyes. “But I wanted to prove that I could control it.”

“Could you?” Makoto asked.

“They had to be killed.”

“But they didn't have to suffer.”

“They _deserved_ to suffer.”

“And yet, you opted for a mercy shot,” she quickly replied. “Why?”

He inhaled deeply, searching for the pack of cigarettes inside the pocket of his jacket.

“I don't want to hurt him again,” he responded, trying to keep his mind on track despite the memories and thoughts jumbling up inside his head. “I thought, that if I could stop myself from injuring people I hate, then I would be able to stop myself from... you know.”

In the end, it all came down to that.

It was almost as if his relationship with Takaba Akihito was bound to those circles of crime and passion, punishment and forgiving, hope and regret. He didn't blame the photographer for fearing that they had reached their limit as couple. How could he, anyway, when he had crossed a line he was never supposed to have crossed, and more than once?

“But I still don't know if I can stop myself,” he added, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long, deep drag. “There is this... fire burning inside me that is never satisfied, so I don't know,” he said. “I really don't know.”

What followed was a very long minute of silence, in which the counsellor kept staring at the desk as if she herself was lost in thought.

Maybe there was no way out, after all.

Just like he couldn't change what had happened to his mother, perhaps it was too late to make amendments with Akihito as well.

“See... some two years ago, Tokyo's district prosecutor looked for me to ask for help involving one of his interns.”

Why he had remembered that precise story, at that precise moment, was a mystery to him.

“20 years old, going to the University of Tokyo, best of his class, studying to become a judge,” he went on. “The apple of Kuroda's eye.”

He watched as the counsellor leaned back on her chair, an expression of curiosity on her face.

“Then one day, this kid goes back home to find his mother being held down by his stepfather, and he flips,” Asami explained. “Kills him, with his bare hands.”

He led the cigarette to his lips, and stared vacantly at the cloud of smoke that formed in front of him when he exhaled.

“Made it to the news. You probably heard about it, it was dubbed the ‘crime of the bear’, because of how the stepfather had been mauled to death,” he continued. “He was expelled from college, obviously. Kuroda went out of this way to prove it was justifiable homicide to protect the mother, who had been a victim of abuse for years…”

_If only Japan didn't turn such a huge blind eye to domestic violence…_

He frowned at the thought.

To think that he himself had become part of the statistics, and in the worst way possible.

_Hypocrite._

“Anyway…” he cleared his throat, and tried to outrun his shame by refilling his glass with more scotch.

He could do with the buzz.

“He was found not guilty of homicide, but just because Kuroda had resorted to alleging mental illness, which later on proved to be a very bad move in itself,” he said. “It turns out no one wants to hire people with a mental illness. Or... lease properties. Or offer help.”

After another brief pause, his lips curled into a nostalgic smirk.

“And that was why he was looking for my help that day. The kid had flown to Colombia, of all places, and become one of the world's most infamous drug lords,” he chuckled. “I won't go into detail, but I'll just say that in less than a year he managed to control all the major routes feeding drugs to the US, and from there to Europe.”

He paused, resting his face on his hand as he pondered the irony.

That was quite the feat for a young adult who had at one point aimed to be on the right side of the law.

“Made a name for himself. He was known as _El Chino_ , even though he’s Japanese,” Asami then went on. “Apparently the locals couldn't really tell the difference.”

“Kuroda wanted me to find a way to bring him back to Japan before the FBI caught him and he rotted in jail, and I agreed, obviously,” he said. “Not because the routes he controlled were gold, even though I had noticed the potential.”

If anything, the counsellor already knew very well where that story was going, but at the very least he could show her that yes, he understood how his mind worked.

“But because he had done the one thing I wished I had done my whole life…” he completed. “He had not hidden.”

"He was twenty years old,” the woman replied, calmly. “You were eleven. I'm sure you can see the problem in your comparison?"

Instead of replying, Asami let his gaze shift to the window.

He _could_ see the problem.

What he _couldn't see_ was a solution.

“Is he in your payroll now?” Makoto asked.

“Yes.”

“He has an interesting story, is there any way I can talk to him?”

Her question was received with a frown.

“Don't worry, I will obviously not mention anything about your life,” the counsellor was quick to add, noticing his silence. “Not to mention that I want to believe you submit your employees to regular psychological check-ups? If you don't, you should, in t--”

“Let me talk to him first,” he replied. “He will be suspicious if a counsellor approaches him out of nowhere.”

Another one of the counsellor’s ideas he didn't feel entirely comfortable with, but he was way too tired to argue at that point.

“Fine,” the woman replied, after a resigned sigh. “Take your time.”

“Can we call it a night? I really need some sleep.”

“Of course,” she responded, getting up shortly afterwards.

The two of them had just reached the door when the woman spoke again.

“Can I just ask you one more question?”

When he didn't reply, the counsellor took his silence as a sign to go on.

“A couple of days ago, when we were talking about Akihito, you said you were ready,” she said, unfolding her white cane with a small smile on her lips. “Ready for _what_?”

He opened the door to buy himself some time.

Even though it had only been two days, it felt like everything had happened a long time ago.

“I was ready to take the next step,” he replied.

“ _Was?_ ” she asked. “You're not anymore?”

“I still am.”

“No matter what?”

Even though her tone was amiable, Asami knew that her question was not meant to be taken lightly.

“No matter what,” he answered, his voice showing no sign of hesitation even though there were still many things he was uncertain about.

The future he wanted for him and Akihito, however, had never been so clear.

“Then it's time to fight the good fight, sunshine,” the counsellor whispered, one of her small, warm hands touching the side of his face. “We are no blank canvas, Asami, we all come with some faulty parts. It would be great, wouldn't it, if we could fix ourselves before we entered a relationship?”

After a quiet chuckle, the woman walked past him and onto the hallway.

“But here is the thing, the fixing _never ends_ ,” she said, turning her head to the side one last time before heading to the elevator. “Good night.”

++++

Before he knew, an entire day had gone by and he was in his limousine, heading to a gala he really didn't feel like attending but that might be the one thing separating him from even further financial loss. The Tokyo Chamber of Commerce and Industry was out to get him, and that evening would be his chance to convince its higher-ups to be more... _cooperative_ towards his activities.

By his side, a dark-haired twenty-year old girl continued to look out of the window, her finely manicured hands holding a tablet on top of her lap, the deep velvety green of her corset dress creating a beautiful contrast with her creamy white skin.

Asami watched as her lips moved in silence, as if she was reciting memorised lines.

"Found everything you needed?" he asked, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "I was just making sure I remembered the 23 chapters of the TCCI."

"I doubt you will need to go that far," he replied, checking his own phone for the hundredth time that day. "I guarantee the Chairman won't resist your charms for that long."

The girl's lips parted to reveal a smile that was just as shiny as the diamond necklace around her neck.

Sachi really knew how to pick them.

With a disheartened sigh, it was Asami's turn to look out of the window.

Apparently he had been wrong about Akihito's plans. Three days had gone by and so far there was no indication the photographer was planning to run away, although Shinada had reported he had been walking around the clinic much more often than usual...

"Should I--"

He raised a hand when the girl started speaking again.

His phone had just started buzzing, at last.

**Shinada Tatsuo**

"What?" he asked, skipping the usual preambles.

 _"It's happening, sir!"_ he heard Akihito's bodyguard reply. _"Takaba-san is on the move!"_

His heart seemed to stop for a moment.

It had taken him long enough.

"Idiot, why are you on the phone?" he said, eyes darting around as he tried to identify how far he was from his destination. "You should be trying to stop him!"

_"I locked all the exits, so I figured I would let him walk for a while before I show up."_

"I'm on my way."

He hung up as soon as the words left his mouth, fully aware that at that moment, he was on his way to _somewhere else._

He needed to think of something, fast.

By his side, his companion remained silent, her eyes momentarily dipping to his tuxedo-clad body and then drifting back to his face.

"Kaoru, call Sachi," he said, pressing a button on his own phone. "Tell him you'll need reinforcements."

"How many, sir?"

"At least five."

"Any special requirements?"

"Just tell him it's for the Chamber, he'll know," he replied. "Kirishima?"

_"Any problems, sir?"_

"Not yet," Asami whispered. "But I need you to create one."

On the other side of the line, the secretary let out a confused gasp.

_"My apologies, sir, but I don't follow."_

"I need you to take down Ginza's power grid," Asami replied, after a moment of silence.

 _"You need_ what _?"_

"Now."

_"But, sir, the gala--"_

"I won't be able to attend, so I figured it would be a good idea if no one attended either," he explained, eliciting a curious glance from the young woman by his side.

_"But the Tokyo Chamber of--"_

"I have it all sorted out," he replied. "But I need the power grid to be down. I'm quite sure the venue does not have a generator, but if it does, you will need to disable it as well."

_"But--"_

"You should probably go to Cybersecurity, you can work faster from there."

The silence on the other side of the line transpired a strange sort of resigned concern.

_"Fine. I take it I will receive an explanation at some point?"_

"Yes. Thank you."

He was smirking by the time he hung up.

Now he just had to wait.

++++

"You are a fucking _bastard_ , Shinada!"

To think that he had planned everything so carefully.

He had taken the time to get acquainted with every hallway and every door, located every exited, listened carefully to when and where doctors and nurses would spend most time during the night and during the day…

He had even found the changing room for the hospital personnel and gotten himself what he hoped was a doctor’s getup, for fuck’s sake!

All of that, just for him to find out Shinada had been following him all along and locked all the exits.

How he hated not being able to see well! On any other day, he would have spotted his bodyguard before making a fool out of himself...

“Takaba-san, please calm down.”

“Calm down?!” the photographer yelled. “Why did you let me walk around this entire hospital, if all the doors were locked anyway?”

“You could do with the exercise,” he heard Shinada reply calmly. “The doctors said that the more you move, the better.”

“Haha, well,  ** _fuck you_**!”

“Language, Akihito.”

The baritone voice coming from behind him made him freeze on the spot.

“Fuck…” he whispered, shoulders drooping in defeat. “This cannot be happening…”

“You can go now, Shinada,” the man continued, a faint tone of amusement in his voice. “Good job.”

“Thanks, sir.”

If Asami truly thought he would let him make fun of his efforts, he would be more than happy to prove him wrong.

He had just opened his mouth when Asami spoke again.

“New hairstyle, huh?” he said. “Looks very good. The surgeon outfit too.”

“Go away, Asami.”

“I've told you already, you're stuck with me.”

Akihito bit the inside of his lip. He was already on his limit, did the man really think it was funny to rub _that_ on his face?

“No,” he replied, feeling his entire body shaking with anger but managing to keep his voice steady. “I'm not stuck with you, and you are not stuck with me,” he continued. “You can leave. I won't hold it against you. Actually, you'd be doing me a favor if you--”

“Marry me.”

He had probably just heard it wrong.

“What?”

“Marry me,” Asami repeated.

His voice was so calm, his tone so unaffected, that Akihito had to ponder if that was also Asami’s twisted idea of a joke.

“Are you…” he started, but words failed him. “What are you even talking about, we can't get married!”

“Then we'll go somewhere we can. I own an entire island in Hawaii, we c-”

“That's not what I'm talking about.”

He was still unsure as to what exactly was going on. Now there was no disdain or humor in Asami’s voice, so the possibility of a joke was promptly discarded. Still, the fact that their circumstances were still so odd, _so hopeless_ , made the whole proposition feel awkward and misguided.

“Out of Japan, or here, I'm not talking about the law,” the photographer said, after a long minute of silence. “I'm talking about _us_. _We_ can't get married.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don't mean it,” Akihito replied, willing his heart to stop racing so that his voice did not break. “You're just saying that out of guilt.”

“I'm not-”

“ _Out of guilt_ , Asami, you feel bad because of what happened to me.”

When there was no response, Akihito felt he had hit the jackpot.

It was obvious the man felt he was responsible for his misfortunes, and not only the ones that had resulted in him losing his vision.

Asami was feeling sorry for him, but he didn't want to get married out of someone’s pity.

“You'll get tired,” he whispered. “I know you mean well, but time will go by and... you'll get tired,” he forced himself to chuckle, mainly as an excuse to clear his throat and blink back the tears quickly filling his eyes. “Hell, I am tired already, and it's only been days!” he exclaimed. “How do you think it's going to be in weeks, months, _years?_ ”

He shook his head.

He didn't want to think about it. Asami himself had said he did not plan for the future, and he knew the man well enough to know that his life could not accommodate someone with such an obvious weakness.

“And if I have to let you go, then I need to do it _now_ ,” he said, his hands curling into fists as he kept holding back the tears. “I need to do it _now_ , because if I go home with you, I won't be able to do it anymore.”

“Why are you-”

“I don't think y-you understand, Asami,” he interrupted, stuttering slightly as a sob got in the way. “I can't deal with another breakup.”

He had barely made it through the last one, but even the pain he had felt at the time now paled in comparison to what the future could bring. He had the feeling that his new condition meant that life would probably deteriorate in every aspect, and the prospect of Asami sending him away further down the road on top of all that was just too much.

“I mean it,” he whispered, as the first tears started rolling down his cheeks. “I'd rather do it _now_. On my terms.”

“I don't think I can handle another breakup either,” he heard the other man reply quietly, as he cupped his face and gently brushed away the tears.

Akihito’s eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled deeply.

He had to admit he had missed that touch.

“But I don't blame you for not trusting me,” Asami continued. “Sometimes I don't trust myself.”

With a sniffle, Akihito touched the man’s wrists and let his fingers travel further up his arms. The fabric felt soft to the touch, but he wasted no time trying to guess what Asami was wearing.

He just wanted to feel him.

“And even though it's too early to tell what will happen years from now…” Akihito heard him continue. “I have a lifetime to prove to you that I intend to be by your side every step of the way, if you let me.”

“What if I can never see again?” he asked, the weight of that particular scenario crushing him mercilessly.

“What if?” Asami replied, and another sob escaped his throat as he listened. “So much has happened to you, and yet the role of victim is one you never accepted.”

“This is different.”

“This is a roadblock,” the other man whispered in response. “But it's not the end.”

Akihito leaned forward, and pressed his forehead against the chest that had always been his salvation.

He wanted to believe there was a light at the end of that tunnel, but he couldn't help but feel that that time, the odds were stacked against him in the worst possible way.

“It doesn't have to be, it doesn't have to stop you,” Asami continued. “That's who you are, Akihito. You never give up,” he whispered. “Don't give up now.”

He allowed the words to wrap him like a warm, cosy blanket. Maybe it was the tone of Asami’s voice, maybe it was the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart, maybe it was the way his fingertips were sliding up and down his hair, but he could feel it now: a strange kind of hope, seeping through his skin, making him believe that maybe, _just maybe_ , there were still things to look forward to.

“Asami…”

“Hmm?”

“You know that the life we had before… things won't be the same,” Akihito whispered back, pulling his head back and lifting his chin so that his eyes were vacantly directed at the blur that was Asami’s face. “You know that, right?”

“I do,” the man replied. “I realised that much before you did.”

He noticed that despite the determination to sound his usual indifferent self, there was a note of sadness in Asami’s voice, but one that didn't make it any less strong or determined.

“I knew it, the moment I walked into this hospital with you in my arms,” he added. “But as long as you woke up, it didn't matter what kind of life we would have.”

The sharp intake of breath that followed made Akihito curse in silence.

For three years, he had doubted that Asami Ryuichi had tear ducts, and now that he was probably crying, he would not be able to see it.

“I just wanted you to wake up,” he said, his voice obviously more nasal than usual. “And you did.”

He felt the vibration coming from inside the man’s chest, and for the first time he realised that his pain was also his. There was no lie in that embrace, no second intentions; it was a feeling he could not explain but that felt true, real, _wholehearted._

The paths that had brought them there had been all sorts of turbulent but that was the point of encounter, and he suddenly knew they would be fine, somehow.

“I don't know what to do,” Akihito muttered, his own voice raspy and low. “I don't know… how to do things without my eyes, how can I work, how can I…” he trailed off, pausing to catch his breath. “I miss looking in the mirror, I miss looking at _you_ ,” he said, and his voice was a mixture of grief and annoyance. “I-I don't want to give up but I don't even know where to start…”

His words elicited a quiet chuckle.

“Start with this”, Asami said, and his voice gradually recovered its usual smug tone. “A few years ago, someone promised me they would be my financial support when they became famous.”

It was Akihito’s turn to laugh.

“I made all my retirement plans based on that,” Asami continued. “I'm a man of expensive tastes, so you'd better get back in shape and keep that promise.”

The obvious lie made Akihito punch him on the arm, but the truth was that he actually liked imagining that.

A day in the future when Asami would be his _trophy husband_.

“I mean, I don't want to spend my retired life wearing department store jeans and... _cheap sweatshirts,_ ” the man added, and Akihito laughed heartily at the thought. “What, you think it's funny?”

He actually did.

“I'm just trying to imagine you wearing cheap clothes,” he said, happy tears beginning to pool at the corners of his eyes. “I'm sure you'd look great anyway.”

“I would.”

And there is was, the sultry undertone that turned otherwise harmless words into an explicit invitation.

“Idiot…”

“Yeah…” he whispered into his ear, and his entire body reacted in kind. “An idiot that still _turns you on…_ ”

Akihito couldn't help but moan when Asami’s tongue swept over the shell of his ear.

_Holy shit._

There it was, he had reached a ten. No, more like _an eleven_ \- and he had no plans to take it slow.

“Do _I_ still turn you on?” he asked quietly.

“What kind of question is that?”

“You haven't tried anything... _indecent…_ ” Akihito panted in response, pressing his hips against the other man’s thigh so that he could feel his arousal. “...since I woke up…”

He noticed the subtle change in Asami’s breathing pattern as he too pressed a rather noticeable bulge against his hips.

“Your doctor said it's too early for you to have sex,” the man whispered back, his voice thick with need.

“You asked?”

“Of course.”

Akihito let out an embarrassed chuckle, a second before Asami’s mouth covered his and his mind drew a complete blank.

In the seconds, minutes, hours that followed - hell if he knew - the only thing his brain could register was their tongues dancing around each other, their breaths mixing within their mouths as teeth and lips clashed, in a kiss that was desperate and perfect at the same time.

“Again, you…” Akihito panted when they finally broke for air, “...are an idiot.”

His hands were making quick work of unbuttoning Asami’s pants.

He knew that he was probably not savouring the moment as he should, but who knew when his stamina would let him down and he would get too tired to go on…

“You realize this goes against doctor’s orders, right?” he vaguely heard Asami ask as he guided their bodies to a corner of the room, the loud crash of metal hitting the floor indicating he had probably wiped the surface of a table before lifting him onto it.

“Since when do you listen to doctors, anyway?”

He screamed when Asami bit his collarbone with just enough strength to leave a mark, his tongue soothing the bruised skin with slow, long licks.

“Fuck, Asami…”

And then his pants were gone as well as his underwear, probably landing on a lamp or another heavy object, if the clatter of more objects falling on the ground was anything to go by.

“Akihito…”

He parted his legs, using his hands to balance himself on the narrow surface as he waited for Asami to close the gap between them, feeling strangely exposed and vulnerable, not knowing exactly what he was doing or looking at.

“Asami?” he asked, his voice a mix of anxiety and worry.

“I'm here,” Asami replied, his voice loaded with so much desire Akihito felt his pulse race. “I'm just taking my shirt off.”

“Are you wearing a tuxedo?”

“I was, yes,” the man whispered with a quiet chuckle, leading one of the photographer's hands to his bare chest.

Akihito felt his mouth water, the memories of Asami’s well toned pectorals rolling behind his eyes.

He looked good in a tux but he looked even better _without_ it.

When his wet, slick fingers entered him, Akihito felt the muscles of his stomach coil, and he found himself moaning even louder. It felt so good that he feared he would not last long enough for the main act.

Asami seemed to think the same thing, because his fingers quickly withdrew and in time the photographer felt the familiar pressure of a much thicker part of his body prodding his entrance.

It was all going well, until all the muscles of his body decided to tense all at once, a violent cramp in his lower stomach making him want to throw up.

“Asami, Asami, stop,” he panted, pushing the other man away as he sat straight on the table, grimacing. “Stop. I'm feeling weird.”

He felt one of Asami’s hands cup the back of his head, and suspected that he had that infuriating _“I-told-you”_ kinda look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, the medical orders…” he whispered in response. “But I feel so hot…”

“Have you been touching yourself?”

“Yeah…” he replied, feeling the usual tiredness beginning to settle in. “But I can't come… I get too tired so I just stop halfway.”

“We need to build back your endurance,” Asami replied, after capturing his lips in another long, slow kiss. “Not that you ever had much to begin with, but anyway…”

He was about to reply to the taunt when the man lifted him from the table, rearranging their bodies so that Akihito was sitting on his lap as they moved to what he assumed was an armchair.

When one of Asami’s hands sneaked under the upper part of his uniform to play with his nipples, Akihito felt a new wave of pleasure sweep him, a gentle throb intensifying in his groin.

“Does that feel good?” the baritone voice whispered in his ear.

“Yeah…”

“Keep talking to me.”

“Asami…”

“Hmm?”

“You smell so good…”

Every time the man leaned closer to kiss his neck, the scent of his shampoo filled his nostrils as well as the strong mix of cologne, sweat and nicotine that always made his heart beat faster.

All the stimuli, combined with the moist lips that kept sliding down his jawline, his neck and his ears, were bringing him closer and closer to the edge, and even without touching himself he knew Asami’s fingers were getting soaked with the fluids oozing from his sex.

“Fuck…” he whispered, focusing on the wet sounds that Asami’s hand was making as it moved up and down his cock. “Your… your mouth…”

The pounding in his ears was so loud that his head was spinning.

“Your… mouth…”

“What about it?” Asami asked.

“Put your mouth… on me…”

“Where?”

He squeezed the hand that was masturbating him.

“ _Here…_ ”

He held his breath when the Asami got up, taking him along and letting his feet touch the ground before he was told to sit again, this time with Asami’s head between his legs.

“Oh my… _Fuck_ …”

His eyes rolled back when the warmth of Asami’s mouth welcomed him, his skilled tongue swirling over and round his length without any restraint.

He felt like he had died and gone to heaven, his soul floating somewhere above him as his hips moved forward, deeper, faster.

The fact Asami was so eager to receive him, a satisfied vibration coming from his throat as he spilled his seed on the back of his tongue, was like an unspoken agreement, a promise, _a commitment._

He collapsed on the chair, feeling his muscles relax after the explosion of pleasure, and soon enough the other man had rearranged their bodies again, so that the photographer’s head was resting against his chest on top of a hospital bed.

Perhaps it was just a dream, he had time to ponder, as tiredness made his eyelids flutter closed.

If it was, he never wanted it to end.

“We’ll find a way,” he vaguely heard Asami say, as his fingers moved gently across his scalp. “You’ll be taking pictures again before you know it.”

“And I'll become famous,” he replied, sleepily.

“Yes,” Asami whispered in response. “Yes, you will.”

And that was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, damn right, Akihito kept his shirt on. Asami didn’t try to take it away and Akihito wouldn’t let him, anyway. The scars are a topic for another day. XD


	59. Welcome to the jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mine has a confession to make, Asami gets face to face with Mikhail Arbatov, and Akihito learns that Tsumino is not a place where people go to have fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I apologize to you all for my lengthy absence, but in the beginning of April I was appointed CEO of an aviation startup (or a trial version of one, lol), and whereas it was fun to handle millions and billions of dollars every week and schedule flights from Tokyo to Moscow and from Hong Kong to Tokyo (just because!), the truth is that I basically lost all my weekends in the process. When I didn't have to work, I was too tired to try and use my brain, so... there you go. Before I knew, April was gone! 
> 
> Luckily my appointment came to an official end last Friday and now I am back to being a full-time researcher and writer, so keep your fingers crossed for no more surprises in the professional front because 2017 is going too hard on me! XD
> 
> Thanks, once again, for your amazing comments and support. You guys are the best! *_*

It was five in the morning when Asami got out of the shower and walked back into Akihito’s room with a towel wrapped around his waist, while patting his hair dry with another.

The photographer was still fast asleep, although he had woken up multiple times during the night. As a result, neither of them had gotten what one would define as a peaceful night of sleep, but he was not going to complain.

They had kept each other _entertained._

As he reached for one of the suits hanging inside Akihito’s temporary wardrobe, he let his eyes travel to the naked leg sneaking from under the blankets.

Whether the photographer had been fully awake as they touched and kissed each other in those sleepless hours, he really couldn’t tell. Despite his deepest urges, he had made sure not to go too far just in case, even if that meant he would have to put up with the discomfort of a lingering erection.

He was keeping tabs, after all, and the time would come when he would be able to capitalize on those _selfless concessions._

A smile curled the corners of his mouth when Akihito stirred on the bed, a quiet, lazy moan escaping his throat as if he was actually able to hear the thoughts inside his head.

_He could barely wait._

He finished buttoning up his shirt and set the sexual fantasies aside for a moment to review his schedule for the day. His first appointment was a meeting with the Chamber of Commerce, and he had not yet met with Kirishima to find out how the previous night had ended, although he had a semblance of an idea.

He had been in that line of business long enough to know that nothing worked better with a bunch of old, bitter salarymen and their bosses than a handful of young, high class escorts and the services they were hired to provide.

“Are you leaving?”

He had just finished putting on his cufflinks when Akihito’s voice made him turn around.

“Yes,” he whispered in response, getting closer to the bed. “I have a meeting in two hours.”

“Okay.”

“And after that I have a few appointments abroad.”

He waited until the photographer had sat up on the bed, his eyes until unfocused and distant, to hand him his morning medication and a glass of water.

“I’ll be away for a month or so,” he continued.

“A month?”

“Maybe more,” Asami replied, after an unhappy sigh. “‘ _A few’_ was actually an understatement.”

The first place on his list was Russia, for obvious reasons. After that, he had so many meetings to attend, and so many problems to solve out of the country he would end up spending most nights in his jet plane just to make sure he got to all of them in time.

“Akihito…” he said, lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

He watched as the younger man tilted his chin up expectantly, his eyes slowly becoming more focused as time went by.

“I would like you to stay in the hospital while I’m gone.”

“Asami…”

“Here you can have all the assistance you need, at all times,” he explained, when the corners of Akihito’s mouth drooped and a frown wrinkled his forehead.

“I don’t want to stay here.”

“I can hire a team to take care of you when you get back home, but the penthouse will need certain changes to accommodate you bet-”

“I don’t… I don’t want to go to the penthouse either.”

The photographer’s hands, he now noticed, had curled into fists on top of his lap, the muscles of his jaw strained as he spoke.

_He was remembering it._

“I see.”

“I’m sorry,” Akihito whispered.

“Don’t apologize,” Asami was quick to reply, after clearing his throat. “It’s not your fault.”

He drank what was left of the water, more to wash away the bitter taste of regret and shame than out of thirst, and averted his eyes to the window.

Clearly, they still had a long way to go.

“So what do you have in mind?” he asked, after another sigh.

“I…” he heard the photographer pause, as if pondering his next words. “I was thinking of going back to Yokohama.”

“Absolutely not.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and elicited an immediate scowl as response.

“Akihito…” sensing the impending quarrel, Asami made sure to keep his tone as amiable as possible. “At least let me rent a better place for you.”

“No.”

“Why would you want to go back to a cubicle in the mid-”

“I don’t need much space,” Akihito interjected, his obstinate tone of voice making it clear his mind was made up. “Plus I can use Maya’s room, now that she is…”

By the time his voice trailed off, his eyebrows going up in an expression of confused surprise, it was Asami’s turn to frown.

“Now that she is what?”

He watched as the photographer bit his lower lip, clearly caught up in some kind of internal conflict as to how to finish his own sentence.

“Leaving,” he finally whispered in response, his eyes dropping to his own hands.

“ _Leaving?_ ”

“She didn’t tell you, did she?”

“Where is she planning to go?”

Again, his inquisitive tone made the photographer blink quickly.

“I-I don’t know,” Akihito replied.

“If she asked you to keep a secret--”

“She didn’t tell me, Asami.”

He clenched his jaw, and chose not to press the matter any further despite his obvious unrest. For how long had the girl been planning her departure, and why was she keeping it a secret?

One more item he would have to add to his already rather busy schedule.

“I don’t want you to hire a team to babysit me,” he heard Akihito continue. “I want to learn how to do things on my own.”

“You will need guidance, Akihito. Someone to show you how things work now.”

Noticing that his response wasn’t received with great enthusiasm, Asami sat on the edge of the bed, and rested one of his hands on the photographer’s thigh.

“What about Makoto?”

“What about her?” Akihito asked, his tone still clipped.

“You can stay with her for a while.”

“Last I heard about it, her house had been blown to the ground.”

“There is still the island,” Asami calmly replied.

“The island is two hours away from Tokyo by plane!” Akihito retorted, and the expression on his face was the very opposite of calm.

“It’s temporary.”

“It’s an _island_ in the middle of nowhere.”

The photographer’s obstination brought a smirk to his lips, but he made sure to hide it to prevent another outburst of rage.

“Can you… at least consider the option?” he asked, cupping the younger man’s chin and tilting it upwards. “Have breakfast, take a warm bath… Then we can meet with her in half an hour to decide,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Akihito’s mouth. “Deal?”

When there was no answer, he nibbled on the photographer’s lower lip, and slowly the irritation in the hazel eyes turned into resignation.

“Fine, whatever…” Akihito finally conceded.

The stubborn pout that followed was too tempting to be ignored.

“Ugh, Asami!” the photographer exclaimed, turning his face away and covering his mouth when he tried to kiss him. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet, what the hell!”

The sudden movement gave him full access to Akihito’s neck, and he wasted no time latching on to the smooth skin instead.

“Asami…” he heard the younger man whisper in response.

And this time, his tone was far from annoyed.

++++

“But… Mr. Kirishima, this can't be right!”

“I assure you it is.”

“But--”

The secretary let his gaze shift to the dark brown eyes staring at the check that had just been retrieved from a _koden_ envelope.

“The Japanese custom is to use bills but Asami-sama thought the circumstances asked for an exception,” he explained.

“I can't accept this,” Dr. Dhawan muttered quietly. “It's too much money.”

He was about to open his mouth again when a deeper voice joined the conversation.

“No money can make up for the loss of a parent.”

At his boss’s arrival, Kirishima pushed a button on his wheelchair and silently got out of the way so that the other man could enter the room.

One look at the young woman’s face and he could tell she was still not convinced she should accept 10 million dollars as condolence money, but at that point she probably knew it would be useless to argue.

“Thanks, Asami-sama,” she finally replied, with a respectful bow.

“Have a safe trip back to the US,” the man replied. “There is a car outside waiting for you, one of my drivers will take you to the airport.”

“I believe that will not be necessary, sir,” the doctor quickly replied, with a small smile on her lips. “Tatsuo had already offered to take me.”

Kirishima had to stifle a gasp.

“Tatsuo?” he heard his boss ask. “You mean, Tatsuo _Shinada_?”

“Yes,” she replied, a barely noticeable blush creeping up the red-brown ochre of her cheeks. “He said his shift only starts in a couple of hours, is there a problem?”

The two men exchanged a quick glance, with the secretary’s eyebrows shooting up for a second.

“No…” the CEO of Sion replied, the reticence in his tone showing he was deep in thought. “No problems at all...”

“Good,” the woman chuckled shyly. “I… I shall be going, then.”

After a quick round of farewells and thank you’s, Kirishima and his boss were left alone in the room.

“Shinada and Akihito’s doctor, huh?” the secretary heard his boss say, before heading to the desk on the other side of the room. “I hadn't seen that one coming.”

“They did spend a lot of time together.”

“That they did…” the other man replied, after pulling up a chair. “Is Mine on his way?”

“Yes, sir,” Kirishima replied. “He texted me a few minutes ago, he was parking the car.”

“Did he tell you why he wants to meet with us?”

“He didn't, no.”

The secretary had barely finished speaking when a quick knock on the door announced the bodyguard’s arrival.

“Excuse me,” the younger man said, before walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Come on in, Mine,” Kirishima heard their boss reply. “What brings you here this morning?”

“Hayashi-kun seems to be worried about the whereabouts of a friend, and I believe I have information I should disclose.”

“What friend?”

“Tanimura Masayoshi.”

The secretary narrowed his eyes, and quickly averted his gaze to his boss’s face, which remained impassive despite the obvious surprise.

“You have information about Tanimura’s whereabouts?” the older man asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“How is that any of my business?”

Kirishima then let his eyes drift back to the bodyguard’s figure, his fierce expression showing no emotion either although the pulse in his neck seemed to be throbbing harder.

Just like Takaba Akihito, Mine seemed to have been blessed with a timeless boyish face that made him look much younger than he actually was. He and the photographer even had the same slender frame, the same taste for vintage clothes, although those were, in fact, the only similarities between those two.

In terms of personality and history, there couldn't been two points in the curve further away from each other.

“I might have gotten involved in troubling circumstances involving him,” the bodyguard finally replied.

“Did you kill him?” Kirishima asked, his voice neutral and unimpressed.

Knowing what Mine was capable of, that would not come as a surprise.

“I don't think so,” he replied.

“You don't-” their boss interjected, a minor frown wrinkling his forehead. “How come you're not sure?”

“It's complicated.”

“Well, amuse us,” the older man continued, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. “Knowing you, I'm sure there's a weirdly sadistic story behind it.”

The secretary couldn't help but smirk, studying Mine’s expression as he took a step forward with his zippo in hand to light up his boss’s cigarette. His deep brown eyes were a mixture of concern and confidence, but there was also a glint of danger in the dark orbs that took them back to years prior, to times in which the idea of the young man becoming part of their payroll would have been considered a hallucination at best.

“Yes…” the secretary muttered, lost in his own memories. “Like setting a man’s hair on fire while chasing him with a hammer.”

“That was an accident, sir.”

“Sure it was…”

The brief exchange made the CEO chuckle after taking a long drag off his cigarette.

“Ah, the Molotov cocktails, I remember,” he said, with a small smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “Good old days...”

Kirishima pushed his glasses further up his nose.

_'Good old days…' he said._

For him, maybe.

“I wonder what Tanimura did to get in your black list…” the CEO continued.

“Off with it, boy,” the secretary added, lacing his fingers on top of his lap. It was not as if they had time to spare, anyway. “What did you do to him?”

“Sexual intercourse.”

The answer left Mine's mouth without any hint of embarrassment, and Kirishima felt his jaw drop to the floor. Across from him, the cigarette had just fallen from his boss’s parted lips to his lap, eliciting a startled jump and a quiet curse when the burning tip touched the fabric of the Italian custom-made suit pants.

“You fucked him?” the man then asked, skipping all the business-related preambles.

“No, sir.”

“Did he--”

“Fuck me?” the bodyguard said, his voice still showing no emotion as he held his boss’s stare. “No, sir. He was inebriated.”

“And?”

“I performed oral sex on him.”

Kirishima felt his eyebrows, at that point, were trying to blend in with his hairline.

It was too early for him to be briefed on yet another subordinate’s adventures.

“Were _you_ inebriated?” he heard their boss ask, a suspicious glint in his golden eyes.

“No, sir.”

“And you are telling me that because...?”

“We ended up having a fight and he injured his head.”

“You had a fight?”

“Yes.”

“Before or after you gave him a blowjob?”

Kirishima took off his glasses and tried to hide a smirk as he cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief.

_He knew where that was going._

“After,” Mine replied, and after a quick glance, the secretary noticed that fierce blush creeping up the bodyguard’s pale cheeks.

“It must have been a terrible blowjob, then.”

He saw the precise moment when the pulse in the man’s neck throbbed harder than ever, a vein in his forehead swelling as more blood rushed to his face.

“It wasn't,” Mine then replied, after inhaling deeply. “At least not until he called me by _another man’s name_.”

The matching smirks disappeared from both Kirishima and his boss’s faces. Drunken mishaps gained a whole new level of importance when Takaba Akihito was involved, even if indirectly and unknowingly.

“Well, that is bad etiquette, but what were you expecting?” the CEO of Sion pointed out, his voice now serious and low. “Besides, a meaningless alcohol-induced incident should not have gotten you so offended. What are you not telling me?”

As he spoke, Kirishima pressed a finger to his own lips, his brow furrowed.

Judging by their boss’s ferocious glare, he was not the only one that suspected that one-night entanglement could actually be a bigger deal than they had anticipated.

And if that was the case, the bodyguard was about to get the grilling of a lifetime.

“Mine…” the secretary finally said, after putting his glasses back on. “He hit his head and then what?"

“I took him to the Hilton, called a doctor. He threw up at some point, so I had his clothes cleaned while he was asleep,” the young man replied, the blush slowly fading as he regained his composure. “But I was not around when he woke up. I don't know what happened after that. When I went back to the hotel, he was gone.”

“That's it?” Kirishima asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And now you're worried that he might be dead?”

Asami Ryuichi’s tone of voice made it clear he was still waiting for more explanations.

“Not me,” the bodyguard promptly replied, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk that was bitter and dubious in equal amounts. “Hayashi-kun. And probably Takaba-san, from what she says.”

“But _you_ are not worried?” the older man asked, taking a step forward without blinking.

“No, sir.”

“You're lying.”

Not many men would be able to hold the piercing glare that usually followed those words, but Mine remained unfazed.

“Don't lie to me, Mine.”

“I'm not lying,” the young man replied, his nostrils flaring as he returned the glare. “ _Sir._ ”

When his boss’s eyes drifted to his face, Kirishima raised his eyebrows.

There it was, the _“I-will-set-you-on-fire”_ personality that they had taken almost two years to subdue.

Asami Ryuichi, however, seemed thoroughly pleased with the situation. Apparently, the knowledge that Mine’s rebellious fire still burnt under his calm and collected facade only added to his list of qualities.

“How long ago was that?” the CEO then asked, after slipping another cigarette between his lips.

“The night Takaba-san woke up.”

“Well, if you're not worried then we might as well get rid of _this_ ,” Kirishima heard his boss say, after retrieving a piece of paper from one of his pockets. “Tanimura’s contact details in Thailand. That is, if he made it to Thailand at all, right?”

“Right,” Mine whispered in response, his voice calm and unaffected although the vein in his neck seemed about to burst.

The room was then immersed in silence, interrupted only by the flick of a lighter and a quiet scoff.

“One way to find out if he is dead or not is by giving him a call,” their boss then replied, passing Mine the piece of paper with a raised eyebrow. “Put that in an envelope, get some flowers, have them delivered to Maya. That will put her mind at ease,” he explained, before taking another long drag off his cigarette. “And yours. Even mine, at this point. Last thing I need is one of my employees associated with a cop’s death…”

“Yes, sir,” the bodyguard replied, pocketing the paper without bothering to look at its contents.

“About Maya, by the way,” the older man continued, before Mine had the chance to excuse himself. “Were you planning to report that she is leaving?”

The question caught Kirishima off-guard.

“Leaving?” the secretary asked, with a rather visible frown of concern.

“She didn't tell me anything,” Mine replied.

“But she must have been making arrangements.”

“She hasn't done much other than prepare her stepfather's funeral.”

“Well, it came to my knowledge this morning that she intends to skip town.”

The secretary looked from one man to the other, trying to catch up on what exactly was going on. _How come he had been so out of the loop?_ True, his physical therapy schedule combined with the endless appointments he had to organize had left him with very little time to check on many important affairs, but that particular topic was one he should have been following more carefully.

“And go where?” he asked, trying not be ashamed for demanding an answer that he was supposed to have.

“I don't know,” his boss answered. “Is there any way we can trace her online purchases?”

Without hesitation, he glided towards the desk and pressed a key on his notebook.

“If she bought anything online, she covered her tracks well,” the secretary replied, many keystrokes later. “She hasn't used any of her credit cards, apparently.”

“Obviously. She knew we would find out,” Asami replied.

Kirishima let out an unhappy sigh.

As if they didn't have plenty to worry about already...

“Mine…”

The baritone voice carried that rare, solemn note that usually preceded very important announcements.

“If she is planning to run away, I need you to go with her.”

“Certainly,” Mine agreed, with a slow nod.

“If she is planning to leave I doubt she intends to take a bodyguard,” Kirishima argued.

“Not if said bodyguard works for me, no.”

“Or maybe she does. Maybe she wants to be protected,” Mine interjected. “To know that her family cares.”

“That all depends on the family, don't you think?”

For a moment, the secretary was at a loss for words. It was rare for Asami Ryuichi to discuss family affairs with anyone, so to hear him openly address the issue in front of Mine, who had been in his payroll for little more than two years, was unexpected at the very least.

Not for the first time that day, Kirishima forced himself to snap out of his own meanderings, and cleared his throat.

“There's just one way to find out,” he said. “Go talk to her.”

“Do I even have the time?”

“If you make it fast.”

After a long sigh, the CEO of Sion stood up and buttoned up his jacket.

“Fine,” he whispered. “But you,” he said, pointing what was left of his cigarette towards the bodyguard before smashing it in an ashtray. “Be prepared. We might have to resort to new employment arrangements.”

“As in?” the secretary asked.

“He starts working for her.”

Mine and Kirishima gasped at the same time.

“Sir,” the first assistant then responded, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “Do you think you'll be able to handle Kuroda's heat if Mine leaves town?”

“I can handle anyone’s heat, Kirishima. Plus Kuroda needs to snap out of it, it's not as if Mine wants to go back to working for the government.”

When the man finished his sentence with a scoff, the entire room drowned in silence.

“Do you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he studied he bodyguard’s expression.

“No, sir.”

“There.”

A knock on the door made the three of them turn their heads.

“Asami?”

In the gap between the door and its frame, Kirishima could see the familiar face of Takaba Akihito, his hazel eyes darting back and forth as he tried to locate the man he had just called.

“Here,” the CEO said, opening the door and touching the photographer’s arm. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Just give me one minute.”

When Akihito turned on his heels and walked towards a chair in the hall, Kirishima averted his gaze to Mine, just in time to see the young man looking at the door with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Mine, you can go now,” he heard the baritone voice say.

With a silent bow, Mine excused himself and walked into the hallway with his gaze fixated on the floor.

After the door was once again closed and he and his boss were the only ones left in the room, the CEO spoke again.

“Did you see that?” he asked. “That look?”

“His ego is bruised,” Kirishima replied, shrugging.

That was the only explanation he could think of for Mine’s sudden animosity towards Takaba Akihito.

“Did you know about any of this?”

“Mine and Tanimura? No,” Kirishima quickly replied, frowning. “No. Why, you think--?”

“That look is more than a bruised ego, Kirishima. That kind of resentment…”

His boss’s voice trailed off, but he knew exactly what he was getting at.

“It's a broken heart,” he whispered in response. “But if that's the case, how long?”

“Long enough, apparently,” the other man concluded, and there was a note of obvious concern in his voice. “Maybe it is a good time to send him away, after all, Akihito has nothing to do with his personal drama.”

“Clearly.”

He was getting ready to wheel himself towards the door when his boss spoke again.

“Ah, just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“What about the Chamber of Commerce?” the mas asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms as he spoke. “Did it work?”

“Perfectly,” the secretary chuckled. “The manager of the venue was at his wit’s end with the blackout but the fact you sent half a dozen escorts to entertain Ueno and his minions seemed to have done the trick,” he explained. “Everyone else was just fine with rescheduling the dinner but that man would have made a fuss.”

“Then I assume his humor to be favourable at the meeting today?”

“Certainly,” Kirishima replied, grabbing a couple of reports before pushing a button on his wheelchair and getting out of the room when the other man opened the door. “He even bought Kaoru a brand new car.”

“Excellent,” the CEO said quietly, closing the door behind them with a victorious smirk on his lips. “Meet me at the entrance in twenty minutes.”

Kirishima then cast a quick glance towards the photographer sitting on a chair not far from where they were standing.

Whatever it was that those two were planning to do, it would have to be fast.

++++

“Getting ready to leave?”

The deep voice coming from the door to her left made the counsellor turn her head.

“That I am, Asami-san,” she answered, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth as she arranged a few slim folders inside her handbag. “Are you alone?”

“No,” a younger voice replied, and her smile grew wide. “I'm here as well.”

“How are you doing, Akihito?”

“Better. Much better.”

His tone carried some sort of artificial enthusiasm in it, and she merely nodded in response. Something was bothering him, which was no surprise, considering the 180 degree changes his life was going through.

“I bet you are…” she answered quietly, putting away the handbag as she faced the door. “How can I be of assistance today?”

The answer came quickly, with the older man skipping all the usual preambles.

“I will be out of the country for a while and we were thinking it would be a good idea if Akihito stayed with you while I'm gone.”

 _It was not an easy thing to be in Asami Ryuichi’s shoes_ , she had time to ponder.

Always having to think on his feet, to be in a dozen different places at the same time, to think of solutions to other people’s problems, to be _in control._

“‘ _We’_ were thinking…” she repeated, nodding slowly. “Akihito, sunshine, you are awfully quiet.”

Unless she was very wrong, it was no secret to any of the three people in the room that said decision had been taken by one person, and one person alone.

“Sorry,” the photographer then replied, after what was obviously a nervous chuckle. “My mind is a bit foggy, that’s all”

“Well, I would be more than happy to help,” the counsellor said, after another brief pause.

“Thank you,” she heard Asami reply. “I insist on paying all the expenses this time, though.”

“Of course you do.”

Akihito once again remained silent, but the quiet, stifled gasp that he had let out as the older man announced his sponsorship made her realize that maybe the reason for his discomfort went beyond his visual impairment.

“Asami-san,” she said, her voice calm and friendly though her smile was now gone. “Could you please give us a moment?”

When there was no response, she drew in a long breath.

“I would like to talk to Akihito in private, if you don't mind,” she explained.

The only response to her request was the sound of slow, calculated footsteps, and then the click of a door opening and closing a few seconds later.

“Come,” she told the young man by her side, touching his hand and guiding him to the part of the room where the armchairs were. “Let's sit for a minute, you are not in a hurry, are you?”

“No,” the photographer replied. “No appointments waiting for me.”

“Good, I was actually having some apple pie before you two showed up,” she said. “Would you like a slice?”

She smiled when Akihito mumbled a quiet yes.

Given their previous interactions, she knew that he tended to open his heart more easily when his stomach was full.

“Is this what you really want?” she asked quietly, when the sounds of chewing subsided a few minutes later.

“What?”

“To go to the island?”

He cleared his throat, the low rattling of metal on china the only other noise in the room as he put away his plate.

“Yeah,” he then replied, energetically. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You don't sound very convincing.”

Her comment was followed by a much less enthusiastic sigh.

“I actually wanted to go back to Yokohama,” he admitted. “But… Asami is right, I need someone to show me the ropes.”

“You don't, actually,” the counsellor replied. “You don't need anyone to show you anything.”

The young man’s confused gasp was the sign she needed to go on.

“Whatever it is, you can learn on your own, but it is probably faster, and more productive, when someone is there to guide you,” she explained. “You have a choice, though. You can still choose to do it your way.”

This time, her words were received with a mirthless chuckle.

“What is bothering you?”

“I feel like Asami is trying to put me in a bubble.”

She leaned back on her chair with a satisfied smirk.

_Now they were getting somewhere._

“It’s not his fault, I know that he’s just worried,” the photographer continued. “But it’s not the kind of life I want.”

“What kind of life do you want?”

Another chuckle.

“I...I don’t know,” Akihito replied, and his voice was a mixture of surprise and resignation. “Everything I do seems to gravitate around him these days. It's almost like I'm drowning, and he's the only thing that can keep me afloat.”

Makoto nodded in silence as the photographer spoke. His tone was at times annoyed, but more often than not, his words seemed to be filled with some sort of genuine concern.

“I don’t know at what point I became so… dependent, and I'm not talking about my vision, although I could do with some major improvement,” he went on. “It's something else, I… I just… I don't want to depend on him for protection, I don't want to hide in his shadow.”

She was about to open her mouth when he spoke again.

“I want to be more than a liability, you know?”

Yes, _she knew._

It was funny how the events of the past half year or so had contributed to that moment, in which her own story and Takaba Akihito’s reached such a crossroads.

She had been there before; it was like revisiting a bittersweet part of her life that had never gotten proper closure.

Now she was finally beginning to see the point of it all.

“I can help you with that, but… it's going to be a tough journey,” she replied. “Are you sure you want to go the island with me?”

“Yes.”

“There is no wifi, no video games, no TV, no postal service, and there is only one telephone that I probably will not let you use,” she continued. “ _Are you sure_ you can handle it?”

“Yes.”

Akihito’s obstination was truly a delight, but she suspected he had no idea what a “tough journey” meant.

“You spent a couple of months in my house, sunshine, but there is something you need to know about me,” she said, leaning forward as she spoke. “That was not my workplace. Tsumino, though, that island… that is where I deliver my full service.”

The silence that followed suggested that the photographer was finally giving her proposition the proper consideration it required.

“If you come with me, you agree to my terms.”

“What are your terms?” he asked.

“You need to trust me, one hundred percent.”

She could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head.

“That's it?”

“It's a tall order,” she replied. “You’re still up to it?”

If only she could tell what was going on in the young man’s mind as he remained silent for a full minute...

In time, though, she would extract all those thoughts, _one by one._

“Yes,” he finally answered, and there was no hesitation in his voice.

++++

“Where are you headed?”

Maya had barely set foot inside her suite in the Sunroute Plaza when her father’s baritone voice echoed in the room.

She felt her heart would jump out of her throat.

“Geez…” she whispered, one hand over her heart as the other clutched a brown paper bag full of groceries. “How _the hell_ did you get in?”

The man sitting on the armchair across from the dining table merely raised a keycard legs crossed, his face resting on one of his hands.

“You have a copy of my keycard?” the girl asked, her eyes going wide. “That's... messed up.”

“I'm your father.”

She scoffed.

_Talk about poor timing to embrace parenthood._

“And?”

“If you don't tell me where you're going, I have other ways to find out.”

“What makes you think I'm leaving?” she asked, lifting herself to sit at the edge of the table, her boots solidly planted on the arm of the chair next to him.

As usual, the man didn't bother to answer, and just continued to stare at her face.

“Well, I'm not,” she lied, knowing that it would be probably be useless at that point. “I was thinking about it, I even said so to Akihito at some point, but no,” she went on, looking at her own nails as she spoke. “I changed my mind. Plus the funeral is going to be in a couple of days and I am not bailing on it.”

She lifted her eyes to the armchair in front of her when her father shifted on the chair, looking uncomfortable.

“Unlike you,” she whispered.

“You know I don't attend funerals.”

“Of course not,” she chuckled. “You didn't attend my mother's, why the hell would you go to his?”

“It's not-”

“I would like you to leave, please.”

“I will be out of-”

“Please leave.”

_It was not his fault._

It was not hers, either, or her mother's, or anyone’s, really.

They were just not meant to be a family.

She couldn't blame him for never being around, he couldn't blame her for not caring anymore, it was time they both moved on, and if anything she could just go on and say she would not hold any grudges.

But she was still too angry. With him, with her stepfather, with herself.

Perhaps one day.

“Maya…”

When she raised her gaze to his face, she realised his eyes were not glowing as brightly as they usually did.

“I have no idea what you are planning to do, or where you are planning to go,” he said, leaning forward and resting both elbows on his knees as he laced his fingers under his chin. “And if you really want to keep that a secret, then keep it a secret.”

Maya blinked slowly. There had to be some sort of catch.

“On one condition,” he then said.

_And there it was._

“Mine goes with you.”

“No,” she promptly replied.

“Yes.”

“If I am going to have your watchdog following me around, then what is the point--”

“I will relieve him of his duties, today,” the man interrupted. “He will no longer report to me.”

She frowned, but waited for an explanation in silence.

“He will report to you,” she heard her father whisper. “ _Only_ to you.”

_“What?”_

“The premium he will get for services rendered in the years he worked for me will be more than enough for him to live comfortably for the rest of his life, so you don't have to worry about his salary.”

She shook her head, still trying to make sense of what she had just heard.

_Was she supposed to be Mine’s boss from now on?_

_“What?”_ she repeated, every line of her face showing her confusion.

“He is an extremely qualified professional.”

“Why do you trust him so much?”

“If I didn't, I would have never hired him in the first place.”

“Then why are you firing him?”

When he pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply, she felt a strange pang in her heart.

_Her father was tired._

It was probably a good thing she was moving away - one less thing for him to worry about.

“It's for a good reason,” he whispered. “I can't say I'm happy to let him go, but... it's a necessary trade off.”

There was a long minute of silence, in which Asami kept staring at the floor, and she vacantly looked at her own feet.

“Can he cook?” she asked, in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.

“I honestly have no idea.”

“If he comes with me, you will leave it alone?”

Her words elicited a strange, lifeless chuckle.

“You won't send someone following me or... anything like that?” she asked.

“No,” Asami replied, his gaze averted to the window behind her head.

“And he won't report to you?”

“No.”

“Or Kirishima?”

Silently, the man just shook his head.

That was their cease fire, and now that they had finally come to an agreement, she felt strangely empty.

“Fine, then,” she whispered, as her father stood up and walked towards the door, pausing for a moment when his hand touched the doorknob.

When he turned around, half of her wished their goodbye would not be that cold.

Half of her knew that maybe a hug would be all it took to make her resolve falter.

“Take care of yourself.”

And then, he was gone.

No hug.

No goodbye kiss.

No second chances.

++++

**_'We need to talk.'_ **

It was not the first message he had gotten that afternoon, and it probably wouldn't be the last. At that moment, though, he had other pressing issues to deal with.

Kuroda would have to wait.

As the black BMW parked in front of his private hangar, he tried to call Akihito one more time, just to have his call once again sent to voicemail.

He really did not want to travel without saying goodbye.

Two quick knocks on the window derailed his train of thought, and he greeted his first assistant with a less than amiable expression.

“What?” he snarled, stepping out of the car.

“I'm sorry, sir, but there is an emergency at the back room.”

“What emergency?”

Much to his surprise, though, Kirishima was already ten feet ahead of him, heading to the main entrance of the building.

“Kirishima, what the--”

“Someone is here to see you.”

Before he had time to ask who, and to scold his secretary for the secrecy, a familiar voice made him turn his head.

“Don't blame him,” Akihito said. “It was my idea.”

When he turned his head to look at Kirishima again, the man was already gliding towards the jet with a smirk on his face.

“He said you were having a tough day,” the photographer whispered, moving closer to where he was.

Only then did he realize that was the first time in nearly a month he was seeing Akihito out of a hospital.

_It was almost like a mirage._

“Just business as usual,” he said, tucking a strand of golden brown hair behind the photographer’s ear. “How are you feeling?”

“It's good to be outside.”

“Don't overdo yourself.”

“I'm not gonna break, Asami,” Akihito replied, taking off his sunglasses as he spoke. “Did you talk to Maya?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

He drew in a long breath as his hands moved down to the younger man’s hips, his fingertips seeking the warm patch of skin showing from under the bottom of his T-shirt.

“I guess there is just so much one can forgive,” he answered, before tilting the other man’s chin upwards and pressing a kiss to his lips.

There would be no point in whining about his own predicaments as a parent, anyway. He would be gone for a month, and every night would be an opportunity to think about the things he should have done but didn't, and the other way around.

It would be a month, probably more than that, without the warmth of the body that was now pressing against his, without the mouth now gently coaxing his tongue in, without the smell of fresh fruit and honey and _perfection._

He wanted to make good use of the minutes he had left.

++++

“Long time no see, Ryuichi.”

It had been a long flight from Tokyo to Moscow.

By the time he had gotten to the Arbatov mansion, it was not even seven in the evening local time, but his biological clock told a different story.

Good thing that he never travelled unprepared.

Two pills of modafinil and a shower later, and no one in the Russian leader’s entourage would even suspect he was verging on 48 hours of little to no sleep.

“You must have been busy,” Mikhail continued, taking a seat across from him in the main lounge of his headquarters. “Good job getting rid of Sengoku, by the way. Never liked him, the old creep…”

Asami took a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes drifting to the other man’s figure as he inhaled.

Not everyone would be able to pull off white suits that well, especially when combined with a lilac shirt and a mauvish handkerchief. Then again, not everyone had Mikhail’s physique, demeanour or deep blue eyes to back up the extravaganza, and to make it work in one’s favor.

The vacant semi-smile curling his lips as he poured himself a glass of brandy only went on to prove Mikhail Arbatov was a man to watch closely.

Someone had once written that the Japanese had six faces and three hearts - one heart in the mouth to show in public, another in the chest that only the close ones got to see, and a secret one, known only to oneself, hidden in an undisclosed location.

If that was true, then the Russians were probably human versions of matryoshka dolls. If not all Russians, at least the man sitting across from him, given his peculiar emotional makeup, or apparent lack thereof: he was a secret hidden another secret and so forth, and it made him wonder if at any point of his life, someone had been able to reveal to the smallest doll inside that nest.

He doubted it, though.

“What have you done with Kazuki's body?” Asami heard him ask, skipping the usual pleasantries although the same detached smile was still curling the corners of his mouth.

“If you cared so much about him, then why did you introduce him to a man like Sengoku in the first place?”

“Kazuki was much more intelligent than you imagine, Asami,” Mikhail replied. “He had Sengoku on a leash, until the day his wife died. Then things just went sideways.”

Asami tapped the tip of his cigarette on an ashtray with a disinterested look in his eyes.

He had not taken such a long trip to discuss Kazuki’s accomplishments, but for now, he would listen.

“But until then, he was much more competent than people gave him credit for,” he heard the other man continue. “I'm gonna ask again… What have you done with his body?”

“Why are you so obsessed?”

The pause that followed his question sparked his curiosity. It was almost as if, in that split second, the man in front of him was making a choice between the truth or an improvised lie.

“There was this day, we both were in the attic, me and him…” Mikhail started, leaning back on his chair and letting his eyes shift to the ceiling.

Judging by the melancholic tone of his voice, he had opted for the truth.

“Cold winter morning, we were what, nineteen? Not even. I had gotten my hands on some weed, and we were smoking, watching some random porn. Harmless teenage fun, you know?”

When he averted his gaze back to Asami’s face in search for confirmation, the CEO of Sion remained impassive.

Actually, he didn't know.

His teenage years and Mikhail’s had obviously been very different.

“I remember him touching my leg. I touched his,” Mikhail continued, with the usual casual tone. “Before I knew, we were jerking each other off, and my uncle was at the door, watching.”

It was only then that the blue orbs dimmed under a sheer layer of fear, as if the memories were finally catching up with him.

“He was rock hard, the son of a bitch,” he whispered. “He told Kazuki to leave. He did. I stayed behind.”

Asami noticed his cigarette had burnt to ashes as he listened to the other man’s story, and smashed what was left of it on the ashtray in front of him as quietly as he could.

He wanted to see where that was going.

“He told me to take off my sweater. I did,” Mikhail went on, his gaze growing distant and unfocused as he spoke. “And then he began whipping me. He said that if I screamed he would soak me in boiling water, so I didn't,” he scoffed, and his smirk was just as bitter as his voice. “I just stood there, as he ranted about how impure I was, for letting another man touch me.”

In silence, the Russian leader shook his head, eyes still fixated on something that belonged to another timeline, and another dimension.

“Next thing I knew, my pants were around my ankles, and he was inside me.”

When Mikhail averted his gaze to his face again, Asami felt he was not looking at the same person of moments prior.

The look in his eyes was strangely provocative; his smile, void of emotion.

“I slept in the attic that night. I was afraid of what my parents would say if they saw me like that,” he continued. “When Kazuki showed up, he was just as fucked up, but even so, he tended my wounds, stayed by my side until I fell asleep.”

When their eyes met again, he finally got the answer to his own question.

What was shining in those blue orbs was a feeling he was well acquainted with.

“He told me that the next day we would run away, the two of us. He had managed to steal a gun and he had planned everything. A five minute break between shifts and we would go unnoticed by security,” he continued, refilling his glass with brandy after emptying it with one large gulp. “When I woke up, he told me to sneak to my room to grab some clothes. Of course, I had to run into my uncle on the way there.”

He paused, just to burst into laughter.

Asami frowned. Mikhail was given to flamboyant displays of humor and was known for being a more vivacious leader than he and Fei Long combined, but that laughter rang more than just untrue.

It carried an uncharacteristic note of _despair._

“He didn't say a word, but it was as if he could see my soul,” he finally said, after clearing his throat and catching his breath. “So I told him. I told him everything. He didn't even need to ask."

He chuckled again, but this time his tone of voice matched the contents of his story.

“I sold Kazuki out,” he whispered, so quietly Asami could barely hear him. “And I never went to the attic again.”

Thinking the other man was done with his story, Asami opened his mouth to speak.

“He must have been really desperate to reach out for me, of all people, when your daughter moved to Tokyo,” he continued. “I'm quite sure he hated me.”

_‘Your daughter.’_

The reminder that now the Russian, as well as the Chinese and most likely the Korean Mafia knew he had a daughter made the vein in his neck throb harder.

“I want his body back because I want to give him a proper funeral,” Mikhail continued, smirking with the knowledge that his words had reached the desired effect. “He never got to have the life he planned, and I don't want his death to be just as shitty.”

“So it's guilt?”

“It's coming to terms.”

“I'm afraid that won't be possible,” Asami quickly replied, reaching for the pack of Dunhills inside the pocket of his jacket and taking his time to light up a cigarette. “His stepdaughter wants to handle the arrangements herself, and as you might imagine, she has priority. Given the circumstances,” he added, after taking a long drag, “I doubt she would approve of your attendance.”

When he looked at Mikhail again, he saw his eyes flash with anger.

“How long do you think it's gonna last, Ryuichi?”

“What?”

“This fantasy of yours, of having a _family_ ,” Arbatov continued, the corners of his mouth bending into a malicious smirk. “A lover, _a daughter_?” he scoffed. “It's just a matter of time until the next big thing comes up, and they are such easy targets. Why?”

Asami Ryuichi knew that locking horns with the Russian mafia was always bad for business. It had caused him problems in the past, it had led to tragic results recently.

But it was one hundred years too early for him to be intimidated by Mikhail Arbatov.

He turned to look at the door, and motioned for his Head of Security to come in, followed by at least another dozen men.

“What is this?” Arbatov asked, when a row of men in dark suits stopped in front of him, each holding a dark latter case.

“Your allies,” Asami replied.

One by one, the cases opened with a click to reveal the heads of Omi and Russian leaders his men in Tokyo had been able to track, capture and kill.

“Including Sengoku, Ochida, and four of your captains,” Asami continued.

“Lovely.”

“Indeed.” he replied, his lips curling into a smirk that was far from amiable. “I'm sure yours would look great in one of those as well.”

He watched as Mikhail scoffed again, but the yellowish tone of his skin and slightly dilated pupils made it clear he had gotten his message across.

“One day, you're right, _the next big thing_ might bring me down,” the CEO of Sion continued, getting up and buttoning up his jacket. “But when that happens, I will bring _everyone_ down with me.”

As the Russian leader held the stare, he noticed his eyes were now burning with some sort of strange excitement.

He wouldn't waste time digging for motives, though.

Without another word, he headed to the door, with his men following closely behind.

“Hey, Ryuichi?”

He stopped, but did not turn around.

“Good to see that the king is back,” he heard Mikhail say.

It was Asami’s turn to scoff.

At the end of the day, people like Arbatov only respected strength, whatever strength meant by their twisted parameters.

“The king was always here, idiot,” he whispered in response, before walking out of the door.

++++

It wasn't until three days after Asami left Tokyo that Akihito was finally allowed to travel to Tsumino.

As a matter of fact, he had gotten medical clearance to leave the hospital one week prior, but for some unknown reason, Majima Makoto was adamant about not letting him travel before consulting with doctors about his condition, getting a list of medication and procedures he might need while away and _preparing her place to receive him_.

It sounded a little bit too much, but he was not going to argue. He knew Asami would be checking on him every now and then and the last thing he wanted was to give the man another reason to worry.

He had enough on his plate already.

For now, he would stick to the rules, do as he was told, wait and see. Best case scenario, his training with Wei Shen would make him feel less useless. Worst case scenario he would be spending most of his time swimming and catching a tan, which was bound to be boring after a couple of weeks of isolation, but that was not so bad in the greater scheme of things.

“Shit…” he cursed quietly.

“What's the matter?” the counsellor asked.

“I forgot to call Kou,” Akihito responded. “I told him that I would call before I travelled, but I forgot.”

A quick glance at his phone and a dreadful, tiny little red cross on the top right corner of the screen showed what he already knew he would find.

_No service_

“First time using the phone in the island is a freebie but after that the price will be high, and not to be paid in cash,” the woman responded. “You sure you want to use it that early?”

“He's my friend.”

“I know that.”

“It's okay, if I need to use the phone later on I will work for it,” he replied. “I don't want him to worry.”

After a moment of silence, the counsellor’s lips curled into a cryptic smile as she passed him the only satellite phone in the island.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He spent a full minute looking at the blurry black screen of what looked like military equipment.

“There is a tiny button on the right,” the woman by his side said. “Just press it, and say the number you wish to call.”

He muttered another thank you, and walked away from her car and the multitude of people that were coming in and out of the jet to load at least 5 SUVs.

_“Hello?”_

“Kou, it's me, Akihito.”

_“Sorry, man. The caller ID was showing as unknown so I was just gonna let it ring.”_

He couldn't help but notice that his friend’s voice sounded throaty and low, very different from its usual. But then, he also knew that Kou had been through hell in back in that past month, what with struggling with his own trauma of being kidnapped and beaten down by the Omi while at the same time watching over a comatose friend and trying to get hold of an elusive ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah, that's because… I'm in the island already,” Akihito replied in an equally low voice.

_“Already?”_

“Yeah. I'm sorry, I should have called earlier.”

More than once in the past week he had felt bad about the prospect of leaving Yokohama while Kou clearly needed all the support he could get.

Now, the guilt had come back with a revenge.

_“It's fine, it's fine. I mean, you spent half of the week here, anyway. I'm good. I'm good, ok?”_

Kou’s voice had suddenly become more energetic - too much so, even.

He was obviously trying to cheer him up.

_“You should stop telling Takato to come over to check on me, he has other stuff to do.”_

“I didn't tell him to--”

 _“Aki,”_ Kou quickly interrupted. _“I know it was you.”_

Akihito remained silent.

_“Thanks, man, but I'm okay, really.”_

“Okay. Alright,” the photographer finally responded, although it was blatantly clear the designer was lying. “Listen, uh… Take care of yourself, ok?”

_“Do you think she will ever talk to me again?”_

And there it was, the thorn on his side.

Out of all the things that had been troubling Kou, he knew that Maya avoiding him like the plague was the thing that hurt the most.

_“It's her stepfather’s funeral tomorrow. Should I go?”_

He really didn't know what to say.

It was not his role to tell what had truly happened to her that day and why she was being so evasive.

_Been there, done that._

“Do what your heart is telling you to do,” he whispered in response.

_“Right.”_

“Kou… I'm sorry I had to travel,” Akihito replied, his voice slightly shaky.

 _“Man, don't be dumb. After everything that happened to you, you should do whatever it takes to get better,”_ he heard his friend reply. _“I need you to chill, ok?”_

The sound of footsteps behind him made Akihito whip his head around, just to see the shape of what he assumed was his counsellor walking towards him.

“I-I gotta go now,” he said. “Take care, ok?”

_“You too.”_

When he ended the call, his shoulders drooped in defeat.

Although he worried about Kou’s well being, he had to remind himself he was in the island for a reason. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life hiding and if there was anything the counsellor and her team could teach him, then it was his job to learn, so that he would be able to take care of himself, to defend Asami, to protect his friends.

“Is everything alright?” he heard Majima Makoto ask.

“Yeah…” he answered, squaring his shoulders as he spoke. “Yeah. It will be, I guess.”

“That's the spirit,” the woman replied. “Come, Li and Wei are waiting for you by the car.”

He put on his sunglasses and looked around to make better sense of his surroundings. The air around him was hot and humid, and the patch of concrete in which the jet had landed was now deserted except for the aircraft itself and another black car.

Judging by the counsellor’s words, the two shapes standing behind the car were her two assistants; Akihito wondered, however, why one of them was making eloquent gestures with their arms as they pointed to the trunk. Probably Wei, considering the fact Li Jiao had started using crutches the day before…

The whole guessing game that came with not being able to see properly was exhausting sometimes, but he was getting good at it.

Somehow, it was forcing him to pay more attention to the details.

Before he could tune in to the subject of the conversation, however, the quiet but quick whispering ceased, and each assistant took a different side of the car, opening their respective door so that he and the counsellor could get into the car.

“Uh, where is Shinada?” he asked, frowning at the realisation he had not seen his bodyguard ever since getting off the jet.

“He headed to the house with the others,” the woman explained, her tone calm and melodic. “He was feeling unwell, probably because of something he ate before boarding.”

“Ah…”

“Yes...”

Akihito nodded slowly, looking out of the window as the car made its way out of the small airport.

So that was the famous island where Asami Ryuichi had undergone therapy. Too bad he couldn't see much, but at least his imagination could work on the gaps that his vision could not fill. The tall, brownish shapes siding the road were probably palm trees; behind them, he could see in his mind’s eye a stony wall leading down to the ocean, the sound of waves splashing against rock putting his mind at ease as the car moved to its destination.

_Why had Asami never told him he had seeked a counsellor?_

So many things would have been different if he had told him who the damn Miyuki was right away… But then, of course, it was not as if he himself had done a good job sharing secrets. If only _he_ had had the guts to tell him about Sakazaki before that damn picture reached his hands…

“The ruins on your left are of an abandoned shrine…”

He was vaguely aware that the woman next to him was describing the sights along the way, but he couldn't really bring himself to pay attention.

His mind was far, very far away.

To think that even after everything they had been through, Asami had proposed to him. It had not been a joke, he could tell, but it was not as if the man had brought it up the next day either.

Did Asami really want them to get married?

_What did that even mean?_

To become Asami Ryuichi’s husband… Three years ago, if someone had told him that was written into his future, he would have laughed. What would his parents say? Because, clearly, it would be inconsiderate not to invite them to the wedding…

 _'What wedding, for fuck’s_ sake?' his own mind yelled at him. ' _Now you want a party as well?'_

Akihito drew in a long breath, and scratched the tip of his nose as the woman continued her guided tour.

“...can't see it well, but it's a red-brick little house, the only bottle shop in the island…”

His mind was getting away with him.

There were more important things to think of, rather than a wedding.

Like, what would it be like to step into the penthouse again?

Why was he afraid of going back? Would it hurt?

_Why was he afraid of Asami seeing his scars?_

Those damn marks on his back and everything that came with them were still holding him back, even now.

Now, that there was nothing he wanted more than to feel Asami inside him again, hard and rough, and the kind of hard and rough that made his body ache and tingle for days...

The kind of hard and rough that went so deep inside him that he could feel the heat of Asami's sex throbbing inside his belly...

The kind of hard and rough that made the two of them pant and grunt like an-

When his eyes dropped to his lap, even his blurred sight could make out the distinct shape of an erection tenting his shorts.

“Shit…” he whispered, covering himself with his backpack.

“Akihito, darling, are you still with us?”

“Uh?”

“I was just talking about Tsumino’s only nightclub, but you were so silent I thought you had fallen asleep,” the counsellor explained.

“Ah!” he responded with an embarrassed chuckle. “I'm sorry, I think I dozed off.”

“Poor thing, you will be getting plenty of rest soon,” the woman replied, patting his hand. “But yes, just so you know, in case you enjoy dancing, just follow the pineapple trail and you’ll find it,” she continued. “It's a modest place with live music, but the folks there are very amiable, not to mention it is the closest place to the main house.”

“Uh, okay, thanks…”

After the awkward and brief interaction, Akihito once again retreated into his own thoughts.

He wondered how and when he should tell his parents about Asami.

_“Tell me again what he does for a living?”_

_“You two met in a bar, you said?”_

_“Who is Maya?”_

_“Why did you move to Yokohama?”_

Akihito raised both eyebrows. He’d better stop torturing himself with those thoughts or he would give himself a migraine.

After a long sigh, he realised the grand tour was still not over.

_The ruins on the left…_

_The bottle shop…_

_The pineapple trail…_

He frowned.

All those places sounded terribly familiar.

He narrowed his eyes as he glanced out of the window, just to see the shape of gates that looked a lot like the ones of the airport they had just left behind.

“Wait, is this the airport?” he asked.

“Ah, yes…” the counsellor replied, after a small chuckle. “Wei missed a turn so we had to backtrack. On the bright side, it gives you a chance to hear about the attractions in case you missed them the first two times I talked about them.”

_Two times?!?_

How long had he been in that car?

He spent the next half hour frowning as the woman repeated the explanation about the ruins of the temple just at the edge of a cliff that led to the dunes, the red-brick bottle shop at the beginning of the road leading to the fishermen village, the pineapple trail that stretched from the jungle to a community garden opposite the place’s only nightclub…

And when once again he saw the same familiar gates of the airport, he had the confirmation he needed.

“We are driving in circles, why are we driving in circles?” he asked, and the annoyance in his voice was evident.

He was hungry, and he needed to go to the bathroom. The city tour could wait another day, unless the counsellor intended to start his stay with a quiz about the local attractions in exchange for a meal and a bed to sleep on.

“Fine, you got me…” the woman replied, and her casual tone was strangely inappropriate given the circumstances. “The truth is that I asked Wei to drive us back here because I want to show you my favourite place in this island.”

 _‘Well, you could have done so the first time around…’_ he mentally responded.

“It's called the--”

Before she could complete her sentence, though, a loud bang coming from inside the trunk made the two of them jump in their seats.

“What the hell?” he muttered, when the bang was followed by a thud, and then another. “There's something moving inside the trunk.”

A round of whispers in a language that he vaguely recognised as Chinese only made him even more suspicious.

Whatever Li Jiao and Wei Shen were saying, they clearly _did not want him to understand it._

“What is going--?”

“It's nothing, sunshine, trust me on this one,” the counsellor replied, and this time her voice was serious and low.

“But--”

“ _Trust me_.”

_Trust her._

Those were the terms he had agreed to, after all.

“Join me for a walk, will you?” she said, when the car came to a halt.

As the woman got out of the car and slammed the door behind her, completely ignoring the frantic noises coming from inside the trunk, he had a feeling there was something horribly wrong.

Or maybe he was just getting paranoid, after being slapped on the face time and again by the most unlikely of circumstances. What were the odds the counsellor had her own hidden agenda, seriously? Asami would have seen it coming, right?

Yeah, he was probably just paranoid.

“What is this place?” he asked, after following his counterpart to the edge of what looked like a very steep hill.

“It's called the Dunes,” she replied. “It's one of those special places that are rare to find elsewhere.”

He inhaled deeply, waiting for the ocean breeze to take away his concerns and cool his warm skin.

He had almost forgotten how hot certain parts of Japan could get during the end of summer.

“The sand…” he whispered, after opening his eyes and let them travel across a series of diffuse shapes that looked like mountains made of colourful clouds. “It looks like it has different colours…”

“It does,” the counsellor said. “That's the result of the mix of minerals in the soil. It’s close to the ocean and to the jungle, can you see the trees down there?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. The beach is to your left.”

He nodded.

No wonder the woman spoke so fondly of that island. It really looked - and sounded - like a beautiful place.

“The reason why you feel that Asami is larger than life is because he is.”

The unexpected statement made the photographer gasp.

“He _is_ larger than life,” she continued. “He’s Japan's most powerful man.”

Her tone, combined with the fact they were both standing at what looked like the edge of a cliff, made him shudder. It was almost as if he had suddenly become part of a ritual, in which truths would be revealed at the expense of something important - most likely, his physical integrity, as usual.

And because the mind had a way to dictate the events that plagued one’s life, his brain gave his feet the strange command to take a step backward, and he found himself slipping into the void.

Luckily, Majima Makoto’s firm hands grabbed him in the nick of time, and helped him regain his balance before his one-month stay was abbreviated to a couple of hours.

“Oh, careful, sunshine!”

“Holy f-- Thanks.”

“You're okay,” she chuckled, before clearing her throat to resume the solemnities. “As I was saying, about Asami… That's the role he chose to play, and it comes with some obvious complications.”

Akihito remained silent, even though he could enlist at least a dozen of said complications.

“You see…” the counsellor said, after a deep sigh. “Before I got married, I was a masseuse. I told you that, didn't I?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that was one of the things I gave up when my husband and I started dating. He said it was not safe,” she explained. “I also gave up my swimming lessons, because all of a sudden the public pool was no longer an option and his house, as you might remember, didn't have one.”

He let out a small smile that was both compassionate and resigned.

He knew those concerns well.

“Nowhere was safe enough. No one could be trusted,” she continued. “Before I knew, I had a bodyguard following me to the grocery store just around the corner.”

Immersed in his own memories, Akihito found himself staring blankly at the horizon.

“I loved my husband, I loved him dearly. I still do,” the counsellor whispered, and her voice was a mix of melancholy and pride. “But I started asking myself, what the hell am I doing with my life? Where did my life go? I mean, _everything I did gravitated around him_ , and his business,” she added, and Akihito was positive her choice of words was not accidental. “His friends, his enemies, his goals, his problems...It was tough.”

Her pause was followed by a moment of silence, broken only by the seagulls flying above and the waves crashing on the shore somewhere below them.

“So one day I ran away, and I got kidnapped,” she said, and Akihito noticed that it was the first time she sounded fragile. “I will spare you the gnarly details, but I'll tell you this.”

And then, he could tell just by the way she inhaled, that the brief moment of vulnerability was gone.

“After I was rescued, I realized I had to up my game,” she said. “That was the only way.”

“How did you do it?” the photographer whispered.

Before answering, the woman took a step towards him, and he unconsciously made the same mistake of moments prior.

As his foot slipped past the edge, her fingers once again closed around his arms.

“That's what you're here to find out, isn't it?” she asked.

Unlike moments prior, though, the small, helpful hands did not help him regain his balance.

Instead, they moved to his chest, and with the gentlest push, sent him rolling down into the darkness below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In time: Akihito sees a precipice but that doesn't mean it is actually a precipice.


	60. Mindfuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asami and Akihito have to fight their way out of a game. One, in beautiful _Firenze_. The other, in the strange island of Tsumino.
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for super long author’s note ahead:
> 
> Hi! \o/
> 
> I pushed three important scenes to Chapter 61 (including one with Mine that was going to answer some of the questions you guys made), but it's for a good reason: this chapter makes much more sense if we focus only on Asami and Akihito, and on those two alone.
> 
> In time: there are some dangerous traps in this chapter, so I invite you to read the events that follow ~~while listening to Take on Me~~ with an open mind and a lot of suspicion! What is a test and what is not? What is the *real* problem at hand? Also, warning for Asami engaging in… hmm… _lewd_ activities with another male character (no, it's not Fei Long, sorry XD), but before anyone walks out on me because this is not in the tags, give me a chance to explain. As Asami himself mentioned earlier in this story, he didn't get to where he is now by sending his business partners flowers and a box of chocolates, especially in the beginning of his career, which will lead to an interesting conversation with Akihito at some point. His relationship with Marco can be read in many ways and I will leave it to each of you to come to your own conclusions as to why Asami does what he does in the end.
> 
> Oh, and Happy Belated Mother’s Day to all moms that are, were and will be. Legends, y’all. =D
> 
>  

A very wobbly Shinada Tatsuo stumbled out of the trunk of the BMW as soon as it was opened, and the fact he was seeing doubles of everything did not stop him from advancing towards the blind woman that was walking back to the car.

"Where is Takaba-san?" he asked, his vowels more prolonged than usual, before his knees gave out and he he landed on the side of the road with a dull thud. "What have you done to him? _Where is he?_ "

"In the jungle," the woman calmly responded. "I pushed him down the dunes."

_"What?!?"_

"Shinada, man, try and calm d--"

Wei Shen's sentence was cut short when Shinada's knuckles hit him right between the eyes.

"It's a safe fall," the woman continued, standing peacefully next to the place where the two men engaged in combat. "We don't want him hurting his head again."

"What the hell, Li," the Chinese man spluttered when Akihito's bodyguard beat him into submission with an armlock. "I thought you had sedated him?"

"I did, I did," the other assistant was quick to reply, joining them as fast as she could with the aid of her crutches. "Twice, actually, it should have been enough to knock out _a lion_."

"If he has... a single scratch... on him... when I find him..." Shinada panted, still trying to immobilise the other man.

"Well, then maybe... you might… want...to consider... a third shot..." Wei Shen muttered, his face going purple as the other bodyguard's solid biceps constricted his neck.

"Just taser him," the counsellor finally interceded. "Then get him back into the trunk."

"W--"

He never got to complete that word.

Being tasered hurt like a motherfucker - he had already forgotten how bad it was.

' _Good old days of creating trouble in the streets of Fukuoka...'_ his mind had time to ponder, before the Chinese assistant now towering above him got his revenge by picking him up and tossing him unceremoniously inside the trunk of the BMW.

_Again._

"Sorry dude, but I will have to gag you," the man whispered, still trying to catch his breath. _"Again."_

And then, it all went dark.

Even after the door was locked, though, he could still hear voices outside.

 _"But… from there back to the house it's a three-hour walk,"_ said a female voice, that he quickly identified as belonging to Suoh's lady.

 _"Yes. For people that know the area and that can see properly, you mean,"_ a more suave, amiable voice responded. _"For him it's going to be a bit longer than that, but I'm sure he can make it back before the sun goes down."_

 _"But that's almost twelve hours from now,"_ Wei Shen interjected.

_"Yes."_

_"What about his medicine? Food, rest, he can't--"_

_"When he agreed to stay in the island, he agreed to my terms,"_ the woman interrupted, and Shinada noticed her voice was gradually losing its amiable edge. _"These are my terms,"_ she continued. _"He's not here for us to nurse him back to health. He's here to go beyond, and he will go beyond."_

 _"What if he's still too weak?"_ Suoh's lady spoke again. _"He hasn't made a full recovery y--"_

The counsellor, though, didn't seem to be having any of it.

 _"He can do it,"_ she said. _"Takaba Akihito is not some random, fragile kitten. He will be back before the sun goes down."_

 _"What if he doesn't find his way back?"_ it was Wei Shen's turn to ask. _"What if he passes out or… or something?"_

 _"I have people watching,"_ was the woman's curt response. _"Let's go, shall we?"_

Before he knew, doors were slamming and the car started moving again.

Oh, that would be _quite the report_ he would get to make once he found a way out of that damn car. How he would ensure it got to his boss's hands though, was a completely different story, since he was quite sure his satellite phone had been confiscated.

'Well...' he thought to himself, _"...shit."_

++++

He glanced at his watch, and then at the city that unfolded ahead as his Rolls Royce sped down the narrow streets of Florence.

By this time, Akihito should have already landed in the island, and Shinada was supposed to have sent his first report at least half an hour prior.

For some reason, though, the man was not answering his calls.

He pushed aside his concern for a moment to make another call that he no longer could avoid.

The faster he did what he had come to Florence to do, the better.

“Buongiorno, Marco.”

_“Ah, Ryuichi…”_

The grave voice on the other side of the line made his hand curl into a fist by his side.

 _“Buongiorno, bello mio,”_ the man continued, before switching to English with a soft chuckle that transpired malice. _“I thought you had forgotten about me.”_

“Never,” Asami replied, allowing the muscles of his body to gradually relax after the usual uneasiness.

_“Good. So what brings you to the beautiful city of Firenze? I suspect you are not here for tourism, even though the weather couldn't possibly be more delightful.”_

“You know me too well.”

_“That I do.”_

He heard the other man inhale deeply, a calculated move that he was very familiar with.

 _“I hear things were quite chaotic in Japan a while ago, have you been able to get things back under control?”_ the suave voice went on, the thick Italian accent adding a different musicality to his words.

“Yes, although I… might have lost some investors in Europe.”

Asami let his eyes drift back to the street and fall upon a young woman riding a bike.

 _‘Some’_ investors was an understatement.

 _“I see. Do you need help?”_ the other man asked, his voice still casual and strong.

“I would appreciate your advice, yes.”

_“Come see me. It's been a while, hasn't it? Two years?”_

“Three.”

_“Yes... That's too long.”_

Asami kept staring at the same spot for a long minute, barely noticing the coming and going of people as his driver waited for the light to go green.

 _“How is the photographer doing?”_ Marco then asked, and he felt a chill run down his spine. _“What's his name, again? Takaba Akihito?”_

For an outsider, that would sound like a trivial, harmless question between friends.

But he and Marco were not friends, that question _was not harmless,_ and if anything Akihito’s condition was already known by every crime syndicate in Europe.

_“Isn't it glorious, when you find the **pet** of your dreams?”_

Again, his hand curled into a fist by his side, and his entire body tensed as he thought of how that trip to Florence would probably end.

 _“Eight o'clock,”_ the man went on. _“I'll be waiting.”_

++++

He felt his heart had dropped to his feet in the fraction of a second his body was suspended in air, free falling onto what he soon realized was sand.

 _A lot_ of sand.

When he finally landed on what felt and smelled like a grassy patch of land, he spat out the salty grains that had accidentally filled his mouth on the way down, and brought himself to a sitting position.

The sun was shining hot and relentless, and he had to squint to try and make sense of the bright wall towering behind and around him.

The dunes.

He had been pushed down the dunes.

"Oh, _come on!"_ he yelled at the top of his lungs, looking upwards.

He stood up, put one of his hands on his waist and used the other to shelter his eyes from the punishing hot light.

Not even five minutes had gone by and he was already drenched in sweat.

"Are you serious? What the fuck, how--" he muttered, taking a step forward and trying to climb the steep, sandy incline, just to slide back down after his first attempt.

Clearly, that was not the way to go.

After another step to the side, he felt his foot collide with something solid, and quickly realised that his backpack had been thrown down to keep him company.

And then, realisation dawned on his face - of course, that was why the woman kept talking about the local attractions. Still, as far as he remembered, all of them were at the highway level, and _how the hell_ was he supposed to get back up there?

"Oh, I see," he replied, his voice carrying a very obvious note of annoyed disbelief. "It's a test. She's testing me."

What for, he still had no idea.

"Oh, please say I didn't eat all my cereal bars..." he muttered to himself, searching the backpack when his stomach rumbled loudly, just to find out that yes, he had eaten all the snacks he had packed for the trip. "Damn..."

He let out a defeated sigh, and let his shoulders drop before rummaging inside the bag one more time to retrieve a bottle of water.

"Well, shit..." he whispered, zipping up the outer pocket of the backpack. "It's back to my days of camping."

A confident smirk curled the corners of his mouth. He took a lot of pride in his ability to survive in the wilderness, and even though not seeing properly made things much more complicated, he got the feeling he had been through much worse before.

When he flung the backpack over his right shoulder, the sound of something falling on the ground caught his ear.

"Huh?"

He bent down to collect the object that had clearly fallen from one of the pockets, but that he did not remember packing.

"Is this a _gun?_ " he asked, his eyes going wide as he felt the surface of the weapon with his fingertips. "It's too light to be a gun, though... What the hell is this thing?"

For a split moment, he considered pulling the trigger to find out, but opted not to.

The pressing matter at that point was not what kind of weapon that was, but _why he would need a weapon at all._

_What the hell was going on?_

He shook his head, and turned around to face the cluster of dark shapes ahead.

For now, he should focus on one problem at a time.

"The way out must be through the jungle..." he whispered, his ears gradually tuning in to the sounds of his surroundings.

_'The ocean is to your left.'_

He closed his eyes, and let the rhythmic come and go of waves give him some sense of guidance, and _something else._

"Shit, I need to pee."

After a quick look around to make sure no one would have to see him relieving himself in public, he planted one of his palms on the trunk of a tree and unzipped his shorts, using the moment to come up with a plan of action.

What were the places he would have to find again?

"A shrine... the pineapple trail... a bar..." he enlisted, narrowing his eyes as he tried to remember the veiled instructions. "No, not a bar... a bottle shop?"

Still trying to organize his thoughts, he zipped his shorts back up and walked to where he assumed the ocean was.

When the soil changed from grass to sand, and the view of a mass of foamy blue unraveled before his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief.

That was the first small victory of the day.

He took off his shoes and his T-shirt, walking into the water until it was almost going past his knees, and splashing some of the salty water on his chest and shoulders to cool his skin.

He could do it.

He just needed to focus and he would be back on the highway in no time at all.

"I can d--"

"They sent you here too, huh?"

The female voice that interrupted his statement made him jump.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," said the blurry shape of a woman wearing a long dress, facing the ocean only a few metres away from where he was. "Name's Kaoru."

"Akihito," he replied, a frown wrinkling his forehead as he spoke. "Do I know you?"

"No," the stranger replied. "But I know _you_."

Even though Akihito couldn't see her face clearly, he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was finding everything very amusing.

"You're Asami Ryuichi's boyfriend, aren't you?"

Akihito's eyebrows moved to form a straight line that showed suspicion and surprise in equal amounts.

"Who are you again?" he asked, and the quiet chuckle that followed made him fear he would not like the answer.

"I am his employee," the woman replied, " _so to speak_."

++++

When Kirishima got to the balcony of the presidential suite at the Grand Hotel Villa Medici, he found his boss staring mindlessly at the terracotta rooftops of the houses below.

Florence was a beautiful city and the view was stunning, what with the dome of the neighbouring cathedral glowing warmly against the clouds now tinged with orange and yellow as the sun set. The secretary suspected, though, that his boss was not truly seeing any of that as he looked ahead, his eyes distant and cold.

He knew that those trips to the capital city of Tuscany hardly ever gave Asami Ryuichi any joy, but it was the first time he was seeing his boss that discontent with the task at hand.

"Are you sure you want to see him this early? " the secretary asked. "Perhaps you should leave it to the end?"

"I just want to get it out of the way."

After the short response, he watched as his boss took another drag off his cigarette, still looking uninspired.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"No," the other man replied. "Sadly I am the only bribe he will take."

The words were followed by a quiet, slow shake of his head.

"It's funny. The first time I came to see him almost twenty years ago, I thought I had it. I had it all figured out," he continued. "I would let him do whatever he wanted to me, and once I got his support, I would do things my way."

In silence, Kirishima rested his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.

"By the time I got to his age I would be the one calling the shots," the baritone voice went on. "He was forty-something at the time."

And then there was a pause, and a bitter scoff.

"I am almost forty, Kirishima..."

His voice then trailed off, but there was an unspoken second part to that sentence that the secretary was quick to decipher - another privilege of having almost two decades of experience reading Asami Ryuichi's very subtle signs of distress.

"He will turn against me," he whispered. "The moment I say no, it doesn't matter what I do next. He will turn against me."

"Then don't say no," Kirishima replied just as quietly. "It never bothered you before. Not this much, at least."

"It _always_ bothered me," he heard his boss reply, the wrinkle on his forehead intensifying as he spoke. "But I'm getting too old to _pretend._ "

It was Kirishima's turn to frown.

There seemed to be multiple factors accounting for his boss's unrest, but for some reason, his age did not sound like the most significant of them.

The problem didn't seem to be that he was getting too old to submit to the Italian crime lord's lewd fantasies. Despite his disadvantaged position in that transaction, at least it always ended in positive terms for both men, with his boss striking extraordinary agreements all across Western Europe in exchange for his subservience.

Asami Ryuichi was a man of business, after all.

There was one thing, though, that had changed since the last time those two had met in that very same city, three years prior.

One thing that whether his boss was willing to admit or not, was weighing on his decision and adding an extra layer of complication to that business transaction.

"This is just business," Kirishima finally replied, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. " _He_ will understand."

"Just business..." he heard his boss repeat, eyes still fixated on the rooftops below.

Other than the occasional singing of birds, the only sound in that exclusive quarter of the Via Il Prato was the quiet melody of American songs from the 80s coming from a house across the street.

"You're right," the man finally said, standing up after smashing what was left of his cigarette on an ashtray. "Go get the car ready, I will be downstairs in a minute."

++++

_'An employee, so to speak.'_

That did not sound like a promising beginning to that conversation.

"I work in the department of Private Entertainment, if you know what I mean," the woman explained.

"Right..." Akihito replied, laughter rattling inside his chest. "And they just dumped you in this island to keep me company."

"I don't know why I was sent here, trust me," she said with a shrug. "I mean... I don't see why he would want me near you, anyway."

He bit his lip, shifting on his feet as he fought the urge to just burst into nervous laughter.

Really? That was the kind of test he would have to endure?

_How cliché._

"Look, I see where this is going," he said, after drawing in a long, deep breath. "You are part of the game, yeah? She rolls me down the dunes, puts one of Asami's escorts in the way to make me jealous..." he added, with a disdainful chuckle. "Well, it's not gonna fly. I'm not--"

"I was with him when he bailed on the gala dinner to go see you," the woman interrupted. "Some... three nights ago? Four? I don't even know."

The words died on his lips as the first faint semblance of a _fact_ registered on his brain. It was true, after all, that three of four nights prior Asami was wearing a tux, and that only meant he had been headed to some kind of special event before showing up at the hospital.

"Did he ever tell you what usually happens after those dinners?" she asked.

At that point, he had three options.

He could stay there and listen to some graphically detailed answer that he would never know for sure if it was a lie or not, or he could simply walk away.

And then, of course, there was the strange weapon inside his backpack that he could finally put to the test.

"Goodbye, Kaoru," he said, turning on his heels after settling for a cautious via media.

"There are many things he needs to do to keep on top," he heard the woman respond, her voice filled with the kind of malice and evil that made his blood boil. "I'm not sure you would approve of those things."

Unable to control himself, Akihito stopped on his tracks and resumed his initial trajectory, approaching the young woman with firm, angry steps.

"He didn't go to bed with you that night," he hissed. "And you wanna know how I know that? Because he was in bed _with me_."

"I never said I went to bed with him that night," she replied. "But you two were separated for a very long time, lots of things have happened. Things that I bet you don't know about."

 _'A lot of things had happened in those two months?'_ he screamed internally.

"Well...No shit, Sherlock."

With his lips pursed, he once again turned away.

It was a test, and there would be no point letting himself get poisoned by doubt and jealousy.

"I'm pregnant."

It was a test, and he knew it.

 _He knew it,_ and yet those words made him feel like he had just been shot right in the middle of the chest.

"Ten weeks," she said. "And he knows."

He swallowed, noticing that his fingers had begun to shake.

His mind was already entering that dangerous realm of possibility, studying past events and trying to find hidden signs that he might have missed, whereas his heart was still in that beautiful stage of denial, and that was the only thing that kept him grounded.

Slowly, the lump in his throat dissolved into a loud, historical cackle.

"Ok, where are the cameras?" he asked, looking around as he wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. "No, really, nice try!" he exclaimed, looking at the trees. "Evil, but very smart, congratulations."

If Majima Makoto was trying to break him, that one had gotten dangerously close.

"Who are you talking to?" he heard the woman behind him ask.

"To whomever hired you to come here and _lie_ ," he replied, relieved that his heart rate had gone back to normal and that the negative thoughts of moments prior were no longer plaguing his judgment.

"Whatever makes you feel better..."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"Goodbye, _Takaba-sama._ "

He narrowed his eyes at the woman's disdainful tone.

 _'It is just a test,'_ he had to remind himself one more time.

++++

He would have to plan his next move very carefully.

Out of all the business partners he had had to deal with over the years, Marco Reoux was probably the one with the most intricate network of contacts, his influence stretching to and across every nation of Europe, infiltrating its politics and crime scene alike.

Despite the reputation he had been able to build over the years as Marco's right-hand man, Asami knew the man took no chances. The Italian tycoon had ears and eyes in every corner of Florence - the city belonged to him, and there was no neutral ground for negotiation. That part of Italy was one of the few places in the world where the empire he had built in Asia meant a lot but not enough.

Not enough to get the upper hand, at least.

It would be in his best interest to do as Kirishima had said, and just get it over and done with. Fix the investors situation, give the man what he wants, leave and move on.

Except that now nearly twenty years had gone by and he still hadn't moved on.

His eyes dropped to the street below once again, just in time to see faces casually looking up every now and then as they walked by, carrying their groceries as if it was none of his business, riding bikes, smoking a pipe.

He was being watched.

After a deep sigh, he pressed a button on his phone and waited for the call to connect, but just like all the other times, Shinada didn't answer.

Neither did Majima Makoto.

He no longer could tell whether the bitter taste in his mouth was the result of his concern for what he was about to do, or just the horrible sensation that Akihito might be in danger, away from his reach, alone.

He could only solve one problem at a time, though.

The next time he looked at his phone, it was to browse through his contacts and use a different device to make the one call that would set a very dangerous plan in motion.

It could not be one of his men, although Maeda-san was probably the one with the best qualifications to perform the job.

He needed someone that couldn't be traced back to Sion if things went sideways.

 _"Hello?"_ said the young man on the other side of the line.

"My apologies for the late call," Asami replied, skipping the usual greetings. "Were you asleep?"

 _"A-Asami-san..."_ the sleepy voice stuttered. _"W-why... is ev-"_

"I need a favor."

There was a very faint gasp on the other side of the line, which he was quick to dismiss.

"Can you read Italian?"

_"N-Not really, why?"_

"But I take it you have access to translation software, then?"

_"Yes, but w--"_

"I need you to retrieve a medical file from a hospital called Santa Maria Nuova, in Florence, Italy," Asami continued, fully aware that he was not giving the younger man time to process what was going on. "The name of the patient is Marco Reoux."

 _"H-Hold on,"_ the voice on the other side of the line replied. _"What is the name of the hospital again?"_

"Santa Maria Nuova."

_"This is going to take a while. Their database uses Triple DES, but the file you want is under a Twofish encrypting algorithm."_

"How long until you break it?"

_"I can have it ready for you by the morn--"_

"I don't have that kind of time," Asami interjected. "Is ten minutes enough?"

_"Uh..."_

"Fifteen?"

_"Do you want me to call you back?"_

"I'll wait."

The seven minutes of wait felt like an eternity, but when the medical files he was looking for showed up on his screen, Asami felt a strange rush of adrenaline pump through his veins.

Without missing a beat, he ended the call and dialled another number after texting one of his local suppliers to demand an urgent delivery.

 _"Asami-san,"_ he heard his private physician reply. _"How can I be--"_

"Does high blood pressure increase the chances of a cocaine overdose?"

 _"If untreated, yes,"_ the older man answered. _"I'm not even going to ask why--"_

"5 g. Would they overdose?"

_"You meant, 5 **mg?** "_

_"No,"_ Asami whispered, closing the door behind him and walking towards the bathroom when Kirishima reappeared in the room. "I meant five _grams._ "

_"If it's **your** cocaine, certainly."_

"Even if they're addicts?"

_"Yes."_

"And if they're not?" he asked, unconsciously holding his breath as he waited for a response. "How long does it take?"

_"Minutes."_

"How many minutes?"

_"That is impossible to determine."_

Working with unreliable data and counting on chance was the very opposite of strategic, but the odds would be stacked against him anyway.

He would not back out.

 _"Some people are more tolerant to it than others,"_ Kimura-sensei added. _"It might start with convulsions, abdominal pain... Headache, nausea, tachycardia, that is, if no cerebral bleeding occurs right away."_

He _was not_ going to die.

 _"If it does, there is very little to do,"_ the doctor concluded.

"Thanks," Asami quickly replied, before ending the call, breaking the spare phone in half and flushing it down the toilet.

++++

After hours walking under the scorching sun, Akihito had finally been able to spot the ruins of the church at the edge of a cliff.

How he would be able to get to it was an entirely different story.

He stopped to take a breath, hands placed on his knees as sweat dripped from his chin to his chest.

Even though he had tried his best to ration the only water he had left, it had eventually ended and the moment had come for him to wander into the jungle to get more supplies.

He was beginning to feel light-headed, and the harder he pushed himself, the less his eyes seemed to cooperate.

Or his mind, for that matter.

After finding shelter under a tree and cracking a coconut open after slamming it against a rock at least eleven times, he closed his eyes and tried not to let his thoughts get away with him again.

_Uselessly._

His energy levels, both mental and physical, were waning.

Did Asami's business actually require him to sleep with strangers?

Could he be sleeping with someone _right now?_

"Stop it," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Stop thinking about it."

He had asked him once if he slept with the people he went to those events with, and he had said he didn't anymore.

Had he just said that to play his worries away?

Again, he cursed at his own doubts, frustrated at how fast they were tearing him apart.

But what could he do, really? He still didn't know for sure what Asami's business involved, and they had never actually discussed the boundaries of their own relationship.

Clearly, giving other men blowjobs was off the table at least for him, as the scars on his back proved, but he didn't seem to have much of a say when it came to Asami and _his_ adventures.

With the corners of his lips pointing downwards, Akihito put down the piece of coconut he had been munching on.

All of a sudden, he was not hungry anymore.

With a scoff, he got up, tied his T-shirt around his head and picked up his backpack to continue his journey.

He had to admit: Majima Makoto was good at fucking up people's minds, and when he heard a branch cracking somewhere behind him, he suspected she still had a handful of bad surprises in store.

He would very soon find out he was right.

++++

After shaking hands with the CEO of a Swedish real estate group, the last of a very long line of investors that had come to meet him at Marco Reoux's mansion, Asami Ryuichi watched as the participants departed the conference room, one by one.

"All's well that ends well," he heard the man behind those meetings say, when there were only the two of them in the office.

The Italian leader was a man of many faces, and in the past eight hours, Asami had seen most of them.

He had seen the loving husband bid his farewells to his wife and kids before joining him for a drive around town, and not much later, the coldness of the Mafia boss that skinned five subordinates alive for tampering with his drug supply.

Not many hours later, the same green eyes that had shown the kindness of a father and the cruelty of a killer had a sharp, determined glint as he sat with other CEOs to discuss partnerships in Japan, the charming Mediterranean smile enticing men and women alike as he presented numbers, statistics and trends with the knowledge of a man who had bothered to invest time and energy in a Master in Finance and a PhD in Political Science from the University of Bologna.

A man of family, a man of business, a man of crime.

As he turned around with a cigar between his lips, loosening the tie around his neck, his deep emerald eyes were once again shining with intent.

This time, though, it had nothing to do with death, or money, or love.

"I didn't think it would be possible for you to become even more attractive than you were when you were in your twenties, Ryuichi," he said, grabbing a bottle of absinthe as he closed the distance between them. "But there is no limit to you, is there?"

Asami took the glass being offered to him even though he didn't feel like drinking, his gaze casually averted to the window as the other man got even closer, stopping a mere inch behind him.

"The smartest. The richest. The most handsome man in Japan. A man of superlatives," he heard the smooth voice whisper in his ear, before fingertips dug into his hip. "Impressive."

The sound of laughter coming from the room above them made Asami shift his eyes to the ceiling.

"It's not like you to let the party begin without your presence," he whispered in response.

"Why, are you interested in joining the others?"

"Aren't you?"

"Me? No..." Marco chuckled, before taking a step forward to stand in front of him.

The predatory glint in his eyes was just one of the signs that he was planning to take no prisoners. Everything else about him transpired self-confidence, power, sex - from the custom-made suit clinging snugly to a body that did not seem to belong to a man well over his sixty years of age, to the devious smile curling the corners of his mouth.

"I can take part in orgies any day, or every day if I want. But you... _you_ are a rare treat," he continued, pressing a button behind his desk. "I figured we could have a little celebration of our own."

He already knew what he would see much before one of the walls started sliding to the side.

"What do you say?" Asami heard the other man ask, as he picked a stainless steel collar from a wall covered by all kinds of harnesses and ropes.

"Of course," he replied, willing the pulse in his neck to subside as the metal touched his skin and a solid, massive bulge pressed against his backside.

And so _, it began._

"What is that?" the other man asked, after he slipped one of his hands into the pocket of his pants and retrieved a small leather case.

"More fun," Asami replied, opening the case to reveal ten vials filled with cocaine. "Join me?"

"It's a lot of fun you have there."

"As you said, it is a rare occasion."

When the man behind him took a step back, Asami felt one of his eyes twitch.

"Fun, you say," Marco scoffed. "I know what you are trying to do."

"Which is..."

"You're testing me."

When golden eyes locked with green, both men let a contemptuous smirk curl the corners of their mouths.

"But that is a dangerous game, you know. I have been doing cocaine since I was 15," the man went on. "Last time I checked you didn't do drugs."

In silence, Asami merely held the stare.

"Whatever dosage we are talking about, chances are you will go down much faster than me."

"I might," Asami finally replied, just to see the green eyes glow with some sort of deranged excitement as he popped one of the vials open. "But there is just one way to find out."

When he led the thin tube to one of his nostrils and inhaled, he had to avert his gaze to the floor to hide the tears that had instantly pooled at the corners of his eyes.

It was as if a burning knife had just been shoved up his nose all the way to his brain.

"Burns, doesn't it?"

When he finally raised his eyes to the other man's disdainful face, he was certain his expression was far from amiable.

"Don't give me that look, you know it only turns me on even more," he heard Marco reply through gritted teeth as he too picked up a vial, the vein on his forehead swelling slightly as he inhaled.

After a quick sniffle, he rubbed the tip of his nose and gracefully move towards an armchair.

"Fine, I'll indulge you, then," the man said, taking a seat as he chuckled quietly.

When he tilted his chin upwards, though, there was no humor in his eyes.

_"Undress."_

++++

When Akihito turned around, he saw little more than a shadow moving towards him.

"Hey, gorgeous," he heard a male voice say. "You lost?"

_Oh, hell no._

Conversations that started with 'hey, gorgeous' didn't normally end well either.

"No, I know exactly where I'm going," the photographer replied, picking up his pace as he spoke.

Judging by the sounds of more branches cracking, the man behind him had started walking faster too.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure," Akihito whispered in response, before setting off on a run.

It was his first time running after being in a hospital for over a month.

Perhaps the combination of fatigue, overheating and cortical blindness was too much for him to handle, and as fast as a lightning bolt, his vision deteriorated to the point of him seeing nothing but a gray, undulated gap in front of him.

His feet suddenly felt very heavy and his heart soon joined the mutiny by beating irregularly and weakly, the combination of all mishaps resulting in him faceplanting after tripping on a rock.

And just because what was bad could always get worse, he felt his pursuer quickly catch up, an unknown hand reaching for his arm and making his blood freeze.

"Gee, kid, are you hurt?"

The words, though, did not register on his brain. The only thing that did was that he was about to get hurt, _again,_ and he needed to get away.

When his fingers touched the slimy surface of a rock, he didn't think twice.

"Son of a bitch!" the man exclaimed after a pained howl, blood dripping from a cut in his forehead where the rock had hit him.

When he got up, the ground under his feet was swaying back and forth, bending and rising as if it was some sort of melted plastic. It made it difficult to walk in a straight line, and he was already running out of breath when the weight of his backpack made him remember he still had resources to use.

"Time to find out how this thing works," he whispered, picking up the weapon that had been planted in his backpack and turning around with a renewed wave of determination.

The man, however, was gone.

When he turned around once again to continue his journey, though, the blurry shape of the stranger materialised in front of him.

Before he knew, he had already pulled the trigger, the distinct sound of an electric _zap_ cutting through the air and making his pursuer fall flat on his back.

"Fuck, is this a taser?" he asked, looking at the weapon in his hand without really seeing it. "It's a taser, shit, I just tasered somebody."

It was not until many minutes later that he finally allowed his body to collapse at the feet of what looked like a grey brick wall.

Looking up, he saw the same hazy shape he had seen while he was still in the car.

"The ruins of the church," he panted.

Struggling to remain conscious, Akihito wrapped his hands around his own neck, frowning at the feeling that there was something strangling him, or trying very hard to.

_He had to get himself together._

‘It was just a test,’ he said mentally, willing his heart to stop racing. _‘It's just a test.’_

++++

It was very hard to breathe.

Part of it had to do with the fact that the choker he was wearing had some sort of spikes that dug deeper into his skin every time the other man tightened his grip around his neck. He knew, though, that his difficulty breathing and increasingly quick pulse were signs of something else.

It wouldn't take much longer for him to overdose.

"You will end up killing yourself," he heard the other man whisper as his trembling fingers opened the fifth vial and led it to his nose.

Without answering, he covered one of his nostrils and drew in a long breath, trying to control the symptoms of the inevitable.

Perhaps he had miscalculated that situation on many different levels, and the realisation that he would either pass out or die at another man's feet, naked, with a collar around his neck and his body covered in sweat, spit and blood, was an impossibly debasing nightmare.

"I told you," he heard Marco continue, as he struggled to keep his eyes open and his mind focused. "You can't b-beat me."

The slight stutter made Asami raise his eyes from the floor, and within seconds he felt like he was floating, his chest swelling as relief washed over him.

There was a thick, steady streak of blood coming out of the man's nose.

"Or maybe..." he whispered, after touching his upper lip with a frown. "...you can..."

Asami watched as his body tensed and twitched before he collapsed next to him.

"Is this...how it ends?" Marco asked, his voice throaty and low.

"Yes," Asami replied, using whatever was left of his strength to prevent his own body from following the irresistible pull of the ground under his knees. "I need this to be over."

His words elicited a quiet chuckle that slowly escalated into a loud, high-pitched cackle.

"Ah, Ryuichi..." Marco panted, his chest still heaving up and down as he laughed. "I always knew you would be my downfall."

The cold fingertips that touched his thigh were accompanied by the melancholic gaze of a man who seemed to be revisiting all kinds of memories as he stared at him, looking at some random part of his body without actually seeing it.

"My beautiful monster..." he whispered, and when their eyes met one last time, there was no anger or resentment.

Yes, they were both monsters, the two of them.

They were two chapters of the same story, and the shared narrative had never been a problem, not until now.

 _Now,_ it was time to break free.

"The drawer," Marco whispered, turning his head to look at his desk as the his ice-cold fingers slid to the ground. "Open the drawer, the top one."

When he was finally able to bring himself to a standing position, the entire room seemed to be swaying, but he managed to reach the desk and do as he was told.

His brain was too busy tripping for him to fully understand the pile of documents he was looking at, but the fact his name was on them had to mean something.

"You earned your keep, Ryuichi," the other man explained, without actually explaining anything. "Well done, _bello..._ "

A sharp pain in the middle of his chest, though, made him drop the papers and grab the edge of the desk for support, his unfocused eyes darting to the window.

He had to send Kirishima some kind of sign, but the only part that got close enough to the balcony was his forehead, as he tripped on his own feet and hit his head clumsily on the glass panels before falling to the ground.

++++

The Reoux Mansion was one of the most luxurious, resort-like places Kirishima Kei had been to over the years, and one of the most foreboding as well.

Perhaps it was because of the Tuscan cypress trees doting the patio and the impressionist panels above the pool that made him feel like he was trapped inside a Van Gogh's painting, but the truth was that he could never feel at ease in that house, not even when the host threw a special dinner to security employees so that they could still keep an eye on their bosses while having a moment of relent themselves.

Across from him, Suoh looked slightly less concerned as he cut his perfectly cooked wagyu beef, his eyes every now and then darting to the one window of the one room everyone was watching.

It had only been a few minutes since his boss and the owner of the house had locked themselves in the conference room, and even though Kirishima had no reason to expect a deadly fallout, the fact his boss had called his private physician to ask about drugs was a bit of a red flag.

"What's on your mind?" Suoh asked.

"Just thinking about what Kimura-sensei said when he called earlier today."

"You think he's up to something?"

"He is always up to something..." the secretary replied, his eyes once again shifting to the window three floors above. "Anyway, have you been able to talk to Shinada?" he asked. "It's been almost ten hours, he was supposed to have called already."

"He is not answering the phone," the bodyguard answered, before taking a sip from his glass of water. "Neither is Li Jiao. Something is off."

Kirishima frowned.

Something _was_ off, and the fact that at that moment there was literally no way of reaching the island other than going there personally only made things worse.

"If twelve hours go by," he said, completely ignoring his own meal as his eyes dropped to the screen of his phone so that he could dismiss yet another voicemail message from Shinada's phone, "send one of our men in Tokyo to Tsumino to investigate."

"It's been arranged already, the jet takes off at seven local time."

"Excellent."

After a long sigh, he was finally ready to take the first spoonful of his tortellini soup, his eyes still fixated in the window of the room where his boss was.

It was just a second, _just one movement_ to disrupt the light coming from the shades, but it was enough to make him squint and see a distinctive smudge of blood on one of the window panels.

"Suoh."

"What?"

"Upstairs. _Run,_ " he said, wheeling himself towards the entrance of the house after the bodyguard got to his feet with a jump. "Something happened."

++++

By the time he finally reached the elusive pineapple trail, he could barely feel his feet.

As a matter of fact, his soul seemed to have departed from his body, and he was positive the only bit of energy propelling him forward came from the sheer power of stubbornness.

 _He would get to that damn house_ , no matter what.

His dry tongue felt like a nail file inside his mouth, and although he had initially planned to skip the island's only dance club entirely and just keep moving forward, the truth was that his body wouldn't hold out much longer without water.

It had been bad enough to climb staircases and drag his body over gates and trees with an empty stomach, but dehydration would end up taking him down for good.

After an unhappy sigh, he pushed the club's door open, just to be greeted with a dozen stares the moment he walked in.

He ignored all of them, as well as the voices coming from the small karaoke stage and their confusing interaction with the other song being played at the piano on the other side of the dance floor.

The place was pure chaos, but he couldn't possibly care less.

"Can I have a glass of water, please?" he asked, getting closer to the bar and addressing a long-haired man whose arms seemed to be covered in tattoos.

When the man turned to look at him, the expression on his face was a blur, but Akihito couldn't help but have yet another bad feeling.

What came next? Getting drugged and abused by a bunch of crazy pervs?

"Drink it," he said, as soon as the bartender placed a glass of water in front of him.

"Why, I--"

"Drink it," the photographer repeated. "I need to know it's safe."

The man wrinkled his forehead in an expression of confusion, but Akihito was having not none of it.

On any other day, he would have thought twice about passing to the other side of the bar without permission, just to open the tap and splash water on his face, drinking as much of it as he could as the people around him gasped in surprise.

"Hey you can't--"

He chose to ignore the bartender, and emptied a bottle of vodka on the sink before refilling it with water and heading to the exit.

He was about to open the door and leave when a man who was far too drunk for his own sake stopped in front of him.

"What the fuck you think you're doing, you little _faggot?_ "

_Little faggot._

Akihito let out a mirthless chuckle.

He had thought it would just be a camping thing.

Instead, he had been been confronted by Asami's potential pregnant affair, pursued by a maniac and now called names by a drunk.

He had had _enough._

"You guys must be having a lot of fun with this, huh?" he asked, opening his arms wide and looking around before turning to face the man again and punching him so hard on the chin that all his knuckles snapped out of place.

The stranger landed on top of the piano, and the sound of too many keys being pressed at the same time created a moment of eerie, dangerous silence in the precinct.

"Ikeda, _no_ ," he heard the bartender behind him say.

From the corner of his eye, he could see that the shadow quickly moving towards him had stopped on his tracks.

"What you all looking at?" the bartender's voice was louder this time. "Just get on with it, nothing to see here."

In a matter of seconds, the music restarted, the brief moment of tension between him and the man now sprawled on the floor long forgotten.

"Look, I'm sorry," the bartender said, before he had the chance to open the door and leave. "Morishita there is the village's buffoon," he went on, tilting his head towards the man he had just punched, "but he's gone a bit... bitter after Asami Ryuichi knocked him out cold when he visited a couple of months ago."

"What happened?"

"He needed a gun. Asami," the long-haired man went on. "So he picked a house... randomly, I believe... and next thing he knows, Morishita wakes up some time later with a few teeth missing. And his gun is gone, obviously. His yakuza pride took a hit," he chuckled. "Heh. And now that you knocked him out too, he might never recover.

"He was three sheets to the wind already," Akihito whispered in response, sitting on a small stool nearby so that he could get a moment of rest. "I didn't punch him that hard."

"Oh, you punched him hard enough, kid."

"Are you all yakuza?" Akihito asked, his tired eyes scanning the club and seeing nothing but a bunch of diffuse, colourful smudges.

"Most of us, yeah," the bartender answered. "Former yakuza, actually. No longer in active duty."

"How do you know who I am?" the photographer asked. "Did she tell you?

"Majima-sama?"

Akihito nodded a silent yes.

"She did," the man replied. "She said you have VIP status."

A disdainful scoff escaped his chapped lips.

"Wow, if that is how she treats her VIPs, I am dying to know what she does to her enemies..."

"If only they were alive to tell you..." the bartender responded, with a chuckle that was much more enthusiastic. "Not saying that she, you know... but her husband...he was a tough man."

"Yeah, I heard about it."

After another moment of silence, he noticed the other man moving to grab something behind him.

"Here, you must be starving," he said, placing a dish on one of his hands. "Just out of the grill, eat away."

He intended to politely decline, but his stomach rumbled so loudly and his mouth watered so fast when the smell of takoyaki reached his nostrils, that he was forced to capitulate.

"Fuck it, poison me if you want," he whispered to himself, stuffing one of the dumplings in his mouth without hesitation.

The delicate flavour of the batter and the octopus felt so good on his tongue that he let out the first genuine smile since getting off the jet hours prior.

"Man, I love these things..." he muttered.

"I can see that."

"So good..."

When he was done devouring the treat, his battle against sleep became more intense than ever. He had no idea what time it was, but sleeping in a bar crawling with a yakuza that might or might not have a reason to detest Asami Ryuichi did not sound like a good idea.

"I should get going," he said. "Can you tell me how to get to the house?"

"Just follow the pineapple trail," the bartender replied, passing him the backpack he had left behind the bar.

"Oh. Yeah, right," Akihito whispered in response. "Thanks."

"Takaba-san?"

He had already opened the door, but the man's voice made him turn around one last time.

"Welcome to Tsumino."

++++

"Not a word of this to Akihito, _ever._ "

That was the first thing he said when a very pissed-off Kirishima Kei was finally allowed to enter his hospital room.

"And what in heaven's name would I tell him?" the secretary replied, taking off his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief, eyebrows raised to feign indifference although there was some evident strain in his voice. "That one of your appointments in Florence included having sex with one of Europe's most powerful men in exchange for getting back the investors that departed from Japan after the chaos of one month ago, but that you decided to kill him instead, and to make sure you would not stir another war you overdosed as well to make it look accidental, and that this brilliant plan of yours ended up with you being clinically dead for three minutes?"

He watched as the secretary put the glasses back on after a long, deep breath.

"Sure," he finally replied. "My lips are sealed."

"Good."

" _Why on earth_ didn't you tell me?" Kirishima snarled in response.

"You would have tried to stop me."

"Yes, I would. Because it was a dumb plan, and together we would have come up with something better."

"Like what?"

After a careless shrug, his first assistant spoke again.

"Changing his prescriptions?" he said. "Let him have a heart attack in front of his men, bring in one of our doctors to make sure he would not be saved?"

A small smirk curled the corners of Asami's lips.

He was very fond of Kirishima's resourcefulness, but that would have been one occasion in which that alone would have not been enough.

"That wouldn't have worked."

"Your plan was a ridiculous gamble," the secretary hissed back.

"Gambling is part of the game," he calmly replied. "Did his men watch the tape?"

"What tape?"

"There was a surveillance camera in his office."

"Ah, _that,_ " the secretary whispered. "So you knew? That you were being filmed?"

Asami nodded in silence.

"Marco's paranoia was legendary," he then replied. "It was the only way. I mean, the only way to do it so that he would be the one to actually cause his own death."

"But at what price?" he heard Kirishima ask, still looking thoroughly annoyed despite his explanation. "True, at the end of the day, no investigation will be carried out and the document you were holding shows that Reoux did leave you most of his shares in a Germany's biggest automotive company, so I can only assume you parted in good terms, but... an overdose?" he asked, wincing. "That was reckless."

If anything, he needed to cut Kirishima some slack: it must have been an utterly unpleasant experience to handle his unexpected, albeit temporary, demise.

"Suoh told me you nearly passed out when the doctor talked to you," he said, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth as his eyes dropped to the IV attached to his arm. "To think that I hired you for your nerves of steel…"

"Well, in my defence, her first words were, 'he didn't make it'," Kirishima recalled, and he had to stifle a sadistic chuckle as the secretary's eyes once again went wide. "And at that moment, all I could think of was... I don't want to be the one to tell Takaba."

The change in tone made the smirk on Asami's lips disappear.

"Or Maya," the secretary whispered. "Or to go to Sion, and..."

The air seemed to be coming out of Kirishima's mouth in small, ragged puffs, and the eyes behind the glasses were bleak and distant.

"I felt sick just thinking of it," he went on. "It was just one second, but in that second..." he paused, trying to regain some of his composure by squaring his shoulders and pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "I know that I am bound by contract not to die before you, but..."

He watched as the secretary let out a faint, brief chuckle before speaking again.

"And then it was gone and I was already mentally making a list of people I should invite to your funeral and how many black tulips I would have to order," he concluded, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Your organisational instincts kicked in."

"They did, as usual," Kirishima replied, after clearing his throat. "So next time you plan to do something suicidal, please let me know in advance so that can prepare properly, will you?"

Asami replied with a mindless nod.

At that point, his thoughts were somewhere else.

"Did Takaba call?" he asked.

"No," he heard his secretary reply. "Neither did Shinada, but Suoh has already assembled a team to go to the island if we don't hear from them in an hour or so."

_Something had happened._

The idea that Akihito could be in danger in a place so far from where he was at that moment made an undesired lump obstruct his throat.

He had come so close to dying that night, and only now did he realise how many things he would be missing out on if he had really passed - mainly, his life with Takaba Akihito.

"Fine," he said, finally noticing that Kirishima was waiting for his response to excuse himself out of the room. "Good night, Kei."

"Good night, sir."

When the secretary left the room, his eyes once again drifted to the phone resting on his bedside table. He wasted no time calling the counsellor's number once again, and he had no plans of going to sleep before listening to the photographer's voice, even if that meant calling another one hundred times if he needed to.

++++

When he opened his eyes, Akihito was soaking in a bathtub, with Li Jiao pressing a warm cloth to his forehead.

"Hi there," she whispered.

His gaze shifted from her face to the tub, and from there to the glass panel behind it.

It was night already.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You made it to the house."

"I did?"

"Yes," she replied quietly. "And then you passed out at the gate."

"Oh..."

That explained why he couldn't actually remember how and when he had gotten to the bathtub in the first place.

A tingle on his hand made his eyes drop to the bandage that had been placed around his knuckles, but that didn't seem to be the only place where he had hurt himself. He was certain he had scraped both knees at some point, and there were cuts in his arms and legs that stung as well.

"Akihito, I'm so sorry..."

He had just opened his mouth to respond when three quiet knocks made the two of them look at the door.

"Li," he heard the counsellor say. "Can you give us a moment?"

After her first assistant had left the bathroom, Majima Makoto took her place at the small bench near the bathtub.

"Asami didn't capture all of the Omi officers that were supporting the Sengoku family," she said, and he found himself frowning.

That was not how he had imagined that conversation would begin.

"One of them is still on the loose, and there are rumours he joined forces with the Korean mafia."

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"I have my sources," the counsellor replied. "Chances are they will go after Liu Fei Long and Asami at some point, and after you, by default."

He was not sure what she expected him to say.

His body ached and his mind was extremely tired.

"Li and Wei were very upset that I left you in the jungle while y--"

"You sent someone to rape me," he whispered, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

There was just so much a man could take, after all, and if in the beginning he was intrigued by the woman's attempts to break him, at that point he saw them as nothing but unnecessary cruelty.

"I didn't. I sent someone to _follow_ you," Makoto explained. "And you hit him with a rock and tasered him, which somehow was a good way to go about it since you did not know his intentions," she said. "It's not mentally healthy to always assume the worst, but in some cases it can save your life."

He was too tired to debate, so he remained silent as the woman went on.

"Also, there is no baby. That woman you met is not the real Kaoru."

"So there is a _real one_?" he asked.

"Yes. She's a escort, but Asami Ryuichi is not her boss," she explained. "Not directly, at least. She works for Sachi. Wei Shen is pretty mad that I got him involved in this, but..."

"You had to test me," Akihito whispered.

"What did you think I was testing you for?"

"I don't know, and I don't really think I care."

He inhaled deeply, ignoring the throbbing of his injuries and trying to find a silver lining to everything he had gone through.

_He saw none._

"Akihito, you have already been through so much," the counsellor continued, her fingertips brushing slightly against his arm. "Do you want to go home?"

_"What?"_

"You asked me how I made it, and I showed you the first part of it," she replied. "The battles waiting for you might have to be fought with your fists but they can only be won with _this_."

And then, her fingers moved to the side of his head.

"Mental strength," she explained. "People will keep showing up unexpectedly, and some of them will claim they know things that you don't."

Oh, that he knew.

In the three years living with Asami, it had been quite the parade of people showing up out of nowhere, most of them claiming to know the man much better than he did.

"Some of them will be bluffing..." the counsellor went on. "Others won't."

_What kind of secrets did Asami keep from him?_

"And you won't always be able to tell the difference."

He felt defeated, most likely because the day had not gone as he had thought it would go, and because all of a sudden he missed his friends, his family, Asami.

He was feeling alone.

When the woman's arms wrapped around his shoulders, he accepted the gesture with no little amount of gratitude.

"If you want to come back some other time, when you're feeling stro--"

"No," he interrupted. "You're right. The problems out there won't wait until I get better."

He missed his friends, his family and Asami, but he knew _he had to stay._

His train of thought was interrupted when the woman placed the same satellite phone he had used earlier that day onto one of his hands.

"What?"

"It's Asami-san," she said. "He has been calling you nonstop since the moment you arrived at this island."

++++

_"Hi."_

Many miles away from Tsumino, Asami Ryuichi frowned.

That was not Akihito's typical 'hi'.

"Hi," he responded. "What happened?"

_"What do you mean?"_

"Neither you or Shinada picked the phone earlier. I tried to call multiple times."

_"I don't know about Shinada but I…”_

There was a pause, and Asami brought the phone even closer to his ear when the photographer chuckled quietly.

_"I was in the jungle."_

"In the _jungle_?" he asked, his eyebrows shooting up. "Doing what?"

_"Trying to get to the house."_

Asami felt his nostrils flare.

Shinada and the counsellor would have a lot of explaining to do as soon as that call was over.

 _"But I'm fine,"_ he heard Akihito continue. _"Asami, I'm fine."_

"You don't sound fine."

"You don't sound fine either."

The golden eyes dropped to the floor for a moment. As far as he could tell, there was nothing unusual in his voice, nothing that would show unrest.

Too bad that Takaba Akihito knew him too well.

 _"What happened to you?"_ the photographer asked.

"Nothing," he replied, after drawing in a long, deep breath. "Akihito..."

_"Hmm?"_

"I can have one of my men pick you up in Tsumino before the sun rises," he whispered. "I can't go to you but you can come to me. If anything happened to you--"

 _"I want to be with you,"_ Akihito interrupted. _"I really do."_

"Ok. I'll get the jet r--"

_"No, Asami, wait."_

Another moment of silence and all he could hear was the sound of Akihito's breathing.

It was like music to his ears.

 _"That's why I have to stay,"_ he whispered. _"I need to stay. I need to get stronger,"_ he explained. _"Do you understand?"_

There was nothing that he craved more than having the photographer in his arms, especially after everything that had happened that day. It was almost as if he had managed to sink even deeper into the shadows, and needed the comfort of Akihito's presence to be reminded of what it was like to feel human again.

But that was what _he_ needed.

What _Akihito_ needed was a different story.

"Yes. I understand," he finally replied, his voice no louder than a whisper. "Can you turn on the camera?"

_"What camera?"_

"There is a small button in the back of the phone you're using. Just press it."

_"Ok."_

He put the call on speaker, and waited anxiously for the photographer's face to show up in his screen.

_"Can you see me?"_

"Yes."

A smile curled the corners of his mouth when the image of an obviously exhausted Takaba Akihito finally appeared on his phone. His eyes, though, still had that fierce, unbreakable glow that always made his heart race.

_"I wish I could see you too..."_

"But you _can_ see me," Asami replied, as the hazel orbs darted back and forth, clearly not seeing much in the small screen of the satellite phone he was holding. "Just close your eyes, and _remember._ "

The smile that curved the photographer's lips when his eyelids fluttered closed was probably the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen, and it made him want to crawl into the small LED display so that he could kiss that mouth until their lips went numb.

With a certain amount of sadness, he pondered that it was a shame that the other man was probably too tired to engage in a round of phone sex, because he would be totally down to it.

"Now tell me again what you were doing in the jungle?" he asked instead, after a long, deep sigh.

His urges would have to wait.

 


	61. The Odyssey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami continues his world tour with the company of new scars and a book, boys get some action to varied results, prosecutor Kuroda shows concern for a family member and in Osaka, sapphire meets amber over a cup of coffee.
> 
> In the meantime, Takaba Akihito picks mushrooms in Tsumino...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the hiatus! I am done with my thesis now so expect updates to flow much faster and often! ^_^
> 
> Just a quick note: there are now two major fronts that these final chapters will address. One is obviously Asami and Akihito and their private affairs, the other will involve Fei Long, Maya and pretty much everyone else, lol. They both converge at the end, so have faith in me if things get a little… strange. XD
> 
> Also, [images for Mine’s tattoo and other aspects of this chapter can be seen here](http://komakitigerdrop.tumblr.com/post/161523094604/grace-period-is-over-chapter-61), in case you are curious.

She had avoided that moment for as long as she could, but now there was nowhere to run.

That was her last day in Tokyo.

Standing in front of the familiar door, she fumbled in her pockets for the keys, remembering all the mistakes she had made when on the other side of the door.

_Things could have been so, so different._

There was no point now, just like how there was no point looking for keys that she had clearly left at her hotel room in Shinjuku. Perhaps she had already returned them to Kou, she didn't even remember.

She knocked on the door once, then twice, and waited until the designer showed up.

When he did, he was slightly out of breath, as if running to the door had been a marathon in itself.

"Hi," he panted, a confused smile curling the corners of his lips.

"Hi."

"I was beginning to think you’d never show up."

She pursed her lips and let her eyes drop to the floor.

Those had been some strange weeks.

"It’s been a while," he continued, moving to the side so that she could walk in.

"Yeah... It’s my stepfather’s funeral today."

"I know."

The casual reply made a frown wrinkle her forehead. The only people who were aware of her arrangements were Mine and her father; since Akihito had never even met her stepfather, there would be no point in letting him in on the details.

"Who told you?" she asked.

The minor blush creeping up Kou's cheeks made her suspect she would not like the answer.

"Uh... Your father texted me."

"My father? What for?"

"He just wanted me to check on you," the designer replied. "To see if you were okay."

She shook her head, a smirk of disbelief curling the corners of her mouth. So the old man had agreed not to have any of his men track her down, but got Kou to do the job for him?

_Talk about a trade off._

"I’m fine," she replied, sitting on the couch and watching the designer pull a chair to sit in front of her. "You can include that in your report, when he calls back."

"It's not--"

She hoped Kou was going to say that he was not reporting to Asami Ryuichi - because that would be ridiculous - but instead, he cut himself short and shook his head, squaring his shoulders as he inhaled deeply.

Only then did she notice he was wearing black a suit.

She did not remember seeing him wearing a suit, ever.

"Are you going to a party or something?" she asked.

"No, I..." he replied, letting his eyes drop to the ground as he spoke. "I was going to your stepfather's funeral."

Her gaze then traveled to the small table in the middle of the room just to find a beautifully handcrafted envelope near a beaded bracelet.

"Oh, Kou, you don't... You didn't need to..." she whispered. "I... It's okay, you don't have to go."

She didn't know why the idea of Kou attending the funeral was so scary. She had envisioned it as a quick, private goodbye; everyone that used to work with her stepfather had already come to the wake so she was ready to say her final prayers and just leave.

If Kou went with her, though, she was sure her resolve to _just disappear_ would falter.

It was already faltering, as it was.

"It's going to be a very small thing, I--"

"It's okay," he interrupted, faking a smile that was doing a very poor job of hiding his disappointment. "I won't go if you don't want me to."

"Okay."

"Okay."

She inhaled deeply.

Instead of chatting with her ex-boyfriend, she should be packing, getting ready to leave. Yet, it was almost as if she was glued to her seat, her feet two blocks of concrete preventing her from moving.

"How are you... are you okay?" she finally asked, wiping her palms nervously on her thighs. "I mean... the injuries, the... the... that whole thing, how are you coping?"

"I'm fine."

The words came out of his mouth mechanically, as if he was used to saying them many times, to many different people.

She knew it was not true.

He was not fine, obviously, none of them were. Akihito had gone nearly blind, Kou still had one of his arms in a sling and who knew how many other scars, and she...

She had no right to demand an honest answer, though, not when she herself had avoided the topic for so long.

"Did he tell you?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Asami. Did he tell you what happened to me?"

"No. And I didn’t ask," Kou replied quietly. "I was hoping you would tell me."

She felt the tears pooling in her eyes when he reached out to touch her hand.

"They beat me up," she whispered.

"Was that all?"

"Yeah."

"Maya..."

Her voice had gotten lost somewhere between her throat and her mouth, and her eyes shifted back to Kou's face as if they were desperate to see herself through his eyes one last time.

He had always looked at her as if she was special, as if she mattered, but how would he look at her after she told him what had happened? What they had done, what she had done?

"Okay, if you don’t want to tell me what happened, I won’t-"

"I was raped, Kou," she blurted out. "Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

It was her turn to feel as if she had just run a marathon. Even though she had barely moved, she felt exhausted, her shoulders crushed by the weight of shame and resentment, for everything that had happened because of her and in spite of her.

"Sengoku raped me, and I killed him," she hissed through gritted teeth, angry tears running down her face. "And I take two, three showers a day and I still feel dirty. I still see his face. The hideous, disgusting face of that son of a bitch."

She only noticed she was screaming when Kou stood up and attempted to wrap his arms around her.

 _No._ She would have none of that, she didn't need his pity. She didn't need to look at his face and see the disgust, the disappointment, the fear.

She just needed to go.

"Anyway, I just came here because I need to pack some things…" she said, quickly walking towards her old bedroom as she wiped her tears on the sleeve of her jacket.

Not even five minutes had gone by by the time she reappeared in the living room dragging a carry-on suitcase.

"Where are you going?" she heard Kou ask quietly, his voice nasal and hoarse.

"Away."

"Will you come back?"

"I don’t know."

Her hand was already on the doorknob when she turned around to look at him one last time.

Just as she had imagined, he was the very image of defeat. His shoulders were low, his eyes moist and reddish. The black suit only made him look bleaker, and the black tie hanging limply from his neck was like a flag propped at the top of a sinking ship.

"I’m sorry, Kou," she whispered, opening the door and disappearing behind it as she tried not to think of how simple it would be to _just stay._

Just stay and fix things, fix things _together._ It was so simple.

The problem was that the simple things, sometimes, were the hardest ones to do.

Outside, Mine was waiting for her next to the car they had rented to get to Osaka, where her stepfather's funeral would take place and where they would eventually stay for who knows how much longer.

The bodyguard's stoic nature meant he asked no questions as he passed her a box of tissues as soon as they entered the car, his fingers deftly connecting an MP3 player to the dashboard after typing their destination on the gps.

When a catchy song by Pharrell Williams started playing quietly inside the compact cyan K-car, the lyrics expressing the very opposite of what she was feeling at that moment, she had to ponder that either her bodyguard knew a lot about human emotions, or he had the emotional intelligence of a rock.

She should give Mine a break, though.

After all, it was his level-headedness that would ensure she remained functional for the remainder of the day. He was the one to stop at a convenience store along the way to grab her a bowl of oden as they headed to the temple, the only food she would bother to eat in the hours to come.

He was also the only other person praying during the ceremony, and the first one to light a stick of incense to her stepfather when all things were said and done.

It was also him that spotted a blond man in a black suit walking towards her on their way out when she was already too tired to care, his firm steps showing he was more than ready to make sure she remained in the state she had set herself out to be: alone.

"Excuse me, sir, but this funeral service is for family only," he said.

"Do you know w--" she heard the stranger reply, his voice loaded with some sort of strange amusement. "Wait. You work for Asami, don't you?"

She saw Mine open his mouth to reply, but her answer was faster.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked.

When the blond man turned to look at her, she saw the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen pierce through hers with a mixture of curiosity and mischief.

Since neither feeling seemed appropriate in a funeral, she couldn't help but be bothered by the man's presence despite his polite demeanour as he introduced himself.

"Mikhail," Maya heard him reply, bowing slightly with his Fedora hat pressed against his chest. "I was a friend of your stepfather, can we talk?"

"If you make it quick, yes."

Honestly, she did not remember sending out invitations to any friends, so whatever it was the man wanted to tell her, he'd better be fast.

"In private?" he asked.

A frown wrinkled her forehead as she studied the man from head to toe.

He had trouble written all over him.

Understandably, when she turned to look at Mine, he had both eyebrows up as he shook his head in a very discreet and yet very obvious 'no'.

"Sure," she replied.

It was not as if her day could get that much worse, anyway.

++++

It had been little more than four hours since Asami Ryuichi had left the hospital in Florence, and they were already back in the jet.

In less than two hours, they would be landing in Paris, and from there his schedule showed appointments in Frankfurt, Vienna, Prague, Madrid and London. All of that within a week, before they headed to Dubai, Tehran, New York, and then back to Asia... When his eyes found the never ending list of cities in the last leg of that business trip, Suoh pinched the bridge of his nose and put his phone away after a long sigh.

Most of the times, travelling was a part of his job that never bothered him.

That world tour, however, felt different.

It could be because his boss had almost overdosed the night before, a first in his many years of service. It could be because the mother of his child was miles away, in an island with military status in regards to communication networks. It could be because Kirishima was now investigating the suspicious interest of an obscure triad in their boss's business, meaning that even though one war was over, another one might be on its way.

He was used to that kind of lifestyle, but something just felt odd.

_10:45_

The clock above the table in the jet's dining room reminded him he had no time to waste.

He grabbed his bottle of water, his training gear, and headed to the main suite.

_"...heaven has laid sorrows upon me of yet another kind; for the chiefs from all our islands, Dulichium, Same, and the woodland island of Zacynthu as also all the principal men of Ithaca itself, are eating up my house..."_

Suoh narrowed his eyes. At first, he thought his boss was talking to someone, but he doubted any of his business contacts would involve any of those names.

_"...under the pretext of paying their court to my mother, who will neither point blank say that she will not marry, nor yet bring matters to an end..."_

Was he reading the Odyssey?

_Aloud?_

His eyebrows shot up, but he chose to save judgment for later.

After two quick knocks on the door, he cleared his throat and announced his presence.

"Sir?"

_"Come in."_

Sitting on the edge of the bed, a barefoot and shirtless Asami Ryuichi was holding a book in one hand and his phone in the other, his hair falling in front of his eyes. That, combined with the grey sweatpants he normally slept on and the morning wood that would be visible from two miles away, showed that his boss had probably just woken up, and that they were behind schedule already.

"Do you need assistance with your bandages, sir?" he asked, noticing that the white patches of gauze around the man's neck and covering one of his nipples still hadn't been changed.

"No, I'll take care of them in a minute."

"What time would you like our training to start?"

"I won't be training today," he heard his boss reply, without raising his eyes from the book. "I'll just go for a swim when we get to the hotel, just get me some waterproof dressings."

"Understood, sir."

After a respectful bow, Suoh excused himself and closed the door behind him with a frown.

Using classic literature to deal with an erection, that was also a first.

 _"So they are making havoc of my estate, and before long will do so also with myself..."_ the baritone voice continued, firm and solemn.

Just when he thought that that trip couldn't get any stranger.

++++

"I have to do _what_?" Takaba Akihito asked for the third time, just to make sure he had heard it right.

"Pick mushrooms," he heard Wei Shen reply, looking deeply unaffected.

"Pick mushrooms?"

"Yeah."

"Is that how you expect me to become a skilled fighter?" he asked, looking down at the small basket that had just been shoved into his hands. "By picking mushrooms?"

"Mushroom hunting is more physically and mentally demanding than you imagine."

Akihito tilted his head to the side, a smile of disbelief curving his lips.

 _'Physically and mentally demanding'_? That guy was surely trying to pull his leg.

"Look, here is the thing," Akihito replied, after a long, disheartened sigh. "Even if it were, which I doubt, I can't see well enough to find mushrooms in the middle of the jungle," he said, shrugging. "Everything just looks the same to me."

"You are focusing too much on what you can't do."

The female voice behind him made him jump.

"Think, instead, about what you _can_ do," the counsellor continued. "Don't limit yourself. Your world is not only your eyes."

Akihito blinked slowly, before his gaze shifted from the small basket to the tall Chinese man by his side, and from him to the jungle behind them.

"Your vision still exists, but now you have to learn to see the world with your whole body," Majima Makoto explained, her amiable voice filling him with a much needed sense of purpose. "Smell. Touch. Feel."

He felt something soft and velvety touch the back of his hand, something brownish and round - a mushroom?

With his eyes closed, he realized the smell of it was much more pungent and distinct, just like its texture was much more specific when he did not try to make sense of it through his eyes.

Perhaps there were other ways to see things, after all.

"Understand what you are looking for, and be mindful," she said, patting him gently on the back. "Now hurry, because we need those mushrooms for the stew we are having for lunch."

He set out on his journey with plenty of pep in his step, just to return two hours later dripping sweat, with scratches and bruises on his arms, and a basket filled with gravel and random brownish buttons that he hoped were mushrooms - or at least something edible.

"How are you feeling?" Wei Shen asked, as he collapsed on top of a small bench in the garden.

"Tired," he panted, "very tired."

"Take a deep breath."

He did.

"Is that the deepest you can go?"

"What do you mean?" Akihito asked.

"Your breathing is too shallow," the bodyguard explained. "Try to be more mindful of it, really feel the air filling your lungs."

"Mindful, _mindful_..." the photographer scoffed. "You guys love that word."

"That word is the secret to everything, including to being a good fighter."

Akihito thought of rolling his eyes, but he was too tired even for that.

"Get some rest, but be back in an hour," Wei Shen added.

"Are you going to let me into the dojo?"

"No," the older man replied, as he walked towards the main entrance. "You're not ready yet."

Akihito frowned.

What was the big deal, anyway? Back in Tokyo, Wei Shen had taken him to train at the dojo in the mansion, how was that any different from letting him train in the dojo at the island?

With an unhappy grunt, he let his body fall onto the grass, his arms and legs spread wide open as he looked at the sky.

That place _sucked._

++++

Mikhail Arbatov had been around, so to speak.

He had been with Japanese men and women before, sometimes both at the same time, so he took great pride in the fact he was culturally aware of certain cultural conventions.

Japanese people were quite the crowd.

No wonder Asami Ryuichi was such a tough guy to read - apparently, he had been raised to have at least two different identities, one public and one private, and the result was that even after so many years in the business together, they were still strangers to each other in a number of aspects.

For one, he had never thought of Asami as a family man. What was next, finding out he was into gardening? Birdwatching?  _Scrapbooking?_

It was time, though, to snap out of those useless musings.

The girl who had entered the cafe with him after the place was properly voided of third parties was now taking her seat, her deep golden eyes scanning her surroundings like an animal looking out for hidden threats.

And then there were _the women_.

He had never been acquainted with a Japanese woman long enough to see past the mask of subservience they would wear in his presence; obviously, there had to be more to them than the polite smiles and affectionate giggles, more ambition and self-reliance than what they let show in the shallow small talk as they sipped their drinks, more than the fake screams and moans as they let him do whatever he wished to do to them in bed.

There had to be more to them, of course, and the young woman staring at him from the other side of the table was the living proof of that.

That one, he knew, _was not like the others._

“What are we here for?” she asked, and her voice did not carry the artificially courteous, high-pitched tone of a woman who was trying to sound pleasant. In fact, the girl sitting across from him, with the thick layer of mascara in her eyelashes and the dark shadow around her hypnotic amber eyes, looked like she didn’t give two shits about whether he would be pleased or not, and he found it all strangely _exciting._

“I hear your mother was a big name in the Tojo,” he said. “Very impressive, the registers of female yakuza bosses are basically inexistent, did you know that?”

Judging by the look of indifference on her face, she did.

“There might have been a couple, but just because they inherited the title from their late husbands. Now, to claw one's way to the top like your mother did… that is unheard of,” he went on, letting his eyes travel to the heavy silver chain around her neck, and from there to the black T-shirt she was wearing under a vintage denim blazer. “Japan is not exactly kind to women, is it?”

“Is Russia?”

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. So she knew who he was, after all - probably Asami’s minion had filled her in as they headed to the cafe.

“Checkmate,” Mikhail replied, his sapphire eyes shining gleefully as he spoke. “But if you ask me, I think there have been improve-”

“Is that what we're here for?” the girl interrupted. “To talk gender?”

He had to discreetly bite his lower lip to hide his amusement. What were the odds, that Kazuki’s stepdaughter was actually the female, younger version of Asami Ryuichi?

“I thought it would be a good ice-breaker,” he said, crossing his legs with the same casual smile as before. “And I'm sorry, I know you must get this a lot, but you look just like him. That poker face--”

“So you're just another guy with a crush on Asami Ryuichi.”

“Who doesn't have a crush on Asami Ryuichi?” Mikhail replied, unconsciously leaning forward as he spoke. “It wouldn't surprise me if you were just as much of a heartbreaker yourself…”

The disinterested eye roll he got in return made his heart skip a beat.

“Cappuccino?” he asked, averting his eyes to the surface of the table as he shifted on his seat.

“Flat white.”

“Two flat whites,” he said to the young man behind the counter, before clearing his throat and looking at Hayashi Maya in the eye once again.

He'd better keep it in his pants, at least for the time being.

“Since it appears you are not going to ask why I'm here, I'll skip the preambles,” he said, lacing his fingers on top of the table. “Your stepfather used to say great things about you.”

The hostile glint in the amber orbs seemed to dim for a second, and he used that brief moment of truce to let out a genuine chuckle.

“He said, one day, you would realize how powerful you were,” he continued. “And when that day came, you would be unstoppable. Any idea what he was referring to?”

“No.”

That time, when their eyes met, there was a fine line of understanding between them.

Apparently, Kazuki had a habit of seeing the best in people, even when they were not aware of it themselves.

“I don't honestly think he was referring to genetics,” he said. “Or to your father, for that matter.”

“I'm very good at videogames,” she replied, and there was a faint hint of sadness in her voice that did not go unnoticed. “Does that count?”

When her gaze dropped to the table, he pushed aside his own interests for a moment to offer her the only words that could serve as some kind of consolation for her loss.

“I'm afraid I never got to know Kazuki as well as I should,” he whispered. “But if there is one thing I know, is that he loved you very much. You, and your mother.”

Her chin started to tremble at the very same time the waiter showed up by their side with their two beverages, and he was probably just as relieved as she was with the timely distraction.

He was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all the emotional shenanigans.

“I believe we will be seeing each other again in the future,” he said, his trademark nonchalant smile back in place as he stood up and took one of her hands to his lips. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you.”

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips when she took her hand away, frowning at him.

“What is this?” she asked, when he placed a rather large envelope on the middle of the table.

“A _koden_.”

“But this--”

Yes, it was a rather big envelope and it certainly didn't follow the traditional standards regarding flaps, ribbon placement and other technicalities, but then again, that was not _just condolence money either_.

What she didn't know, but would soon find out, was that her stepfather was the rightful owner of the Arbatov mansion and at least fifteen percent of all the family’s shareholdings, and that now that privileged position in the business had been passed on to her.

There would be a time for them to discuss _the terms of that privilege,_ but that brief encounter had been enough of an introduction.

With his flat white still untouched, and the girl still casting a puzzled glance towards the envelope, Mikhail Arbatov took his leave.

“Goodbye, Hayashi-kun.”

++++

The restaurant overlooking the Four Seasons’ Grand Lobby was completely deserted except for one table, where a man in a dark grey suit read the newspaper. Mindlessly, Asami Ryuichi touched the dark red cravat around his neck, making sure little to no skin was showing when the sound of footsteps approaching echoed on the other side of the hall.

“Did I keep you waiting?”

“No, I just got here myself,” Asami replied, putting the newspaper away as the other man took his seat at the table.

“What brings you to New York?”

“Business, as usual. You?”

“I had a professional appointment in Toronto, our schedules in North America just happened to coincide.”

Talk about a coincidence.

As Kuroda Shinji pushed his glasses farther up his nose, though, Asami pondered that the prosecutor was probably telling the truth. Even though he had diligently avoided responding to the man’s messages, it was unlikely a person of his stature and responsibilities would actually cross oceans just to chat with an old acquaintance.

“My flight back to Tokyo departs in six hours,” Kuroda added.

“I won't stay long, either,” Asami responded. “If I had known you were staying at the Peninsula, we could have arranged for breakfast there.”

“That would not be necessary. It's only one block away, anyway,” the prosecutor replied quietly, looking at the menu. “Thanks for making the time to see me.”

“Of course.”

“What are you having? I hear their lemon ricotta pancakes are to die for.”

“I'm not a pancake kind of person but I'm sure they are. Everything in the menu is worth its reputation.”

The harmless small talk and the moment of silence that followed gave him the perfect opportunity to look around. Yes, the food was outstanding, and the twisting, undulating trunks of the African Acacia trees inside the restaurant made for an interesting attraction as well.

When a waiter materialised by their side, he ordered the ramen in dashi broth, craving a taste of home. The warm sunlight coming from the oversized windows made him think of lazy mornings at the beach, but the hustle and bustle outside couldn't be a better reminder that he was in the very heart of Manhattan. He liked the Four Seasons, even though it was not the best hotel he had ever stayed in, just like he liked New York, even though that was not his favourite city. Maybe he would like them both better if the next time he travelled, it was not business related…

“I have to bring Akihito here someday,” he said, his chin resting on one of his hands as he looked at one of the windows.

“So... you two are back together?”

The question and the cautious tone of voice backing it up made Asami turn his head.

After everything that had happened, _did he even need to ask?_

“Officially, I mean,” Kuroda quickly added.

“I am trying to make it official, yes,” Asami replied, aware that the other man’s eyebrows had shot up at the answer.

He felt very little inclined to indulge Kuroda with the details, though.

“I take things in Tokyo have calmed down, if the district prosecutor had time to fly to New York just to inquire about my private life?” he said instead, his amiable tone steering the conversation in another direction.

“You know what I'm here for.”

Asami drew in a long breath. That, he did. He had known that moment would come eventually after he had let Mine go - he had just been far too busy with other affairs to pay much mind to that one in particular.

“I do. But you are being so elusive with your questions that I was beginning to wonder,” he replied. “What do you want to know, Kuroda?”

“I told you already, I want to know where he is.”

“And I have told you already, I don't know.”

Technically, he knew. Mine was either in Tokyo or in Osaka, because those were the places where Maya most likely had been in the past few days. To let Kuroda know of those arrangements, however, would mean that at some point the man would find a way to rope Mine back into his office, and he needed the bodyguard to stay exactly where he was.

“He's not in my payroll anymore,” he added.

“I just don't understand,” the prosecutor replied, the wrinkles on his forehead doing nothing to hide his confusion and disappointment. “He was a good employee, wasn't he? I know he is competent, reliable--”

“Yes, he is. That is why I had to let him go.”

“You're not making any sense, Ryuichi.”

Essentially, the problem when it came to Mine was that neither man was entirely honest when talking about their motivations to keep him around. Kuroda didn't want him under his wing _just because_ he was a competent employee, and the reason why Asami had trusted Mine so much since the beginning had little to do with his qualifications per se.

“I understand why you are worried and I find it very noble of you to be so protective of him, but Mine is a grown man,” Asami finally explained. “He needs to choose his own path, and we need to accept the fact that it might lead him away from us both.”

There was a long moment of silence, in which the concern in Kuroda’s eyes gave way to unhappy resignation.

“He would have become the greatest judge Japan has ever known,” the prosecutor whispered, staring at the table without really seeing it. “It was his dream.”

“Dreams change,” Asami replied. “So he most likely won't become a judge anymore, so what? It's not the end of the world.”

Even though, he now knew, the end of the world meant different things to different people. He had never seen Mine whine about the twists and turns of his own life, not even when he saw him at his lowest in Colombia. Surprisingly enough, the one time he saw the young man look positively mortified was the last time the two of them had talked in person.

“Speaking of it, does he and Tanimura have any... _unfinished businesses_ that you're aware of?” he asked, leaning back on his chair with a raised eyebrow.

“Tanimura? You mean, Tanimura Masayoshi?”

After he nodded his confirmation, the prosecutor continued.

“Not that I know of, no. Except…”

After a long, unhappy sigh, Kuroda took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Well, back in the day it was a known fact Mine carried a torch for that idiot,” he said. “You know him, he is the quiet type, but when he became my intern he was even more reserved, so…” he shrugged, before putting his glasses back in and helping himself to a glass of orange juice. “Everyday, he would sit alone at a table with his back to the door, and spend most of his lunch time stealing glances at the opposite corner of the hall, where the oh-so-popular detective in the rise sat with his entourage of sycophants,” he continued, his eyes rolling so far back into his head that he could probably see his own brain. “Obviously, Tanimura never gave him the time of day, but to Mine he was some kind of... _deity_.”

“Oh, that explains…”

“What?” the prosecutor asked, frowning.

While it would be amusing to share Mine’s misadventure with Tanimura if only to trigger Kuroda's fraternal instincts and incite a potential backlash against the detective, he was not a gossip. Besides, it had been bad enough to see the bodyguard’s rare display of embarrassment as he told his tale; he had no right to make it even more public.

“Why you dislike Tanimura so much.”

“Tsk. I have plenty of reasons to dislike Tanimura, Ryuichi,” the prosecutor replied, his frown temporarily forgotten when a dish of fresh pancakes was placed in front of him. “And _so do you_ , if I recall correctly.”

A smirk curled the corners of Asami’s mouth. Tanimura Masayoshi was as much of a headache as any other cop who refused to play by the rules, but in that particular case the problem was what the detective represented to Akihito. Somehow, he couldn't help but hope that one day Mine would succeed in stealing Tanimura’s heart, if only to stop that idiot from trying to rekindle the flame with the photographer one day.

When they were both halfway through with their breakfast, Asami sipped his tea and spoke again.

“When are you going to tell Mine?” he asked.

“Tell what?”

“If I had a brother, I would want to know.”

The words made Kuroda straighten his back against the chair and look around with a concerned frown, as if he had momentarily forgotten they were the only ones in the restaurant.

“I'm afraid it's not that simple,” he whispered in response.

“Why?”

“The answer to your question would ruin our breakfast. For me, at least.”

“That bad of a story?”

“He has been through a lot, Ryuichi,” the prosecutor replied, and his voice carried the sincere sorrow and solemnity that usually preceded very sad stories. “A lot that I never told you about. After his mother's suicide, he--”

“ _Suicide?_ ”

When his jaw slackened slightly, Asami put down his cup of tea, trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

“When?” he asked again, after Kuroda gave him a nod of confirmation.

“Some two years ago, just... weeks after he started working for you.”

“How come no one ever told me that?”

“You were in the middle of that Hong Kong catastrophe,” the prosecutor replied. “I'm quite sure a few things flew under your radar at the occasion.”

Many things had flown under his radar, and not only at that occasion, apparently.

All that time, and he thought Mine had accomplished the one thing he had failed to do, just to find out that in that other story, there had not been a happy ending either.

“Trust me, telling him the truth about our family would just... push him further down the rabbit hole,” Kuroda continued. “You are right when you say he deserves to know, but I'm just trying to protect him.”

“And yet most of the times people that say that are trying to protect no one but themselves…” Asami replied, and when he raised his eyes from his ramen, he could see the other man staring morosely at his pancakes.

“Not this time,” he whispered. “Not this time...”

When Kuroda poked a blueberry, but gave up eating it when it was just one inch away from his mouth, he realised he too had lost his appetite.

++++

As he looked at the street vendors trying to protect their products from the rain, Tanimura Masayoshi smiled.

Good ol’ Bangkok and all its urban chaos…

His thumbs mindlessly tapped the steering wheel of his assigned Honda Civic in tune to the song playing on the radio, a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his head as he waited patiently for the cars in front of him to move.

The air conditioning of the fancy car offered to him was not working, that gridlock was the worst he had seen since his first day in the city, the rain was getting heavier by the minute, which probably meant he would very soon find himself stuck in the middle of a flood, but the truth was that he couldn't possibly care less.

His mind, as usual, was strangely vacant, to the point of him not actually remembering where he was going, and why.

With a sigh, he reached for the notepad strategically placed on top of the dashboard, and glanced at his own notes for the day.

_**Breakfast with handler at 9:00** _

_**Meet and brief at 10:30** _

_**Field 12 noon - late** _

With a frown, he flipped through the pages to find other annotations with names, addresses and directions, including to his own apartment.

At what point his memory had taken such a hit, he did not know. He barely remembered his last night in Tokyo, and the fact he had somehow managed to get into a plane and land in Bangkok was a mind boggling mystery on itself.

When his phone buzzed, he picked it up without much interest, glancing at the road ahead just to confirm he was not going to move anytime soon.

_**Hey Masa, it’s me again. Haven't heard from you in a while. Send news, ok? Maya** _

For the first time that morning, a semi-frown wrinkled his forehead.

_**Hi Maya!** _

That was neither the first message he had gotten from the girl, nor the first time he had started typing an answer to, but something always seemed to distract him. The sound of noodles sizzling in a wok in one of the food stalls, tourists patting an elephant in the outskirts of the city, funny billboards near traffic lights...

This time, it was a familiar song coming from the radio that made his mind wander.

_He had heard that song before._

His eyes had inadvertently shifted to the toy pinwheel dangling from the side mirror of a tuk-tuk parked next to his car, its colorful vanes spinning and shaking under the heavy rain.

Spinning… _spinning…_

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he was standing next to the bar of a dimly-lit club, the boisterous crowd behind him going wild on the dance floor.

“I'm sorry, what's your name again?” he asked, screaming into the ear of a young man standing next to him.

“Mine.”

“Mine,” he repeated, spilling half of his beer on the ground when two bodies collided with his, the younger man by his side quickly pushing the strangers away as he struggled to regain his balance. “That's a surname, though,” he continued, as if nothing had happened.

His altered state of mind was clearly preventing him from getting a good grasp of his surroundings.

“What's your first name?” he once again screamed into Mine’s ear.

“Kyohei”.

“Meaning?”

It was the other man’s turn to get closer to him, his lips nearly touching his ear when he spoke.

“The peaceful.”

The words were followed by a smirk, and Tanimura let his eyes travel from Mine’s eyes to his neck, and then lower, and lower.

He was drunk, there was no doubt about that whatsoever. One bottle of sake and four glasses of beer later, how could he not be? He was drunk and horny. Of course he was having thoughts that he probably should not have, ideas… Bad, bad ideas…

The dark brown eyes staring back at him seemed to be full of second intentions as well, or at least that was what his inebriated self wanted him to believe.

“My name,” Tanimura then drawled, “my name means… the righteous.”

“ _What?_ ” Mine replied, bringing his ear closer to his lips.

“The righteous,” he screamed, before bursting into laughter. “I know, right? What were they thinking?”

The smirk on the other man’s face quickly dissolved into a light-hearted grin, but his eyes were still loaded with the kind of intensity that was making his head spin.

Or maybe it was just the alcohol.

“You don't look peaceful,” he said, his voice hoarse and deep as one of his hands finally moved to the man’s waist.

“You don't look righteous,” Mine replied, gladly taking a step forward when the hand touching his lower back moved even lower.

“I'm not when I'm drunk,” Tanimura whispered, his eyes unfocused as he breathed in the scent of the other man’s hair.

Unlike everyone else in that filthy joint, Mine did not reek of alcohol or sweat.

Mine Kyohei smelled like autumn and orange leaves, like a pumpkin spice latte on a cold day.

If the bottle of sparkling water he was holding and the freshness of his breath were anything to go by, he had not had a single drop of alcohol, and the fact he was welcoming his advances without any sign of annoyance was at the same time worrying and arousing.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Tanimura heard him ask, the soft puffs of air coming out of his mouth tickling his ear as he spoke.

He didn't answer.

Instead, his tongue sneaked into the other man’s mouth, pressing forward until it was tickling the entrance of Mine’s throat, eliciting a deep moan wrapped in warm, zesty peppermint.

It could have been a sloppy, awkward kiss, but it wasn’t. Although his drunken ass was too wobbly to stay in place for long, his mind too slow to tell right from left and the movements of his mouth too erratic and inconsistent, Mine kept him in check, making sure their lips were locked, taking charge, probing, biting, _licking_.

The cold fingertips touching the side of his face, brushing off his hair as their mouths explored each other, made it even more obvious that the other man was kissing him without any reservations. His body was a storm of electric impulses and lust, sweat making the palms of his hands moist as heat irradiated to his chest and below.

Even his completely inebriated self could tell that was the best kiss of his life.

From there to one of the bathroom stalls at the back of the club must have been quite the walk, but he had no recollection of how or when they had gotten there.

All he knew was that his jacket was gone, his belt unbuckled, and he was stripping Mine of his clothes so fast that he was bound to break some kind of world record.

When the bodyguard turned around and braced himself against the wall, one of his hands holding on to the partition, Tanimura’s unfocused eyes finally managed to take in the other man’s naked upper body in all its glory. His shoulders were toned, adorned by the image of two dark wings that stretched from one shoulder blade to the other, a thin silver chain with a small crucifix resting against the pale, inked skin.

“It's a beautiful... tattoo... you have,” he muttered, unbuttoning his own shirt so that his chest could press against the cool skin of Mine’s back, the friction sending shivers up his spine.

_What was going on?_

It was not his style to make out with guys in some random nightclub, let alone to take things to the next level in a public restroom.

Completely ignoring the ponderings of his own mind, Tanimura tilted Mine’s head to the side after consistently licking and sucking on the man’s neck for a good five minutes, their mouths once again clashing together as he pressed his hips against his naked backside.

He might have announced his intentions, but he suspected he did not. At that point, whatever dialogue he was envisioning was taking place solely inside his own mind, that is, if his own mind was still working after Mine took two of his fingers into his mouth, covering them with a glistening layer of lubrication.

When the bodyguard spread his legs further apart, Tanimura felt his head spin, again.

That was probably the time to take a step back.

Or not. Most likely, the time to step back had been ages ago.

Now that the dick was out of the bag, or pants, whatever, he would go through with it.

After steadying himself, he inserted one finger into the other man’s body, and then another, rotating them as gently and slowly as his level of intoxication would allow him to.

Not much, apparently, judging by how white Mine’s knuckles had gone on top of the partition as he held onto it for dear life.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, his voice loaded with drunken embarrassment as he withdrew his fingers and tumbled to the side.

“It’s okay,” Mine panted in response. “Just put it in.”

 _Just put_ it _in._

“OK.”

Tanimura inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the nausea and other less desirable effects of being drunk as he felt his pockets for a condom.

He was halfway done with snapping the metallic wrapper open when he noticed something he should have noticed ages ago.

_He was still soft._

“Well… shit,” he whispered.

“What?”

When he didn’t answer, Mine turned around to look at him.

“What?” he repeated.

“I don't think I'm drunk enough,” he replied, letting out a high-pitched chuckle that only made his nervousness more evident.

When a murderous frown wrinkled Mine’s forehead, his eyebrows shot up.

“The fuck?”

“N-no,” Tanimura stuttered back. “I... That's not what I meant. I meant--” he paused to hiccup, feeling his body temperature go up by several degrees as he drowned in a sea of embarrassment. “I can't, I can't get it up,” he admitted, his ears burning as he morosely stared at his non-existent erection.

When he lifted his eyes once again to Mine’s face, he felt even worse. The fierce shine in the dark orbs had been obliterated in a matter of seconds, substituted by a mixture of surprise and shame.

“It's not your fault,” he was quick to explain. “It’s not, I just--”

His apology was interrupted by another searing kiss, and in less than a minute the positions they were occupying inside the small cubicle had changed considerably.

It was now the detective’s turn to lean against the partition as Mine kneeled in front of him, his eyes filled with a very palpable form of adoration as he took his cock into his mouth, his feverish eyes never leaving his face as his tongue did its job.

It felt perfect and horrible at the same time.

His chest was heaving up and down as the smooth wetness of Mine’s mouth explored every inch of sensitive skin, his fingers tangled up in the strands of slick dark brown hair that were falling from Mine’s loose samurai man bun. He could feel blood quickly rushing downwards and making his extremities tingle, but that same rush of pleasure was also giving him the kind of mental clarity he did not want to have, and making him remember images and events that his alcohol-induced numbness had successfully hidden from view.

_His life was falling apart._

There was a gorgeous man on his knees giving him the most awesome blowjob ever, and yet he couldn’t help but think that once that insane encounter was over, it would be real life all over again. A real life in which he would be alone in another country, a real life in which he would have to live with rejection, with the guilt of not having been able to protect someone he loved.

“Poor Akihito…”

As he remembered that the photographer was still in a coma, the words escaped his lips before he could stop them, hidden at least partially by a heartfelt sob.

And then, when he was on the verge of reaching what was bound to be the most pathetic orgasm of his life, the warm lips withdrew, and the door to the bathroom stall flung open.

“W-what…”

Baffled by the sudden turn of events, he opened his eyes, just in time to see Mine putting his T-shirt back on and marching towards the sink with his pants already zipped up.

How he had gotten dressed that fast was another of the many mysteries of that night.

“Wait, why did you stop?” Tanimura asked, still disoriented.

The bodyguard, however, merely glared at his reflection on the mirror, splashed water on his face and rearranged his hair on a tight ponytail.

“Where are you going?” the detective asked, trying to get out of the stall and tripping on his pants.

“Go fuck yourself, Tanimura.”

“Hey!”

After no small amount of struggle, he was finally able to pull up his pants and walk towards the door, slamming it shut before Mine had the chance to get out.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me,” he groggily snarled, but the deep brown eyes, now shining with undistilled anger, showed no sign of being intimidated.

“Else what, _borracho de mierda?_ ”

Whatever language that was, the disdain spoke for itself.

If he had been the first one to throw punches, he could not tell either, but he was certainly the last one to get hit.

His final memory of that tumultuous night was of him at the receiving end of a roundhouse kick that sent him crashing headfirst onto a urinal.

“Holy shit…” he whispered to himself, feeling his mouth go dry as he blinked himself back to reality. “What have I done?”

He jumped on his seat when a man punched the window of his car, calling him all kinds of names.

The traffic was finally moving again.

++++

To say that he was surprised when Asami’s first assistant showed up in the island ten days later was an understatement.

The seriousness of his expression made Akihito feel at home and deeply concerned in equal amounts: that was Kirishima at his best, acting stoic and all, but given the latest events in their lives, he couldn't help but wonder: was Asami in danger?

When the secretary quickly replied that no, he wasn’t, he suspected that was not entirely true, but then again, if Asami was really in danger, he doubted Kirishima would have left his side, so that had to mean something, right?

Whatever worry still plagued his mind as the first assistant joined the counsellor in her office vanished when the other man handed him a rather large package tied up with a ribbon.

“Where is he now?” Akihito asked, his fingers closing tightly around the edges of the gift box.

“United States,” Kirishima replied.

“When will he be back?”

“Two or three weeks, probably” the secretary answered, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “He still has a long list of people he needs to see.”

With a nod, Akihito watched as the silhouettes of the first assistant and the counsellor headed further inside and closed the door behind them, the air of confidentiality and urgency palpable as silence fell upon the main lounge.

The package he was holding, however, was too much of a distraction for him to be properly worried about that unexpected meeting. It had been more than a week since he had last heard Asami's voice, and he couldn't wait to find out what the man had sent him.

_Could it be that he had found it in him to grant his wish?_

All he wanted was to hear him... But seriously, what were the odds of Asami Ryuichi recording a solo sex tape?

His anxious fingers undid the bow holding the box together, and quickly recognised a series of items.

A dark, square box.

Another box, much smaller and lighter.

A bottle made of plastic.

A smaller bottle made of glass.

A shirt.

The shirt was obviously Asami's - all it took was a sniff to recognise the scent of his cologne and the faint hint of nicotine lingering at the collar.

It made his mouth water.

The dark box felt like velvet against his skin, and he managed to pop it open without much effort. Inside it, his fingertips traced the outline of what was obviously a prostate massager, apparently made of stainless steel.

It was embarrassing to realize how well acquainted with all sorts of sex toys he had become after three years sleeping with Asami Ryuichi.

Still, there was always room for surprise: as his fingers glided along the item's flared stem, they accidentally hit a small button that made the entire thing vibrate.

That would be _intense._

His mind was already spinning by the time he intuitively touched the plastic bottle, correctly guessing what it was even before the silk texture of its contents touched the back of his hand.

_Lube._

And not just any lube, judging by how smooth and tingly it made his skin feel.

He was glad they were past that time of their lives when salad dressing and cream would do.

"But if I know him well, he will continue to improvise..." he whispered to himself.

He couldn't imagine a future in which Asami would skip sex because their _premium lube_ was unavailable, and a gentle blush colored his face when he realized _he wouldn't want him to,_ anyway.

The glass bottle was certainly unexpected.

_Was that alcohol?_

He took a sip, trying to remember where he had drunk that before.

After another two sips, he finally remembered: that one time on his birthday, when he and Asami had had sex in that hotel's bathtub after gambling and having dinner together...

It had been one of the best nights of his life.

He chuckled, feeling his entire body was already tingling even though he had not even started.

The bastard had sent him a fucking masturbation kit.

 _'You don't do anything by halves, do you?'_ he mentally added.

His thoughts were so ahead of him that the final item of the package - a tiny square box - had to fall from the bed to the floor to draw his attention.

After removing the plastic cap and letting his fingers explore what was inside, Akihito let out a gasp.

_Could that be...?_

His heart skipped a beat as he held the iPod shuffle in one hand, staring at it as if it were some kind of Holy Grail.

It had to be.

He thought of turning the thing on and pressing play right away, but he was nowhere near ready for it. For starters, he was still fully dressed, something that he took less than a minute to rectify. Unsurprisingly, he noticed he was already sporting a rather solid erection and that his nipples were tingling, just like other equally sensitive parts of his body.

In his defense, it had been a while since he had last spent some quality time with himself, what with the exhausting routine he had been submitted to in those past few days.

He could do with some release.

After inhaling deeply, Akihito took a moment to reorganise his thoughts and come up with a plan of action.

First, the shirt.

As expected, the sleeves were too long and the garment in itself was far from a perfect fit, which only made him remember even more vividly the differences between his body and Asami's. He could see, in his mind's eye, every inch of tanned skin, sinew and muscle flexing as Asami covered his body with his, the strong arms holding him as if he was weightless, his nails scraping the strong, smooth shoulder blades as the other man moved his body between his thighs.

With a sigh, Akihito brought the collar of the shirt closer to his nose, the scent of Asami's body hitting him like a drug, and it felt _so real_ that it was almost as if he was there.

 _Almost,_ but not quite.

He let his fingers glide across his own chest, pausing to play with his nipples before sliding down, towards the inner part of his thighs, opening the small bottle of liquor and sipping its contents, letting the oaky taste and the memories fill his mind, trying his best to take his time...

Curiosity, however, got the best of him, and soon enough he had fished the stainless steel accessory from its box, along with the bottle of lube he had placed right next to it.

In the absence of the real thing, that would have to do.

"Let's see... how premium...this lube is," he said to himself, expecting little more than a less sticky, more fluid feeling. Asami, though, never failed to go above and beyond, even in those small aspects of life, like _picking a new lube._

That lube had something in it.

It made him tingly and hot and wet all at the same time, and the mere attempt to bring the massager into the equation brought him too close to the edge.

With a gasp, Akihito opened his eyes, and noticed he hadn't even hit play yet.

"If this is just the warm up," he whispered to himself, "I wonder how long I'm gonna last when the main act begins..."

He would very soon find out.

After another deep breath, he put in the earbuds, hit play, and lay back on the bed as he waited for the baritone voice to fill his ears.

_"The Odyssey, by Homer. Translated by Samuel Butler. Book one of twenty-four."_

It took a moment for his brain to register what he had just heard, but before he could fully process it, Asami was speaking again.

_"Tell me, O muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy. Many cities did he visit..."_

"Wait, what?"

_"... whose manners and customs he was acquainted..."_

Fast forward.

_"Tell me, too, about all these things, O daughter of Jove..."_

"Are you shitting me?" Akihito whispered, a confusing frown replacing his previous expression of aroused bliss.

Fast forward again.

_"...he was thinking of Aegisthus, who had been killed by Agamemnon's son Orestes..."_

"What the fuck is this?"

_"...forwarding already..."_

He pressed pause when a soft chuckle interrupted the nonsensical literary rambling.

_"Remember when I told you we would need to build your endurance back? Well..."_

Son of a bitch.

_"Can I continue or are you planning to fast forward again?"_

"Idiot, I don't know why I put up with you..." Akihito complained quietly, noticing that his erection was already beginning to deflate, and that his heartbeat had slowed down a fair amount.

The monotonous narrative dragged on and on, and his eyes were already fluttering closed by the time he heard Asami say his name.

_"...me, Akihito?"_

He had to rewind to hear the full question.

The nerve, _to ask him if he was still awake!_

"Yes, asshole," he snarled.

_"So you wanted to hear my voice, there's my voice. Are you satisfied?"_

That was certainly _not_ what he had meant when he had asked to hear his voice.

 _"Except that it wasn't what you were expecting to hear, was it?"_ the man then continued, and the far from subtle change in his tone made Akihito's cock spring back to life.

_"It's not just my voice that you miss."_

Another chuckle.

_"I will give you something to warm up your nights, then."_

Somewhere in the background, he could hear the pop of a bottle being opened, and the sound of fabric rustling against fabric.

 _"As you might recall, there are times when I wake up with this very persistent…_ tumescence. _"_

He was gonna _do it._

_"Today is one of those days."_

The realization that Asami was about to masturbate for him made his heart jump to his throat. Good thing he had recorded the audio and not a video, because it would have been a stab right in the middle of his heart to be unable to see it.

As it was, his imagination would have to fill the gaps, and he was good at _imagining._

_"Too bad you're not here to take care of it."_

He imagined, for one, that _he was actually there_ taking care of it, and that the newly-acquired accessory now entering his body was much larger, much hotter and that instead of that battery-induced vibration, it was the throbbing of Asami's flesh teasing him, making his own flesh quiver and undulate to accommodate it.

He imagined that the trace of lube that he had spread from his groin to his neck was actually Asami's tongue working its wonders on him, taking its time on a nipple before moving on to the other, before plunging into his mouth.

He imagined that the wet sounds piercing his ears were the sounds of Asami fucking him but also of Asami vigorously jacking off _to him_ , and he would return the gesture if only he didn't fear that one touch was all it would take for him to come, and he didn't want to come just yet.

_"Akihito..."_

That deep groan was a test to his willpower, and so were the heartbeats that had somehow been incorporated into that recording.

Asami's heart was beating so fast... almost as fast as his.

"Asami..."

It was sensory overload, but the best possible version of it: the sounds coming from his earbuds, the scent of that shirt, the lingering taste of alcohol on his tongue, the warm vibrations inside him...

_Breathe._

_Be mindful._

_Breathe._

"No, no..." he whimpered, forcing himself to breathe even more slowly as a tidal wave of pleasure ravished every nerve of his body. "I want... I want to come with--"

Perhaps next time.

He felt the first spurts of cum land on his own chest a minute before Asami's breathing pattern changed, his strokes going faster and wetter until a grunt finally erupted from his throat.

His muscles were still contracting and releasing when the other man sighed, seconds of blissful silence falling between them as they both caught their breath.

_"Sweet dreams, kitten."_

"Yeah..." Akihito lazily responded, getting ready to hear the whole thing again, and again, and again, not only that night, but in the nights to come.

The rewind button of that iPod would eventually break.

 

 

 


	62. Mindful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takaba Akihito remains on the path to the enlightenment with the aid of not one, but two masters, Kirishima Kei gets hit on (or so he thinks) and a homesick Asami Ryuichi meets Fei Long in an invitation-only auction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for keeping Akihito and Asami apart for like… three quarters of this story? XD I want them to be together more than anything and the only consolation I can offer is that from now until the end I don’t think there will be a single chapter in which they don’t interact, and I meant, *really* interact, like, face to face and all, hehe.
> 
> Also: lots of Kirishima on this one, just because I love him to bits. ^_^
> 
> For reference: _shabu_ = crystal meth
> 
> And finally: 18K and Sun On Yee (triads), as well as Broken Li Jian (DH) were taken from the most excellent game Sleeping Dogs.

He accepted the sake cup being passed to him with a grateful bow.

“Kirishima-san,” the woman in front of him then said, taking a seat behind her desk. “What a surprise to have you here today.”

“Thanks for having me.”

“Always a pleasure.”

“I apologise for not calling beforehand,” he replied, fully aware of his poor manners showing up uninvited.

“It’s understandable. I have always suspected your boss does not trust my reports.”

“I'm sure he does. But when it comes to Takaba Akihito, he gets… how can I put it…”

“Paranoid?” the counsellor suggested.

“ _Overzealous_ ,” he said instead.

“He’s doing fine. You know him, he learns fast.”

“He surely does.”

He watched as she squared her shoulders, leaning forward with a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. The oversized mahogany desk stood like a fort between them, and the thin arms folded delicately on top of the glossy surface were yet another reminder that despite her apparently fragile frame, Majima Makoto was a force to be reckoned with.

“That is not the only reason why you’re here, is it?” she asked.

“No,” the secretary replied, while reaching for the suitcase next to his wheelchair. “There is another topic that we need to discuss.”

“Which is…?”

“Before we start, I will need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement,” he went on, after clearing his throat and retrieving a fountain pen from the pocket of his suit jacket.

For a split second, the expression on the counsellor’s face was a mixture of surprise and suspicion. Kirishima knew, however, that she was a businesswoman herself, one that knew how to take certain legal hindrances in stride.

“Standard procedure,” he said, sliding a Braille document and his pen across the desk.

“What kind of meeting are we having, exactly?”

“The kind that involves information that cannot leave this room.”

“I see,” the woman replied, the same malicious smile from moments prior curving her lips. “So Asami-san sent you as an emissary because he knows you are my kryptonite…” she whispered, “and that I can't say no to you.”

It took him a moment to catch on to the innuendo.

“Excuse me?” he asked, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

Her eyes were fixated on him, and even though he knew she couldn't possibly see him, he felt he was being openly ogled.

“Oh, nothing,” she added after a long five seconds, one of her hands stopping dangerously close to his as she reached to grab the piece of paper being passed to her.

‘She has very pretty hands, by the way…’ he noticed, as her fingertips scanned the document she was about to sign. ‘Beautiful, slender fingers…’

If his body had allowed him to, he would have jumped on his seat when she hit the bottom of the pen on the desk.

“There you go,” she said at last, the mischievous smile in her lips making it clear she was enjoying his confused silence. “How can I be of assistance today?”

Kirishima cleared his throat, blinked rapidly and put the signed paper away. Perhaps it had been too much time since he last went on a date for him to identify when he was being hit on or just played with, after all.

“Very well,” he said, straightening his back as he spoke. “As you know, Asami Ryuichi has been away on business for the past two weeks or so.”

“Yes.”

“What you might not know is that his trip is part of a transition plan.”

“Transition?” the counsellor asked, her eyebrows going up. “Do you mean to tell me your boss is retiring?”

“No, not exactly.”

The idea of Asami Ryuichi retiring was as unthinkable to him as it was for the man himself. Much as things had changed in the course of the past three years or so, his boss was passionate about what he did and he did it well, much better than anyone. At the same time, it was never a part of his plan to become a slave of his own empire.

“He wants to reduce his hours, and that means delegating more power to more people, especially abroad,” he explained, leaving out the details behind that decision.

It was not that difficult to figure out why Asami Ryuichi was so determined to make more time for his personal affairs, anyway.

“In fact, it’s not the first time he has tried to do so. I believe you are aware of the Hong Kong incident?” Kirishima continued.

“The one involving Liu Fei Long?”

“And Takaba Akihito, yes. He attempted to decentralize some of his business back then, by assigning certain responsibilities to a select group of managers, but after what happened to Club Dracaena the whole plan came to a halt.”

Again, he would not go into detail about the whole imbroglio involving Sudou Shuu, Russian rebels and, again, Takaba Akihito.

“It is not easy to trust someone else with the work of a lifetime,” he added.

“So now he decided to try again?”

“Yes. It's a road paved with traps, so the meetings he has attended so far have targeted much more than just gaining back investors’ trust,” Kirishima explained, taking off his glasses after a long, deep sigh. “He is recruiting, interviewing, making new alliances and finishing those that are of no longer use to him.”

On the other side of the desk, the counsellor listened quietly, a slow nod showing she understood the complexity of the situation.

“It’s a lengthy process,” she said.

“Very much so, yes,” he replied. “The estimated timeframe is ten to fifteen years until the management chain is properly reorganized.”

“When you say management chain, does that also include--”

“That includes all of his businesses.”

At the end of the day, dealing with regular business alliances and acquisitions was tricky but not life-threatening; it was the irregular nature of some of those transactions that required a great deal of cold blood and foresight.

“Very well,” the woman across from him replied, leaning back on her chair. “And how do I fit into that magnificent plan?”

“A few days ago one of our subsidiaries in Hong Kong was approached by the Sun On Yee.”

As expected, the expression on the counsellor’s face went from amiable to hostile in a matter of seconds, the corners of her mouth moving downwards to form a straight line of contempt.

“Two of our brands are part of their investment portfolio, apparently, but at the moment the amount of shares they hold is not enough to make much of an impact. They wanted to increase their participation,” he explained. “Asami-sama has a meeting with their Dragon Head within a week.”

“Good,” was her curt reply. “Plenty of time to cancel it.”

“I’m afraid that is not going to happen.”

“Why would he even want to meet with the Sun On Yee?” she asked, a hint of irritation showing in her voice. “Isn’t one Chinese triad enough for him?”

“That is exactly the reason why he is meeting with them,” Kirishima replied. “There might be some kind of triad war brewing in Hong Kong, and he needs to understand who is pulling the strings this time, and why.”

“He will end up getting dragged into a nightmare. The Sun On Yee is a nightmare.”

There was a moment of pause, in which the secretary found himself at the receiving end of an unseeing glare.

“Please don’t tell me you’re here to ask what I think you are about to ask.”

“I need to talk to Wei Shen,” he quickly replied, choosing not to prolong the suspense.

“Why?”

“We are about to step into unknown territory. The least we can do is educate ourselves.”

He watched as the counsellor shook her head, one of her hands covering her mouth as her vacant gaze dropped to the desk.

“I hear Shen left the triad on good terms, despite everything,” he whispered.

“On good terms, what good terms?”

When she stood up, Kirishima narrowed his eyes to study her face.

He had seen her angry before, namely at the time Takaba Akihito had to be admitted into a hospital after a catastrophic showdown with his boss, and the moment the usual amiable expression gave way to a menacing frown was always a fascinating one to watch.

“The Sun On Yee destroyed his life, you have no idea…” she whispered, her fingers slowly sliding down the glass panels in front of her as she spoke. “What exactly do you need from him?”

“Basic information. What to expect, what names we should avoid, the names we should mention.”

Still standing by the window, the counsellor remained quiet, and he was about to open his mouth to offer additional justification for his request when she spoke again.

“Fine. That being said, under no circumstances is Wei Shen to get in touch with the Sun On Yee,” she demanded, turning around to face him. “No matter what, Kirishima. That is non negotiable.”

“Certainly.”

To encourage a former red pole of Baishe’s main rival to go back into business would be beyond problematic, after all.

“I take it you are spending the night?” she asked, walking towards him with the same strong, contemptuous expression on her face.

“I would never impose--”

“You are spending the night.”

His eyebrows shot up before he could stop himself.

That did not sound like a request.

“I am?”

“Yes.”

The commanding tone of her voice, aligned with the fact she seemed to be towering over him as she stood in front of his wheelchair, made it obvious he was not the one calling the shots.

The fact he was not in control of the situation should bother him, immensely.

It should at least bother him a little.

Surprisingly, it didn't bother him at all.

“Wei has already ended his activities for the day, he’s probably out and about now,” she explained, her expression still far from docile. “You should wait until morning.”

“Sure.”

“Come, I will show you to your room.”

In silence, he picked up his suitcase and wheeled himself out of her office, following the counsellor as she turned left onto a hall, then right onto another lounge, and once again left onto a long corridor leading to one of the house’s main suites.

“There you go,” she whispered.

“Thank you very much for y--”

Before he could move forward, though, he felt one of her hands close around his left shoulder.

“Do you need company?” she asked.

“Company?”

“Yes.”

Majima Makoto, he had found out upon reading the woman’s file, used to work as a masseuse before getting married, and up to this day would use the alias Miyuki in what continued to be a thriving side business: her own massage parlour. Legend has it that she could fix any man or woman with her magic hands.

If the massage parlour truly existed, he never found out, but as her fingers rotated towards his collarbone, he was convinced the rumor about the magic hands was absolutely true.

Did he need company? Perhaps he did.

After all, it had been a while since he had felt that fluttering in his stomach…

He had just opened his mouth to reply when she spoke again.

“You are awfully tense, Kirishima-san,” she whispered. “I can ask one of my employees to help you relax, if you know what I mean.”

His eyes snapped open at the suggestion, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

Either she was sending out all kinds of mixed signals, or he was the one that needed to improve his interpretation skills.

“Ah, no, thanks, there is no need for that,” he replied, after clearing his throat.

“Are you sure?”

“I am… absolutely sure, yes,” he replied, turning around to look at her face one last time before going into the room.

Once again, she seemed thoroughly pleased with herself.

“You owe me a drink, in case you don't remember.”

His words made the corners of her mouth once again curl into a smirk.

“Remind me of that next time you're in the island,” she replied, before excusing herself and closing the door behind her.

Next time.

 _‘Fair enough,’_ he mentally told himself.

He had less than six hours before his meeting, anyway, and he should probably get as much rest as he could.

++++

The next morning, a blood-curdling scream coming from outside his window made Takaba Akihito sit up on his bed with a start.

He missed the days of the low rumbling ringtone coming from his cell phone.

That brief moment of reflection, however, was quickly punished with another loud bleat that made him wince. With his eyes still shut, he felt for the wooden panels behind his futon and pushed them open, his fingers deftly locating the nylon leash tied to his window and giving it a gentle tug.

“Shh… I'm awake,” he grumbled. “Shhh, I'm up, be quiet now.”

The goat whose head he was blindly patting bleated once, twice, and then finally agreed to a resigned silence when he opened his eyes.

“Gee, they trained you well, didn't they?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as the furry blur finally walked away.

After the fifth day he had shown up nearly half an hour late for training, Wei Shen had told him he would have a goat screaming outside his window every day at five in the morning to ensure he got up in time.

He had thought it was a joke.

With a scoff, he walked towards the opposite side of the room to pour water from a jug into a basin so that he could wash his face and brush his teeth. In fifteen minutes, he was supposed to start the first meditation of the day in the patio, and then do his set of endurance exercises for half an hour, flexibility and balance training for another half hour, followed by a forty-minute run on the beach - all of that with an empty stomach.

He wondered if Asami was somehow behind the arrangements he had to endure in that island. Seriously, how many sadists could a person meet in a lifetime?

“Day twelve,” he said, after prompting the camera on his phone his to start recording. “It's five in the morning. As you can see, it's still dark outside…” he went on, pointing to the window, “but I'm up anyway. It's still dark, but I'm supposed to be out there in 15 minutes to train. Oh, and a goat woke me up, so if you are having a bad day, just remember that. A goat.”

He dropped the phone on the bed, and picked up the light gray cotton robe and pants he had neatly put on top of a chair to spare him the trouble of looking for clothes that early in the morning.

His left arm hurt like hell.

 _‘That's what you get,’_ he thought to himself, _‘for having no restraint.’_

Which reminded him that he had fallen asleep with Asami’s shirt on, and that he had just recorded himself wearing it.

The man would be awfully proud of himself when he saw it.

“Ah, and thanks for the kit, very useful,” he added, picking up the phone again. “And before you ask, no, I did not record myself using it, I forgot.”

That was only partially true. He had forgotten to record himself in the beginning, but remembered halfway through it and ended up choosing not to, if only to give the man a bit of punishment for spending so much time away.

“When are you coming back?” he asked quietly, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to focus on the corner where the camera was supposed to be.

He dropped the phone on the bed again after a snort.

“I'll have to edit the shit out of this when I get back,” he said, quickly getting into his Kung fu uniform and tying the white sash around his waist before stepping out of his room.

For the first time in forever, he had reached the patio five minutes ahead of time, just to realize there was no one there.

_Just his luck._

After another ten minutes had gone by, one of the dozen kitchen hands in the main house showed up by his side.

“Takaba-san,” said a small woman, her hair tied in a beautiful long braid falling over her shoulder as she passed him a mug of fuming hot green tea. “Wei Shen is in a meeting, he asked you to wait inside.”

Of course.

“He could have lost the goat, then,” he whispered.

“Excuse me, what was that?”

“Nothing…”

After reciprocating the young woman’s bow with a small smile, Akihito followed her into a room and waited, yawning every now and then as he studied the walls that seemed to be covered with pictures and other mementos.

He narrowed his eyes to try and make sense of what the pictures were showing, but the best he could make out was silhouettes in a diffuse background, the lack of detail making it impossible for him to identify who or what he was looking at.

“Sorry for the late start.”

Wei Shen’s voice made him take a startled step backwards.

“I would have told you yesterday I would have a meeting, if I had known that myself,” he explained.

“Who was the meeting with?” the photographer asked.

“Asami Ryuichi’s secretary.”

Akihito’s eyebrows shot up.

A meeting with Kirishima, that early in the morning?

Much as he wanted to believe Asami would be interested in keeping tabs on him and his training, it didn't sound like that had been the main point of the agenda.

“What was it about?” Akihito asked.

“Nothing important,” Wei Shen replied, but his tone of voice was not exactly convincing. “Just… business stuff, nothing to worry about.”

He nodded with a fake half-smile.

‘Nothing to worry about’. Everyone’s latest favourite line, it appeared, one that only made him even more upset about being left in the dark.

He tried to hide his discomfort by averting his gaze to the wall.

“What is this?” he asked, tilting his head towards one of the largest pictures behind them. “A poster?”

“Yeah,” the bodyguard replied. “Hong Kong's national rugby team, I was the captain for a couple of years.”

“No way!”

“Yeah... I was what, twenty? Maybe older…”

“So you were some kind of sports celebrity, huh?” Akihito asked, narrowing his eyes to try and make sense of the indistinct mass of shapes in the poster to see if he could spot where the captain was.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Wei Shen replied, the tip of index finger touching the picture to show his position. “It is a lot of responsibility, to carry people's dreams on your shoulders. Some fans were really passionate.”

“What about these pictures?”

“This is me and Winston, an old friend of mine,” the bodyguard went on to explain, pointing to a smaller frame. “We were both part of a triad back in the day.”

“Oh. The Sun On Yee?”

“How do you know that?”

He didn’t even have to look at the man’s face to notice the abrupt change in his mood.

“Tanimura,” the photographer replied quietly. “That day we met in Purgatory, he said you were a red pole.”

“Doesn't he have a mouth bigger than his brain, that guy…”

The chuckle that followed was both bitter and resigned, but before Akihito could change the topic, Wei Shen spoke again.

“But yeah. I was a red pole for the Sun On Yee, Winston still is,” he explained. “It’s strange. At one point, I was just an infiltrated cop in the middle of an investigation, and then, next thing I knew, I was tossing people into an ice chipper…”

The unexpected reveal made Akihito lose his train of thought. From undercover cop to killer, there seemed to be a lot of untold story, but he was unsure if delving any deeper into that topic would be a good idea.

“Days I don't want to go back to…”

Wei Shen’s gloomy whisper only confirmed he should probably remain quiet.

“And this…” the bodyguard continued, after clearing his throat. “This is a picture of me and my sister.”

“What’s her name?”

“Patricia,” the older man replied. “In this picture she was graduating from high school, we had just arrived at the party venue for dinner.”

Akihito couldn’t help but notice there was another person in the picture, on the right side of whom he assumed was Wei’s sister. Instead of asking who it was, though, he let the other man continue.

“It was a brand new five star hotel, my parents had poured a lot of money into it,” the bodyguard went on, before letting out a nostalgic chuckle. “I remember there was this huge chocolate fountain, and she had so much fruit and marshmallows she started feeling sick right before the dance.”

There was something in the man’s voice that was both harrowing and foreboding, and that made Akihito suspect that story would not end well.

“That was eight years ago, before she started hanging with the wrong crowd,” Wei Shen explained. “She was seventeen. Three years later, she was gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone,” the bodyguard whispered in response. “That is why I became a cop, to try and find her. To get the people that did her wrong behind bars… but nothing went as planned.”

Again, Akihito’s innate curiosity was begging him to probe, to ask questions, to find out more, and he would have done so if Wei Shen did not sound so thoroughly defeated.

“I searched every corner of Hong Kong, but I never found her,” he concluded, his voice distant and low.  

“Wow…”

He was aware that his interjection was poorly-timed and useless, but if anything, it made the man by his side square his shoulders as he let out a resigned sigh.

“Yeah, I've been around…”

“How did you end up in Japan?” the photographer asked, somehow relieved to move away from what was obviously a very depressing topic.

“My boyfriend,” Wei Shen replied, finally pointing to the other person in the picture next to his sister. “You saw him with me, once.”

He squinted when the bodyguard passed him another picture. Despite the blur, the mane of red hair occupying a third of the frame was oddly familiar.

“In Purgatory.”

Akihito’s eyes went wide.

“Wait,” he muttered. “Asami's procurer? _He_ 's your boyfriend?”

“Yes. Has been for almost twenty years.”

He felt his jaw had dropped to the ground. Of course, now that he was putting two and two together, it should not have come as much of a surprise - that time in Purgatory, he could tell the two of them were intimate.

Still, talk about an unlikely couple.

 _‘Just like an investigative photographer and Japan’s most powerful crime lord,’_ his mind was quick to point out.

With a smirk, he returned the picture to the man next to him.

“And then Li Jiao hooked me up with Majima-sama and before I knew I had no reason to go back to Hong Kong,” Wei Shen added. “Things always find a way to sort themselves out, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

Akihito nodded mindlessly, letting his thoughts wander for a moment.

“Twenty years, huh?” he finally asked. “What’s the secret?”

His question elicited a genuine laugh, and he watched as the bodyguard rubbed the back of his neck before replying.

“Hell if I know…” he said. “Trust. Patience. Endurance…” he enlisted, pausing to clear his throat. “Creativity…”

Akihito let another smirk curl the corners of his mouth.

Creativity… That, he and Asami had plenty, whereas trust and patience could do with some tweaking.

“Eh…” it was his turn to clear his throat. “About _endurance_ , I have been meaning to ask…”

“Just so we're clear, I was talking about _emotional_ endurance,” Wei Shen added, before he could finish his sentence.

“Right…” Akihito replied. “But about physical endurance, what would you recommend… you know… to improve it…”

He shrugged, making sure his body language was as indifferent as the expression on his face as his voice trailed off.

It was not as if he had any intentions of openly addressing his own sex life, anyway.

“That depends on what your goal is,” the bodyguard replied. “Like, if you're thinking of running a marathon, entering a dance competition…” he paused, “...lasting longer during sex…”

Still pretending to be only remotely interested in where that conversation was going, Akihito tried his best to stick to his poker face.

“The preparation depends on the purpose,” the man went on. “For a marathon, for example--”

“It's sex, ok?” the photographer finally conceded, feeling that his face was turning a bright shade of pink as he spoke. “I meant, endurance _in sex_.”

“That's all you need? To last longer, as in... to stay erect longer?”

The words shouldn't embarrass him so much, but he couldn't help but cringe.

“To take longer before you come?”

“I guess…” he replied quietly.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“What do you expect to accomplish, by lasting longer?”

Akihito felt even more blood rush to his face.

Why had he even brought it up?

“I... I just want to keep up with him,” he mumbled in response.

“But why?”

“ _‘Why?’,_ why do you keep on asking that?” he snapped, his pitch unusually high. “Because!”

“Sex is not a competition. I mean, it could be, but... it can be better than that,” he heard the other man explain, his voice serious although it was obvious laughter was still rattling deep inside his chest. “If you want to last longer to feel more connected, to engage more of your senses, to… have more of a spiritual thing going on, you should study tantra. Have you heard of it?”

Akihito nodded without much confidence. From what he could remember, the only time he and Kou had come across a reference to tantric sex was in a male magazine with some crazy recreations of the Kama Sutra.

“As in, burning incense and trying to do it while hanging from a chandelier kind of stuff?”

Next to him, Wei Shen roared with laughter.

“Oh damn,” he panted, wiping happy tears from the corners of his eyes. “Nah, that was not what I had in mind, no. That doesn't sound very appealing.”

“It isn't,” Akihito chuckled in response.

“Right… can you read Braille?”

“Eh?”

“Braille, kantenji, can you read it?”

“Just a little.”

“Come, I'll give you the audiobook, then.”

“What audiobook?” he asked, as the two of them got out of the room and walked towards the library on the opposite side of the hall.

“Tantric sex,” the bodyguard replied, passing him a small USB flash drive after browsing through one of the many shelves.

His interest was officially piqued, but given his schedule for the rest of the day, it wouldn't be until much later he would have the chance to check it out.

++++

Kirishima raised his eyes from his notes as more people entered the balcony of his room carrying trays, jugs and plates with so much food and beverages he would need at least half a day to take care of it all.

"Thank you, that's... a lot," he whispered, after one by one, the servants bowed respectfully and took their leave.

Left to his own thoughts, the secretary helped himself to a cup of coffee and a bowl of oyakodon, his eyes scanning the patio below just in time to see Takaba Akihito walk into the area right behind the man he had just met with minutes prior.

Not far from there, Shinada stood guard at a corner, his gaze fixated on the two men ahead. His narrowed eyes and wrinkled forehead made it clear he still hadn't forgotten his less than warm welcome to the island, and the many furious accounts in his reports would have been reason for concern, if only the narrative of his misfortunes weren't so much fun to read.

“Excuse me?"

He didn't even need to turn around to know that the deep female voice coming from the door belonged to Majima Makoto’s first assistant. Another victim of the Omi fallout, she too carried physical marks of the battle: her gunshot-wounded knees were still too weak to allow her to walk properly. When he arrived at the island, she had welcomed him by limping proudly towards his car with the aid of crutches; that morning, however, she was in a wheelchair as well, perhaps out of solidarity.

“Please come in,” he said. “There is plenty of food for the two of us.”

“I've already had breakfast, thanks.”

“How's the baby going?”

“Fine.”

After a quick nod, she averted her eyes to the patio.

 _Not much of a talker_ , just like he suspected.

“Your daughter will have quite the international collection of dresses by the time she's born,” he said, trying to break the ice. “Suoh gets at least half a dozen of them in every city we have visited so far.”

“He shouldn't,” she replied, still looking at the people below. “Just because she's a girl, doesn't mean she needs to dress like a doll.”

After an amused nod, Kirishima took the opportunity to sip his coffee.

Wait until she finds out the color scheme he has in mind for the girl's room…

“I'll tell him to get some jeans the next time,” he replied. “Those tiny ones.”

The secretary watched as a faint smile curled the corners of her mouth.

“Don't tell Kazumi I said that,” she whispered. “The dresses are very pretty, I don't want to hurt his feelings.”

“I won't say a word.”

Her timid smile widened for a moment, and before long they were both looking at the patio again.

_“Just gimme… a moment…”_

Takaba Akihito seemed to be having trouble keeping up with his master, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

_“Don't stop, just focus. Your mind will try to give up much before your body does.”_

“How have you been coping?” he heard Li Jiao ask.

“With what, exactly?”

Instead of answering, her eyes moved to his legs, and he noticed that the dark brown orbs were clouded with obvious concern.

“I'm getting used to it,” he replied, his gaze shifting to his own knees. “In the beginning it was complicated, but I have a team of physical therapists at my disposal 24 hours a day to show me the ropes. I'm undergoing stem cell treatment too, so some days are better than others.”

Despite his answer, her expression was still bleak as she stared at the wheelchair.

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged, her eyes once again averted to the action below. “It's just… strange. Not to be able to do things and stuff.”

“I know.”

The things and stuff, in that case, seemed to consist of training Takaba Akihito herself. He wondered if the outcome would be different if she did, if the student would struggle any less than he was struggling at that point, as he dodged punches, kicks and strikes from a wooden staff coming from all sides and directions.

 _“That is not fast enough,”_ Wei Shen roared. _“All it takes is one hit! You, **dead**. Asami Ryuichi, **dead.** ”_

As the younger man mumbled something about guns and useless, their eyes met for the first time, although the unfocused hazel orbs made him doubt the photographer could see him clearly.

_“Takaba, eyes on me!”_

"Akihito’s working very hard,” Li Jiao pointed out as the scene unfolded.

"Shen said he tends to get distracted very easily."

"He has a very active mind."

"Well…” Kirishima sighed. “He needs to harness all that energy if he really wants to learn to defend himself."

"You should give him some credit,” the woman replied. “He is learning things from scratch, his vision has gotten better but it is still a challenge for him."

"How are his Braille classes going, by the way?"

"Good. He can already read some basic sentences on his own."

With a silent nod, the secretary let his eyes study the slender figure who every now and then cast an unsure glance towards him. He had to concede that for someone who had woken up from a coma less than a month prior, the photographer’s progress was exceptional.

But then again, he should not be surprised. Takaba Akihito’s ability to overcome adversities was nothing short of impressive.

"He's worried,” he said, before taking another sip of his coffee. "He keeps looking this way, no wonder he is getting all his moves wrong."

His observation was met with a quiet scoff.

Apparently, the woman by his side still held a grudge against Asami Ryuichi for his past conduct regarding her pupil, just like Suoh had reported.

"As far as I know, he knows nothing about what your boss is doing out there and with whom,” she replied, with a glare so intense it could probably cut through glass. "Wouldn't you be worried, if you were in his place?"

The sound of gasps made them both turn their heads, just in time to see a spurt of blood coming out of the photographer’s nose as the wooden staff hit him right between the eyes.

Kirishima’s first instinct was to get up, resulting in a clumsy jerk forward that almost brought down the table in front of him.

“Wei, that's enough!” he heard the woman by his side scream as she helped him reposition himself on the chair.

 _“It was not his fault!”_ he saw the younger man scream in response. _“I was looking away!”_

“Regardless. If it made you bleed, that means he hit you harder than necessary.”

_“He didn't--”_

“You can continue tomorrow,” Li Jiao interrupted.

Since her tone left no room for debate, Akihito had no option but to drop his staff and march back to the house, cursing under his breath.

The last thing Kirishima saw before exiting the balcony was Shinada rolling up his sleeves with a semi-maniac look in his eyes. The man had been looking for an excuse to fight for quite a while now, and Wei Shen had just given him one.

++++

Akihito walked back to his room with a napkin tucked into his bleeding nostril, the metallic taste at the back of his tongue making his stomach turn.

He couldn’t see the point of learning to fight with a wooden staff when most of the times people came after him bearing firearms, but what did he know, anyway.

Still mumbling to himself, he reached for his phone and pulled off its cover, poking the tiny slot on the left of the device.

It was about time he accepted his vision was not good enough for him to go anywhere near guns, and that the best way to protect himself was to work on his reflexes so that he could avoid being hit regardless of the weapon being used.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, running back to the hall in time to see Kirishima exiting his own room.

“Yes.”

“Can you give this to him?”

“What is this?” the secretary asked, looking at the micro memory card with a raised eyebrow.

“ _Nothing to worry about._ ”

He made sure to stress each word, tilting his chin upwards in defiance.

If the man had no interest in filling him in on the latest events in Asami’s life, he would not bother to keep him posted when it came to his activities either.

“Fair enough,” Kirishima replied, with his usual composed tone. “He will be happy to hear you are making progress with your Kung fu lessons.”

“I'm not making progress.”

“Don't be ridiculous, of course you are.”

“What are you talking about?” Akihito scoffed in response. “You just saw Wei wipe the floor with me.

“He would wipe the floor with pretty much everyone in this place, he has been a Master of Kung fu for two years now,” Kirishima said. “You can't learn all that in two weeks. Less than two weeks, even.”

It was somewhat unusual for Asami’s secretary to try and make him feel better about anything, but he was grateful for the attempt nevertheless, especially when the man seemed to be fighting his own battles after the run-in with the Omi.

“Do you miss walking?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. Some days more than others,” the older man replied, and Akihito noticed his voice was more somber than usual as he spoke. “But we get used to it, don't we?”

The photographer nodded silently in response.

“I know it’s not your style, but be patient,” he heard the secretary add. “Things will get better.”

They bid their farewells, and the photographer returned to his room to grab his camera and go for a walk.

He knew the secretary was right, and that things would get better at some point. His optimism seemed to come and go, depending on how well he could see, which could vary a lot from day to day, and even within the hour.

Before he knew, he was facing the ocean, his face showered by the bright, warm light of the sun as salt water and foam covered his feet.

When he closed his eyes, the darkness did not fill him with fear.

Instead, he allowed the sounds and smells around him to take over, the sensation of the cool breeze against his skin telling a story of its own.

He was alive, he could see the world with his whole body, and it was beautiful.

_Click. Click._

Slowly, another dozen pictures were added to his collection, showing shapes, colors, angles and feelings that he might not have been able to capture in any other way.

To his left, the sound of heavy bass beats echoed in the distance, but not far enough to come from the nightclub on the other side of the hill.

He didn’t even remember the last time he had been to a party…

A small smile curled the corners of his mouth. Back in the day, when he, Takato and Kou would hit the clubs in Tokyo, he was always the one to get praised for his dancing skills.

Perhaps it was worth checking where the music was coming from, after all.

++++

It was not until one week later that Kirishima Kei arrived at Singapore to meet with Suoh and their boss. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he boarded the jet, the accumulated tiredness of nearly 72 hours with little to no sleep finally getting to him.

In hindsight, it had not been such a great idea to make his presence at Sion known to other managers and directors after his brief visit to Tsumino. He had planned to catch up on ongoing audits, review reports and assess Sion’s financial situation in the peace and quiet of his office, but with Asami Ryuichi out of the office, he was the one in charge, which meant his own priorities had to take a back seat as he sorted out issues ranging from signing HR documents to approving new marketing plans.

“How was your meeting with the Fixer management?”

The baritone voice of the man sitting across from him brought him back to reality as the Gulfstream G-550 took off.

“It went well,” he replied. “Their numbers are solid, the proposed expansion plan is sound. Yours?”

“The usual. Suppliers driving a hard bargain, authorities subtly threatening to charge us more fees... nothing that a good party wouldn't solve.”

The secretary discreetly averted his gaze to Suoh, who happened to be walking past them at the moment.

“I headed back to the hotel, Kirishima,” he heard his boss respond, eyes fixated on the small window next to his head, but fully aware of what was going on around him. “Are you worried that I would overdose again?”

“Not at all,” Kirishima was quick to answer as he took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I just figured you could do with some... relaxation?”

“My relaxation is waiting for me in Tsumino.”

A long, deep sigh coming from the table behind them made him realize that Suoh was probably the one dealing with the CEO’s energy surplus, considering the fact the man’s self-imposed dry spells tended to result in large amounts of testosterone being diverted to daily sessions of intense sparring, cardio and weight training.

“Stop treating me like I'm a little boy, it's getting bothersome,” he heard his boss add.

Kirishima let his gaze drop to the laptop on the middle of the table, the corners of his lips curved up in a subtle smile.

Behind the composed exterior, Kirishima knew the man in front of him was just as much of a rascal as Takaba Akihito himself - both had many more things in common than either of them probably realized.

“Takaba sent you this, by the way,” he said, retrieving the small memory card from an envelope in his pocket, just to see the golden eyes sparkle at the mere mention of the photographer’s name. “He's fine. Li Jiao said his vision is improving, but he's learning to read Braille nevertheless.”

At that point, he was not completely sure his boss was listening to him anymore. He was far too busy inserting the memory card into a slot of his laptop computer, the quick succession of clicks indicating he was much more interested in its contents than on his secretary’s report.

“He misses you,” Kirishima added regardless. “And... he is learning how to fight.”

“If he has a single bruise on him when I get to that island, there will be hell to pay.”

“Bruises are part of the learning process.”

“Still.”

One more click, and they were all listening to the photographer’s voice as he narrated his adventures on the island since day one. The always hard to read Asami Ryuichi was resting his face on one of his hands as he balanced the laptop on top of his crossed legs, but Kirishima knew him well enough to see all the subtle signs of satisfaction: the smirks, the relaxed shoulders, the brighter glow in the amber orbs.

 _“Day three,”_ said the voice coming from the computer. _“Welcome to Masterchef Japan.”_

_“Turn off the camera, Takaba.”_

_“I just want to take a picture of lunch.”_

_“Then take the picture and go.”_

Unless he was mistaken, the other voice belonged to Wei Shen, and he could only imagine the amount of patience one would need to guide Takaba Akihito through a path of enlightenment, as mentioned at some point of the recording they were listening to.

_“Day six. Hey, Asami, have you ever masturbated at the top of a hill?”_

The golden eyes went wide for the fraction of a second, which proved to be enough time for Suoh and at least another five employees to turn their heads to look at the CEO.

_“Not sure what the camera will capture, but… here goes.”_

The low, whirring sound of a zipper being unfastened was the last thing they all heard before their boss pressed pause, reached for a pair of earbuds and connected them to the laptop.

 _Good._ For once, they wouldn’t have to hear Takaba Akihito’s ear-piercing screams during sex, something that all of the people in that jet had had to endure at least half a dozen times in their careers.

It was still awkward, though, to have the man watch the scene while still sitting across from him, his pupils dilating so much that the golden irises were barely visible as he stared at the computer screen. His legs remained crossed, his body immobile - despite the obvious arousal, nothing was different in his body language other than his fingertips digging into the arm of his chair.

If the man’s white knuckles were anything to go by, Suoh had some strenuous hours of training ahead of him.

But because that was not the first time - and probably not the last, either - that his boss and the photographer tested the boundaries of private and public in their sex adventures, Kirishima took a deep breath and ignored the sexually-charged atmosphere in the cabin as he reached for the newspaper next to his seat.

In fact, he was so tired that the whole situation proved to be the perfect chance for him to take a nap.

“Sir, we are about to land.”

It was the voice of one of their employees that woke him up nearly three hours later, and he narrowed his eyes when the skyline below turned out to be rather different from the one he was expecting.

“Hong Kong?” he asked, a confused frown wrinkling his forehead. “I thought we were headed to Kuala Lumpur?”

“I have already been to Malaysia and to the Philippines,” the CEO calmly explained. “We'll finish earlier than planned.”

Kirishima pushed his glasses further up his nose with a concerned look in his eyes. His overabundance of appointments at Sion had clearly made him lose track of his boss’s latest appointments.

“Did you talk to Shen?”

“Yes,” the secretary replied as the other members of staff prepared for landing. “I will fill you in on the car.”

++++

At first, he was denied entrance to the auction taking place in what used to be Aberdeen’s most prestigious art gallery.

Those days, though, the place was just another one of Baishe’s front businesses, and the reason for the tight security at the door, it appeared, was the invitation-only nature of the event.

“Is this enough of an invitation for you?” Asami asked, discreetly showing the two guns holstered snugly against his chest, with Suoh right behind him doing the same thing.

He really didn't have the time or patience to waste with Fei Long’s goons. If he had to shoot his way in, he might as well.

“Let him in.”

The familiar voice behind the command uttered in Chinese made him avert his gaze to the heavy wooden doors ahead.

“Asami-sama,” Yoh then continued, this time in Japanese. “I wasn't expecting to see you here today.”

“An invitation-only auction, yes, I see why you wouldn't,” Asami replied, finding it unnecessary to comply with the usual business protocol around his former employee. “And you don't work for me anymore, you might as well drop the honorific.”

“I know,” said the other man. “I do it just to ruffle their feathers.”

With a tilt of his head, he averted his eyes to the bunch of morons in suits who were eyeing them both with no little amount of contempt.

Clearly, Yoh disliked the lower ranks of the Baishe just as much as he did.

“He's in the first row,” the younger man whispered, closing the door behind them after they entered the marble floored room where the auction was taking place.

_“Twenty thousand dollars, do I hear thirty thousand?”_

Looking extremely bored, a dark-haired man wearing a black suit and sunglasses raised his paddle, barely bothering to look at the merchandise displayed on the stage.

_“Thirty thousand, gentleman in the second row.”_

He watched as a frown of confusion wrinkled Fei Long’s forehead at the auctioneer's words, and waited until he turned around to look at him.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked, while raising his paddle again. “I thought our meeting was in three days.”

“I decided to bring it forward.”

“Well, I'm busy now, as you can see.”

With a disdainful scoff, Asami crossed his legs and made yet another bid.

“Human trafficking is quite the distasteful business,” he whispered, as his eyes scanned the pale faces of the five human beings on the stage wearing nothing but cheap underwear and leather bracelets.

“You are one to talk about distasteful businesses,” Fei Long retorted.

“At least I don't run brothels.”

“What a righteous creature you are.”

_“Eighty thousand, do I have one hundred thousand, gentlemen?”_

“Speaking of righteous, how's Akihito going?” he heard the Chinese leader ask.

“Getting better every day.”

“How heartless of you, Asami, to go on a tour just after he woke up from a coma…” Fei Long continued, his voice carrying the usual note of sarcasm that made his blood boil. “Rumor has it you were quite busy in Florence. So much so, actually, that not even Marco Rioux’s heart could take it…”

He wondered what kind of rumor exactly had been going around after he left Italy, and as long as it didn't hurt his business, he couldn't possibly care less. He had come out of it alive and Marco hadn't, the man’s most profitable investment in Germany was now his and that made him the go-to person in Western Europe more than any other regional leadership, at least in terms of financial alliances.

As usual, Fei Long was just trying to rain on his parade, and that was a game he also knew how to play.

“I met with Broken Nose Jiang this morning,” he announced, raising his paddle as he cast a sideways glance towards the man in the row in front of him.

“Sun On Yee's Dragon Head?” he heard Fei Long whisper in response, the frown of concern back on his face as he raised his arm to outbid his offer. “What for?”

“To talk business.”

_“Five hundred thousand, going once…”_

“Since when you and those hoodlums are business partners?”

_“Five hundred thousand, going twice…”_

“We're not,” Asami replied. “For the time being, at least.”

_“Five hun--”_

“Five million dollars.”

His thunderous voice was followed by a second of silence, and then a wave of murmurs as other participants cast a curious glance towards him.

“Do I have five and a half million dollars?” the auctioneer asked, looking at the only other bidder in the room.

Fei Long, however, shook his head, refusing to bid him up.

“Five million, going once, going twice, going three times,” the man then announced, before striking the hammer. “Sold to the gentleman in the second row.”

“What are you going to do with a shipment of five teenage girls from Cambodia?” the leader of the Baishe then asked, glaring daggers at him.

“Not what you were planning to do, I guarantee,” Asami replied, grabbing the paperwork a young man in a suit was passing him.

Another financial transaction that Kirishima would have to do some incredible acrobatics to justify in their audits. No wonder the secretary hated when he attended those auctions; on top of all the paperwork, he always ended up heading back home with a handful of kids with no education or professional background, which usually meant his first assistant would also have to spend some of his time getting them documents, a place to live and a school to attend before they could even consider giving any of them a proper job.

“Why didn't you tell me the 18k struck a deal with mainland China to control weapon routes originating in the Middle East?” he whispered to the man in front of him, after putting away the documents to address a more urgent issue.

“Because they didn't.”

“Jiang showed me a copy of their agreement.”

“It is probably a fake,” Fei Long replied. “That old hag is a treacherous viper.”

“What about Patricia Shen?” he asked, his voice so low it was barely audible. “She s--”

“Not here,” the other man interrupted, his tone clipped and cold. “Outside.”

The murmurs intensified when the two of them got up and headed towards the door, and Asami couldn't help but feel accomplished at the realisation that he was pretty much derailing Fei Long’s plans for the day.

“I don't know what that woman told you about Patricia Shen, or the 18k, but it's time you got your facts straight,” the younger man hissed as soon as they reached a deserted room on the opposite side of the hall. “If the 18k had made a move in mainland China, I would know.”

“Would you? Who in your team keeps track of those things?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“You said it yourself that the Koreans have been acting suspicious,” Asami replied. “How do you know someone in the Baishe isn't leaking confidential information to them? Or that someone in the Baishe hasn't turned against you?”

A defiant smirk curled the corners of Fei Long's mouth.

“No one would be stupid enough to take the chance,” he answered.

“It all depends on what they are being offered,” Asami insisted. “I told you to be careful with the Jingweon Mafia.”

“Fine, I will look into it,” Fei Long finally conceded, and although the semi-smile on his lips had dissolved into a neutral line, his voice still carried the arrogant tone that made it sound like he was doing Asami a favor.

“But as to Patricia Shen, and I hope this is the last time you will ever bring up that name, she was a meth head who spent most of her time lurking into triad territory to feed her addiction,” he continued, his face losing all traces of amusement. “Sometimes it was the Sun On Yee, sometimes it was the 18k, sometimes, well, it was the Baishe that provided her with the shabu,” he explained, after a dismissive shrug. “That is what no one on their side will tell you, no one forced Patricia Shen to become a prostitute, she came to me out of her own volition--”

“Out of her own volition?” Asami interrupted. “She was addicted to drugs.”

“Yes, and I tried my best to get her clean.”

“You should have returned her to her brother.”

“I didn't even know she had a brother…”

The words fell from Fei Long’s lips with a mixture of disdain and false surprise, and the vindictive gleam in his eyes only confirmed that what he had just said was a lie. Asami suspected he knew exactly who Patricia Shen was when he took her in, just like he knew his brother had been looking for her for years on end, which only made the entire affair even more sordid and complicated.

“Where is she now?” Asami asked.

To be fair, it was not as if he was inclined to get in the middle of what was obviously a triad feud. Broken Nose Jiang had probably fed him with the information about the 18k to make him doubt the integrity of his current business partners, and the rumor about Patricia Shen was just to add fuel to the fire.

Still, he couldn't help but feel there was something off.

“How am I supposed to know?” Fei Long replied, crossing his arms. “One day, she simply took off. And that was what, four years ago? She's probably dead by now, why the sudden interest?”

“Jiang said there were rumours the Baishe still kept her hostage.“

His words made Fei Long’s eyes go wide.

That kind of spontaneous reaction was a very rare occurrence in the more than ten years they had known each other, and it led him to believe that at least that time, Fei Long was truly unaware of such an arrangement.

“And you fell for it?”

“It is not a matter of believing their story or not,” Asami replied. “It is the intent that you should be thinking about. The Sun On Yee wouldn't bother to try and create divide unless they had a trump card up their sleeves.”

He watched when the leader of the Baishe averted his gaze to the engraved mosaic panel behind them, his brow furrowed as if he was immersed in his own thoughts.

“You need to purge your organisation,” Asami then added, reaching for the pack of Dunhills in the inside pocket of his jacket.

He took his time lighting up a cigarette and drawing in a long, deep breath before speaking again.

“I get the feeling someone has gone behind your back,” he said at last, staring at Fei Long’s face with a raised eyebrow before turning around and walking towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” he heard the man ask, and a smirk curled the corners of his mouth.

He had nothing else to do in Hong Kong. From that moment on, it was Fei Long’s job to make sure that his organisation - and a very lucrative part of Asami’s business, by default - didn't go up in flames.

“Home,” he replied.

++++

“What are you doing?” Akihito heard Wei Shen ask one morning.

“Uh… stretching?” he asked in return, his legs spread wide as he touched his hands overhead.

“I don't remember telling you to do jumping jacks.”

Not far from where they were, the photographer could see the blur of Minami Daisuke crouched by the front gate.

One week prior, he had come across the Tojo lieutenant in a dance off against a bunch of fellow yakuza, and since then he might or might not have secretly attended a few other gatherings to do some break dancing himself.

It had been a great way to pass the time when he was not training, not to mention he felt his thighs and lower back were getting remarkably stronger.

As an additional bonus, he could now perform a kip-up twice as fast, and the flips Wei Shen had relentless tried to teach him were now close to impeccable.

He inhaled deeply when the first sparring session of the day was about to begin, clearing his mind as he focused on his surroundings.

_Two steps to the left, one step backwards._

If anything, the man could now be proud that his disciple was finally learning to use his other senses to assist him in a potential conflict, his ears gradually picking up on subtle sounds that indicated movement or use of weapons, his feet recognising the territory by its texture when his eyes were closed.

And in that state of mindfulness, he dodged a hit, and then another, and got his own moves right as many times as he needed to, until the inspired moment in which he decided to try something new.

Very slowly, with his arms and legs bent, he moved forward as if to perform a cartwheel, except that the position of his hands and elbows quickly changed to give him momentum as he lunged forward with an inverted kick.

The quiet thud of his heel hitting the other man on the chin echoed like a thunder in the patio, as everyone around them held their breath.

“What the hell was that?” Wei Shen hissed a full minute later.

“I-It's a move from capoeira…”

“Yes. I know that is capoeira, Takaba, let me rephrase the question,” he heard the older man ask as he rubbed his chin. “Are we playing capoeira now?”

Behind them, Minami finally erupted in laughter.

“You think it’s funny?” the Chinese man asked. “Oh, you think it’s funny. It was you, wasn't it? What have you been teaching him?”

Instead of replying, the Tojo’s lieutenant continued to laugh, peeling an orange without a single care in the world.

“Minami? Answer the damn question.”

“Break dancing. Capoeira,” Minami replied with a shrug. “I’m teaching him to feel the moment.”

“So, in short, you’ve been telling him to do whatever he wants.”

“In short, yeah.”

“What the hell, man?” Wei Shen explained, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m trying to do something here, to teach him to be mindful, his life might as well depend on it.”

“I’m teaching him to be mindful, too.”

“No, you’re teaching him to be random. Like you.”

Akihito rolled his eyes as the two men engaged in a heated discussion about fighting styles, mindfulness and teaching techniques.

Apparently, his training would not continue anytime soon, so he might as well take a break and go for a walk.

_“You count on the element of surprise. You follow no rules, you know all styles and no style at all, you have no discipline. That is the opposite of what Takaba needs. He has no margin for error.”_

_“See, Wei, that’s your shortcoming, right there. I have no discipline, how the fuck do you know that? Just because I can’t sit around and do your downward-facing dog crap? Fuck that, man! Not everyone digs yoga and all that shit!”_

The farther the photographer moved from the house, the more distant the voices became, but he could still capture Minami’s high pitched voice as he stood his ground.

_“Come on, man! Not everyone is the same. If you want to turn Takaba Akihito into some kind of monk, you’re gonna fail.”_

_“I’m not trying to turn him into a monk. I’m just trying to make him a better fighter, to teach him to protect himself and the ones he loves,”_ he heard Wei reply. _“And it all begins in the mind. He gets distracted too easily, he needs to find some kind of enlightenment or he will never unleash his full potential.”_

_“There goes all the samurai mumbo jumbo again…”_

_“Samurai? I'm not even Japanese, man! Shaolin!”_

_“Shaolin, samurai, who the fuck cares…”_

Upon reaching the first trees leading up to the jungle, Akihito chuckled at their squabble.

It was both worrying and entertaining that a former triad leader and a yakuza captain were that invested in his training.

The sound of a branch cracking somewhere to his left quickly made the small smile on his face disappear.

He was being followed, again.

Even though the counsellor’s logic for that kind of test was not that absurd - she claimed she wanted him to become more aware of his whereabouts - the memories of his first day on the island made him extremely uncomfortable.

Whoever the bastard was, Akihito was about to teach him a lesson.

He had resumed walking when he sensed there was someone behind him, but instead of turning around, he once again stopped, studied his options, and moved to hide behind a tree.

The shuffle of leaves, this time coming from his right, was quiet and subtle, but enough for him to be in position when an arm tried to snake around his neck. With both hands, he pressed on the joint of the attacker’s elbow and assessed he would have to move right to break free, his left knee flexing slightly to coil for the kickoff…

The unexpected puff of warm air against his ear sounded a lot like a chuckle, a very familiar one at that, and the sudden flutter at the pit of his stomach confused him for a second.

_Focus._

After inhaling deeply to get his mind back on track, Akihito pivoted at the hips, swinging his left leg sharply to his right while still keeping inward pressure on the other man’s elbow.

He felt like he was trying to manoeuvre a solid wall of concrete, but he did not let the challenge discourage him. When he finally managed to break free after a solid 180 degree turn to the right, a hammer fist to the kidney made his attacker bend double in pain.

The tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered attacker, whose scent of nicotine and blood-orange cologne finally registered in his nostrils, whose quiet grunt sounded terribly familiar…

“Asami?!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: _*throws confetti*_  a much needed conversation, scars, _*coughs*sexlotsofit*coughs*_ , housing arrangements… _*throws more confetti*_  


	63. Wild Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Who knows?_
> 
> _I felt it from the first embrace I shared with you_
> 
> _that now_
> 
> _our_
> 
> _dreams_
> 
> _may finally come true._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of a double update! This chapter is nearing 14k words so I chose to break it in two - here is the first installment! *_*

A blow to the kidney, he now remembered, was a ridiculously unpleasant experience, even when it was delivered by a lightweight like Akihito.

“Asami?!" he heard the photographer exclaim. "Wha--why--w-when did you get here?"

He winced when a bolt of pain shot through the right side of his lower back, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk as he drew in a long, satisfied breath.

So his kitten was learning how to fight.

"I-I, shit, did I hurt you?" Akihito asked, his eyes still wide. "Shit, I should have just brought the taser..."

_As if being tasered felt any better._

"Taser?" he replied. "What exactly have they been teaching you at this place?"

"Self-defense. Meditation," the photographer shrugged, scratching one of his elbows as he spoke. " _Tantric sex_."

The words made Asami avert his gaze to Akihito's face, just in time to see a small smile curving his lips.

"As to that last one, I hope you've been practicing alone," he whispered in response.

His comment elicited a quiet chuckle, and not for the first time that day, he found himself oddly paralysed as he looked at the man in front of him.

It could be the rays of light sneaking past the trees around them and casting spots of gold in the photographer's brownish hair. It could also be the way the hazel eyes still glowed while scanning their whereabouts even though he could tell that the younger man was still struggling to see properly.

The fact was, Takaba Akihito looked even more beautiful than before.

"What have you been up to?" the photographer asked after a while, his eyes still carefully averted to the ground.

"Is that all I get, after one month away?" Asami asked. "A punch to the kidney, and a 'what have you been up to?'"

"I punched you because you tried to tackle me."

"I was not trying to tackle you."

"Whatever," the younger man replied, and the amusement in his voice did not go unnoticed. "Anyway, I didn't know it was you."

They kept walking side-by-side, pushing away tree branches and huge green leaves that stood in the way, until Akihito slowed down and spoke again.

"And you were away for a month, I might as well ask what you have been up to, don't you think?"

The subtle change in tone made Asami raise an eyebrow.

Because he knew Takaba Akihito's obstinate nature far too well, he knew it was unlikely that the photographer would simply jump on his arms upon his return even if there was nothing else either of them would rather do.

He had imagined, though, that his surprise arrival would elicit more than just that point-blank grilling.

There had to be something else bothering him.

"Is everything OK?" he asked.

"Yeah," he heard Akihito reply, in the slightly higher pitch that always betrayed him when he tried to lie. "Why do you ask?"

His eyes dropped to the photographer's arm, and for a split second he saw himself reaching out, pressing him into a tree and kissing him senseless until he told him the truth.

Given his past experience with that kind of technique, though, he knew that would eventually lead to a rougher than usual fuck and a very awkward silent walk back to the main house.

A bitter quickie was not the kind of reunion he wanted them to have.

"No reason," he replied, scratching his chin as he watched the photographer retrieve a small bottle from his pocket.

"You might want to put some of this on, by the way," he said, throwing him the small container after squeezing a couple of drops onto his palms.

"What is this?"

"Lavender, lemongrass and some other oil I don't remember."

He sniffed the bottle, opened it, and touched the cap with the kind of frown that made it clear he was not inclined to smear his body with suspicious concoctions that didn't come with a label.

"It's sticky."

"It's oily, yes," Akihito replied, a second before snatching the bottle from his hands. "Fine, if you don't want it, I do," he went on, squeezing more of the liquid on his palms to rub his legs with it. "When those pesky bugs eat you alive, don't tell me that I didn't warn you, though."

With a shrug, Asami shoved his hands into his pockets and followed the photographer through a narrow patch of trees that seemed to be leading them closer to the beach.

He wondered how many times the other man had wandered in that jungle to be able to find his way out of it so fast, without a moment of hesitation.

"Damn, the weather is so humid here..." he heard Akihito whisper as he pulled the top of his Kung fu uniform over his head. "I'm already sweating buckets."

They had just reached the first patch of sand leading to the seashore when Asami saw it for the first time: the thin, white lines of a half-moon scar stretching from Akihito's right shoulder to his lower back.

_'You are nothing but a worthless whore.'_

The words echoed inside his head so loud and clear that his mouth went dry.

For months now, he had secretly fed the illusion that what he had done to Akihito had left no permanent damage, no marks, no scar, nothing that would be a physical reminder of his poor judgment.

More than once, the photographer had refused to show him his back, insisted on keeping his clothes on, and he had agreed to it because at the end of the day he too suspected whatever it was he was hiding would take him back to that day, to that _guilt._

He had desecrated their relationship on every possible level, and those thin lines on the perfect peachy skin now glowing under the sun would never let him forget that.

"Shit," he heard the photographer whisper, and only then did he blink.

"What are you doing?" he asked, still feeling partially disoriented when Akihito put his top back on.

Who knew how long he had been staring - apparently long enough for the distance between them to increase tenfold, because Akihito had kept walking but he had just stayed behind, frozen on the spot.

"Putting my shirt back on."

"Why?"

“B-Because…” Akihito stuttered in response, and he felt his heart clench when his hazel eyes filled with panic and shame. “I-I don't know, because it's ugly? I just don't want you to look at it.”

“I am the only one that gets to be ashamed of your scars, Akihito.”

"I don't want you to be ashamed either," the photographer replied, the corners of his mouth twitching as blood rushed to his face. "I don't want to keep going back to that day."

Neither did he, but they would have to, eventually.

Akihito had remained awfully quiet on the one and only day he had allowed himself to revisit the events of that morning, and it was obvious that the harmful effects of his assault - both physical and emotional - were still a burden both of them carried.

"And if my scars bother you so much, I can have them removed."

"They don't bother me, not in the way that you're thinking," Asami replied. "You're still perfect."

He watched as Akihito's chest deflated as he breathed out through his mouth in a long, very audible sigh. The tremble of his chin made it hard to detect whether the words had caused him grief, joy or relief, but when the thin nostrils started to tremble as well, Asami sat on a rock nearby and waited as the other man silently rearranged his thoughts.

"You know... when I was in the hospital back then, I felt so alone. And ashamed," Akihito started, after a quick sniffle. "Relying on the charity of strangers, deformed, without a home to go to. I thought, three years of my life that I had probably spent with a man that thought I was a worthless whore, period."

He snorted, swallowing back whatever tears were threatening to fall from his eyes.

"And then I started thinking, what did I actually want from you? We were just two men having sex, I was living in your house and paying for my stay with sex."

"That is not--"

"It was either sex or household chores, that is not a relationship, Asami," he heard the young man interject. "What we had was _not_ a relationship."

It was Asami's turn to swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Where was the lie, though? He had never planned for them to have a relationship, for starters, but that hadn't stopped him from falling for Takaba Akihito, and _falling hard_ at that. How he had acted upon that was the crux of the problem. Even if he had never seen Akihito as a maid or a fuck-toy, he certainly could see how and why the photographer would come to that conclusion.

"And it was because we didn't have a relationship that when Tanimura asked me to go to Thailand with him, I was going to say yes," Akihito went on, his voice faltering for the fraction of a second. "I was going to say yes, because with him, everything would be so much easier. And at least he always made it very clear that he cared about me," he said, his voice going lower with each word. "So why would I go back to someone that didn't? Why would anyone?"

"But I care ab--"

"I know you do. It's just--"

Asami could think of at least half a dozen ways to complete that sentence, but Akihito's pursed lips as he scratched the back of his head was an indication he was beginning to struggle to put his thoughts into words.

Again, he couldn't blame him. That was some slippery territory of feelings, memories and perceptions that were very hard to express, but it was not as if at that point Akihito needed to be any more didactic.

He knew very well what his shortcomings as a partner were.

"Anyway, you look at my scars and you get all pale and wobbly and you say I'm perfect, but it's not about the scars. It's not about that day," the photographer continued, his voice steady and louder. "If anything, that day just showed how low we can go. And the reason we are here today, is because I know that we can be better."

He then paused, inhaling deeply as he straightened his back.

"I know there is more. And that is why..." he paused again, "...there is something that I need to ask you."

The solemn tone behind those words made Asami square his shoulders as well.

It was time for the reckoning, and his mind was already racing in an attempt to predict what kind of question he was about to face and what the best possible answer was in those circumstances.

"On my first day on this island, there was this woman who said she was expecting your child."

Asami felt his eyes go wide.

That sentence extrapolated even the most bizarre scenarios he had come up with.

"Who--"

"That's not the point," Akihito interrupted, raising one of his hands to wave dismissively. "It was a setup. A test."

"What kind--"

" _Asami_."

He was still frowning when the photographer raised his hand again.

"The point is, I knew it was a lie, but a part of me..." he said, biting his lower lip when the corners of his mouth started twitching again. "I was weak. I started thinking that maybe it could happen."

And there it was again, the shadow of betrayal hanging above their heads as silence fell between them.

It was not the first time Akihito admitted to suspecting Asami had been cheating on him, and that intermittent lack of trust was bothersome but entirely understandable.

"Because everyone around me seems to know more about what happens in your life than I do," Akihito went on. "Kuroda, Kirishima, Fei Long. I understand that they have been with you longer but still. I feel like you… after all this time, I mean, I--we..."

It slowly dawned on him that the biggest disservice he had done to Takaba Akihito had not been an isolated event of verbal and physical assault. He had been burning the photographer out by slowly and steadily cutting all ties he had with the rest of the world while offering nothing in return, and the fact the younger man was still around after the obvious distress of living with a stranger that didn't seem to give a flying fuck about his life was a blessing he was not sure he deserved.

He owed Takaba Akihito much more than an apology.

"Anyway..." he heard the photographer say, after clearing his throat. "The point is, I know I will be tested again at some point, I know people will lie to me, and the only thing I can hold on to is... I need to know if you would tell me."

Asami drew in a long breath.

At that point, he knew he had been driven into a corner. He could either lie or simply pull a Houdini by coming up with some sort of cryptic half-answer before distracting Akihito with his weapon of choice - sex - but that would most likely take them several steps backwards.

"If you had to do something... like, if something like that ever happened..." the photographer continued, fidgeting with the hem of his top and sweating even more profusely. "You would tell me, right?"

"You mean, if I had to sleep with someone because of my business?"

There was no doubt whatsoever that the mere thought stung - he could see it in Akihito's face, in the way his lips had tightened, his eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly as he blinked.

"How would you feel if I did?" he asked.

He knew how _he_ would feel if Akihito ever slept with another person for whatever reason. He remembered far too well the rage and unimaginable jealousy that had pulsed through his veins when the photographer's endeavours with Tanimura Masayoshi had come to his knowledge, and that was when they were separated.

Now that they were back together, the idea of Akihito being with another man, even if it was to save the planet from impending apocalypse, made his stomach sink.

"I don't like it. I want you all for myself," the photographer answered simply, his voice strained and tense just like his entire body. "But if you have to do it, I want you to tell me. Because I wanna know. I-I want to... to be prepared."

Asami shook his head, his eyes averted to the sky.

In short, the answer was, if he slept around for business, Akihito would be hurt but he would stay regardless, as long as he told him the truth.

After everything they both had been through, _the truth_ was the only thing Takaba Akihito was asking of him.

He inhaled deeply again, and when he lowered his eyes to the photographer's face, he felt like a dwarf staring at a mountain, a beautiful mountain of dignity, resilience and hope. The sun made his fair skin shine as if he was enveloped by a halo, and Asami knew that time he had nowhere to run.

He would tell him the truth, all of it.

"You might want to sit down," he said.

++++

That was not the kind of answer he was expecting.

But then, that was what he got for pushing his luck. He should have taken his leave after Asami had not lashed at him for the "paying the rent with sex" comment - he knew from experience things never ended well when he went down that road.

And now, there they were.

_'You might want to sit down.'_

His heart was apparently trying to jump out of his mouth. What was that supposed to mean? Clearly, if he had to sit down, it was not good news.

"There was this man, in Florence," he heard the other man say, fingers laced in front of him as he rested his elbows on his knees. "I met him when I was in my early 20s, Sion was about to take off. I just needed to gain more confidence from investors, and he was the go-to person in the West," he explained, after Akihito had sat cross legged on the patch of sand in front of him. "He owned casinos, hotels, fashion brands, you name it. And he had an incredible network of contacts in and out of Europe."

In silence, the photographer nodded, his eyes fixated on the diffuse lines of the man's face.

He missed seeing Asami's eyes - they were probably telling a story of their own as he spoke.

"I knew he could make it happen for me. Give me that final boost," he went on. "When we met, he took me to this stud farm he owed, it was huge. I made a mental note to get my own one day. Never happened, though."

Akihito noticed his voice had trailed off slightly, his slow, deep intake of breath marking a thoughtful pause.

"Anyway... Breeding purebred horses was a profitable business but what he really liked was to fly to the US once a year and go round up Mustangs," he then continued. "Do you know what Mustangs are?"

"Yeah, cars," Akihito replied, without missing a beat.

The timing of his joke, though, could not be worse. He could tell by the pregnant silent that had followed his response that Asami was staring at him in confusion, probably wondering the extent of his ignorance in regards to the things of the world.

"They're actual--"

"Asami, I'm kidding," he quickly interrupted, before the other man started an unnecessary educational speech. "They're wild horses, I know."

"Yes. He said that there was nothing more exciting than breaking a wild horse," Asami continued, far too concentrated on his own words to pay that minor disruption any mind. "That moment, that second when you rounded them up and you knew you were taking their freedom... No money could buy that kind of thrill."

Akihito shifted slightly on his legs as images formed inside his head.

A young Asami, probably his age or younger, next to a sadistic fat, old, greasy billionaire that got turned on by breaking wild horses.

That was quite the promising tale.

The pause that followed, though, made him suspect things would very soon take a turn for the worse.

"And then he asked how far I was willing to go to get what I wanted," he heard the other man say. "And I said, _as far as it took_."

Asami's voice had grown distant, dull, emotionless, and the despondent tone made Akihito's heart jump to his throat once again.

"He kept me tied to a bed for five days," the other man went on. "Not for five days straight or I would have probably lost my limbs, but I didn't see the sun rise or set for almost a week."

Even though everything was still out of focus to him, he knew Asami could see every change in his expression with perfect clarity, so he pursed his lips and tried to ignore the twitch of one of his eyes. He didn't want his own turmoil of feelings to get in the way as the other man shared something so private, so intimate, something he definitely didn't sound proud of.

Instead, he allowed his sweaty palms to curl into fists on top of his legs as he willed his heart to slow down, unsure of what he was feeling, unsure of what to think, unsure of _how to react._

"All the gear you've seen in the secret room?" Asami asked, after a mirthless chuckle. "I got to know each and every piece intimately."

At that point, Akihito could feel heavy droplets of sweat roll down his temples, and it was not just because of the stifling humid air around him.

"When he finally let me go, with a list of investors in my pocket, I could barely walk," he continued. "I don't know if he broke my spirit, but he certainly rearranged it."

Akihito knew that that the cold voice wrapping those words was just the surface of a dark, deep ocean. He could feel the crushing weight of that revelation in his own chest, he could sense the jaded resignation and anger, even though that was not his pain and that memory was not his.

_Or maybe it was._

Maybe in the end he belonged in that story just as much as Asami did.

"He made me see things differently, so I learnt from him," he went on, the slight strain in his voice slowly dissolving as he allowed himself to take Akihito onto that journey until the very end. "I learnt many things, about him, about myself, and I let those demons loose, many times," he whispered. "So did he."

Before Akihito had time to process what was going on, he saw Asami get to his feet and offer him a hand so that he could get up as well.

"A few weeks ago I was with him in Italy," he said, as if it was no big deal. "To answer your question, _yes._ I am capable of doing more than just sleeping with people to get what I want."

He was still brushing sand off his pants when the response registered in his brain.

"How often do you go see him?" he asked quietly, when the two of them resumed walking towards the shore. "For business?"

"How often _did_ I go see him. He died."

Akihito stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh."

There was another moment of silence, in which Asami probably waited for him to ask the inevitable question.

There was just so much truth one could take in a single round, though.

"It was not that often. It had been more than three years since the last time," the taller man continued when the question never came. "I needed his help. Sion was in a bad spot... I would do whatever it took to save it."

And then, it was Asami's turn to stop walking.

"Just like I would do whatever it took to save you," he added, as soon as Akihito turned around to look at him.

Not even ten inches separated them, and it was enough for him to feel the heat coming from Asami's body seep through his clothes, the intensity of the gaze he could not see clearly making his heart race.

There wasn't as single cell of his body that didn't want to fill that gap and just feel the warmth of those lips on his, arms wrapped around his waist, the smell of his skin filling his nostrils as he buried his face on his neck. But just like he had been able to hold back as soon as they had seen each other, he would curb his enthusiasm to give that conversation the kind of closure it deserved.

"What did he do to you?" he asked. "Did you... did he..."

"Fuck me?" Asami completed, and Akihito felt his stomach drop.

_Did he really want to know?_

"No, he didn't go that far. I didn't fuck him either."

His breath of relief was so loud it left very little room for imagination, but he couldn't possibly care less.

He had no idea how he would have reacted if the answer had been _yes._

Much as he had been preparing himself for that possibility, the mere thought of Asami sleeping with another person -even if it was to save Sion, or him, or the world actually, _from impending apocalypse_ \- was enough to make him nauseous.

At the very least, if that ever happened he would want to know, and despite everything, he was relieved Asami had been honest with him so that they could finally overcome that invisible wall that stood between them for so long.

"But he had some fun," the man continued, pulling up his polo shirt and leading one of Akihito's hands to his nipple.

He swallowed when his mouth watered, his fingertips tracing the warm, smooth skin of Asami's chest before they brushed against the nub that slowly hardened under his touch.

His silent, aroused humming was quickly replaced by a shocked gasp when he realised the different, drier texture of a circle around the soft surface of the man's nipple.

"Asami!" he gasped. "What happened?"

"He burnt me with a cigar."

Asami, as usual, showed very little emotion as he spoke.

Akihito, as usual, was all emotion as he touched the healing skin with tears pooling in his eyes.

That must have hurt like a motherfucker.

"H-Here too?" he stuttered, his voice already nasal as Asami led his other hand to smaller circles of dry skin around his neck.

"No. Those were spikes. A spiked collar."

Akihito sobbed quietly.

It didn't look like any of those injuries were anywhere near as dangerous as the many gunshot wounds Asami had accumulated over the years, but the circumstances that had led to those particular marks made his heart ache regardless.

He knew that at some point Asami would mock him for turning on the waterworks that fast, but he couldn't possibly care less.

"Do they hurt?" he asked, after a particularly loud sniffle.

"No. They're barely visible now."

"Disgusting son of a bitch..." he sobbed again, before pressing quick, soft kisses to the injured flesh and stepping back to wipe a string of snot with the hem of his Kung fu top.

"Why are you like that?" he heard Asami whisper.

"Like that, how?" he asked, eyes going wide as the tips of his ears started burning.

He knew it was not exactly classy to clean his nose on his clothes, but what was he supposed to do? He doubted Asami had brought tissues and pulling a farmer's blow would be even more disgusting--

"Why are you not mad at me?"

The question threw him off his feet for a moment.

"After what I did to you... Why?"

It was a good question, after all.

_Why wasn't he?_

He had the right to, after all. Asami had not exactly been very understanding the one time _he_ was willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted, but then again, he was not Asami.

"Because we are not the same," he said simply.

They weren't, and they lived in completely different worlds and the battles they had to fight everyday were not the same either.

Despite all that, he had never been so certain it was with that man, and not with any other, that he wanted to spend the rest of his days.

"But I'm not giving up on you," he added, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth.

"It's a complicated lifestyle, the one you're choosing."

"I'm not choosing a lifestyle, Asami," Akihito replied, his hands now running over the polo shirt, down the sides of his chest. "I'm choosing you. The lifestyle is part of the package deal."

He could feel the soft, warm puff of air against his lips as Asami chuckled.

"So is sex," Akihito heard him whisper in response.

"Yeah..."

"A lot of it."

When Asami tugged his lower lip between his teeth, Akihito felt sparks of electricity ravish his body from his scalp to the tip of his toes.

"That's what I'm here for," he replied, in a whisper that quickly dissolved into a slow, vibrating moan.

He needed that man inside him, and he needed it _badly._

"Me too," he heard Asami respond, his voice thick and deep as his hands sneaked past the elastic band of his pants and underwear at the same time. "Glad to see we're on the same page."

"Think you can catch me?" Akihito whispered, a mischievous smirk curving his lips as he took a step backwards, and then another, getting into a fighting stance.

"Oh, I know I can catch you."

"Can you?"

He had been practicing how to avoid takedowns, so if Asami thought he would be that easy of a target, he might be in for a big surprise.

In no time, he saw the man take his shirt off, and the sight was almost enough for him to lose track of his thoughts.

_He had missed that body so damn much._

Soon enough, though, they had both taken their positions, hands in front of their bodies, knees slightly flexed.

Obviously, he was at a disadvantage because the intermittent quality of his eyesight did not allow him to see what Asami was looking at exactly, which made it very hard for him to predict what kind of tackle he was planning to use.

He would have to act on instinct.

 _'Knowing him as well as I do,'_ he thought to himself. _'He must be dying to get me on my back as soon as possible.'_

And that was how he guessed that Asami was going for a double leg takedown, lunging forward but missing the point of contact with his shoulder when he relaxed his body and dodged, forcing his opponent to land headfirst after losing his balance.

To see Asami Ryuichi spit a mouthful of sand as he recovered and stood up, made him roar with laughter.

"Tee-hee, _sucker_!" he chanted, sticking out his tongue amidst cackles.

"Sucker..." Asami hissed in response, after wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. "I will show you who the sucker is."

He took pride in running fast, but the man behind him could do it for a living if he wanted to.

They were both almost knee-deep into the ocean when Asami caught up with him and forced his head underwater just as a foamy wave crashed onto the shore.

When he emerged, it was his turn to spit sand, water and seaweed, and Asami's turn to gloat.

"That's not funny," Akihito complained, although his own laughter had not yet died down. "I think I swallowed a fish!"

For the first time in his life, he saw and heard Asami Ryuichi genuinely laugh.

Not the quiet, mischievous laughs he let out every now and then, not the collected chuckles, not the mysterious smirks.

He didn't even know the man had that many teeth as he threw his head back, his shoulders shaking as he broke into full, raucous, open-mouthed laughter.

The universe wanted his sight to function perfectly at that exact moment, and he seized that opportunity to watch every line, every inch of Asami's face with absolute clarity.

It lasted no longer than two, three seconds, but it was enough to imprint the image on his mind, and for that, he was extremely grateful.

The man was still trying to catch his breath when he leaned forward, initiating the kiss he could no longer wait for.

He tasted like the ocean and like himself, and Akihito savoured every drop of it, coaxing his tongue farther into his mouth, feeling his throat vibrate as their bodies pressed together.

"I missed you so much," he heard Asami whisper into his ear as they broke for air, his tone so low that he could barely hear it as the waves crashed around them.

"I know. I missed you too."

And then they were kissing again, hands getting rid of whatever clothes still stood in the way, their chests heaving up and down in unison as Asami's tongue traveled from his neck to his shoulder, and from there to his nipple.

"This is not a private beach, you know," he whispered, fingers raking through thick black hair as the other man pressed one of his legs between his.

"And?"

"Someone could see us."

"I don't see anyone," Asami replied, barely lifting his face from his chest.

"You didn't even look around."

"I didn't. I don't really care."

Akihito chuckled, his breath coming in short, quick gasps.

If he were honest with himself, _neither did him._

It had been so long since he had last felt Asami inside him, that he really would not be able to stand the long walk back to the main house, not now that his body was melting like wax with every touch, every lick, every bite.

"The sand will get everywhere..." he had time to complain, before Asami swiftly removed his underwear and threw it somewhere over his head, just for a wave to come crashing in slowly afterwards and carry it to the open sea.

From the looks of it, they would both head back to the house butt naked.

"Good, my skin could do with some exfoliating," Asami replied several minutes later, after he had nearly forgotten what they were even talking about.

"It's not your skin I'm worried about."

"I'll be gentle."

"You'll have to, since we're not using lube."

"Who says we're not using lube?"

When Asami's fingers closed gently around his balls, he felt them get tighter and even more swollen than they already were.

"We’ll use the best kind there is," he heard the man say, his deep, low voice making his stomach flutter. "And it seems you've been saving a lot for me, so don't hold back."

Akihito had to bite the inside of his lower lip when Asami squeezed him again.

_That bastard knew his body far too well._

Yes, he was more congested than usual, basically because he had made it a part of his training to stay away from any solo performances for the past seven days.

He was not sure how much longer he would last - whatever breathing exercises he had learnt to increase his endurance were long forgotten as Asami's tongue flickered at the junction of his thigh and his torso.

"I can't believe you sometimes," he whimpered, partially embarrassed but mostly extremely aroused when the other man's mouth kept exploring lower and lower until it reached the sensitive area round his entrance.

"Close your eyes," the baritone voice commanded, and he complied, despite the urge to narrow his eyes to try and force himself to better see what Asami was doing.

He could feel the sun bathing his closed eyelids, the waves coming and going as well the seagulls flying and singing above them, but above everything he could hear the small sounds coming out of Asami's throat as he kissed his neck and it made his body float, tingle, swell with energy, loads and loads of it.

"Don’t stop..." he whispered, while one of his hands reached down to glide over the smooth skin of the other man's lower back, slippery with the mixture of seawater and sweat, his fingers moving lower and lower until he was able to knead the firm glutes and then slide his hand to the back of his thigh.

"Tell me what you want."

"You."

His response was met with a malicious chuckle.

"What part of me?" the man insisted.

"All of it."

It was his turn to chuckle when Asami let out a semi-exasperated sigh.

"I want your cock," Akihito finally conceded, smiling when Asami's erection seemed to throb even harder against his leg.

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"Yes..."

He felt Asami's lips once again cover his mouth, his tongue pushing in hard and relentless, probing, teasing, sucking as he rubbed the velvety, warm skin of his penis across the inside of Akihito's thighs, then against his crotch and up his stomach.

"Open your mouth."

The photographer parted his lips without hesitation after the man had helped him sit up, and by then they had moved so far back into the shore that the waves barely reached the tips of his toes.

"Did you miss sucking my cock?" he then heard Asami ask.

"Yes--"

He was about to offer a more comprehensive response when the familiar texture brushed against his lips, and all of a sudden words felt like an unnecessary resource.

Instead, he let the tip of his tongue do the honours, wasting no time before attacking what he knew were Asami's most sensitive spots, feeling the massive erection twitch as a hiss pierced his ears.

His own cock jumped between his legs when Asami threw his hips forward, forcing himself farther into his mouth, just to withdraw slowly and repeat the process until his jaws started feeling sore. Still, he couldn't bring himself to stop sucking, licking, craving more. The smell, the taste, the feeling of the other man's sex throbbing and gliding in and out of his mouth was like a drug: addictive, powerful, _necessary_.

He coughed when Asami pulled out, a string of saliva dripping down the corner of his numb mouth.

"A-Asami..." he pleaded, one of his hands wrapped around his own cock, the other moving further below to gently circle the bundle of nerves that were now twitching in anticipation, relaxing and tightening and sending his entire self even further down that downward spiral of need.

It was embarrassing to see how much his body was basically begging to be fucked.

"Turn around."

He could tell by the other man's husky tone that he was not the only one reaching his limit.

It was a good thing that the waves crashing behind them were loud enough to muffle the moans and grunts that left his mouth when Asami's fingers started working on him, because he suspected he was positively screaming by the time the man pushed a third finger into his ass, rotating and probing until a fingertip was pressing on his prostate.

"Asa--Asami, I c-can't," he stuttered, feeling the muscles in his lower belly coil. "P-put it... put it inside..."

"I will," he heard Asami respond, his breathing becoming more laboured as well. "But I need you to come first."

Akihito drew in a long, irregular breath as the fingers kept moving in and out of his body, Asami's lips pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck before his mouth moved to his shoulder blade.

His eyes rolled back into his head when teeth dug into what he was quite sure was scar tissue, the man's warm tongue wetting it and soothing the skin shortly afterwards before doing it again, and again, until he reached his lower back.

And then he was gone for a second, this thoughts disjointed as his body floated somewhere above the clouds.

The waves of orgasm were still jolting through his veins when the familiar pressure at his entrance brought him back to reality, making his eyes shoot open. At that point, his body was so relaxed that Asami's above-average girth cause him very little discomfort as it stretched him.

At what point he had been rolled on his back, he couldn't tell.

What he knew for a fact was that he was slowly getting hard again, his knees pressed back almost to his shoulders as Asami's thick, pulsating cock made its way in and out of his rectum. He tried to utter a word of encouragement, to urge the man to go harder, faster, but his throat was so dry that the only sounds leaving his mouth were a mix of a moan and a hiss.

"You're pulling me in," he heard the man on top of him whisper, droplets of sweat falling from his forehead to his chest. "You feel so good, Akihito..."

When they kissed again, he felt his head go light. So light, in fact, that his eyes fluttered closed - maybe because he was dehydrated, overheating, or simply getting close to another orgasm without fully recovering from the first one.

Two gentle slaps on his face forced him to open his eyes again.

"What do you think you're doing, young man?" Asami asked, the air coming out of his mouth in small, quick puffs as his thrusts became more forceful. "We're not done yet."

"What happened?"

"You passed out, as usual."

"Whose fault is that?" Akihito whimpered, tilting his hips upwards. "You go too hard on me..."

"Oh yeah?" Asami asked in return, shifting to an agonisingly slow pace as he spoke.

"Yeah..."

"And yet, look who's hard and leaking again..."

A small smirk curled the corners of his lips.

"Shut up," he whispered, using both heels to force Asami's entire length back into him, holding him inside just to feel the massive length pulsate against his prostate.

It wasn't long before Asami broke free from his hold, pinning one of his hands on the sand behind his head, lacing his fingers with his, while leading the other to his engorged balls.

"I've been saving a lot for you, too,” he panted. "Can you feel it?"

"Yes..."

His moan intensified when the soft, delicate skin covering his testes grew taut, and Asami's erection expanded even more inside him.

"Oh yes, I can feel it," he hissed through gritted teeth when the first spurts of cum coated his insides, his own cock twitching at the sensation. "A-Asami..."

He screamed, his fingers tightening around Asami's as the man grunted and ground his hips into him, strings of his own semen landing on his chest as his mind once again snapped closed to everything else that was not them.

He was still trying to catch his breath when Asami rolled off him, his chest heaving up and down as he lay by his side, staring at the sky above.

"You know…” he heard the man say, the post-orgasmic quality of his voice making it sound even more enticing. "I dreamt about this."

"About what?" Akihito asked, one of his hands resting lazily on top of his own stomach. "About us fucking on the beach?"

"Yeah..."

Akihito chuckled, turning his head to the side to steal a glance at him.

"Me too," he replied, blushing slightly when he remembered that at the end of the day, it had been Kou's couch that had paid the price of his wet dreams.

When Asami turned his head to look at him, he was too tired too see more than a blur of indistinct colours and lines, but he smiled anyway.

The aura around the man lying by his side was of surrender and peace, but even in those moments of blissful calm, he knew Asami Ryuichi was and had always been a wild horse at heart, one who could be ruthless, dangerous and violent at the drop of a dime, but one who knew how to love unconditionally nevertheless.

Akihito closed his eyes, drawing in another long breath as Asami pulled him closer to his chest.

_He wouldn't want him any other way._


	64. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies - I had planned to post this part over the weekend but as usual life took a few crazy turns! 
> 
> Also: I know that Kirishima's section here is irrelevant to the plot but I envisioned this scene back in chapter 13 and I really didn't want to leave it out XD 
> 
> As usual, thanks for your patience and continuous support! =D

Kirishima Kei was beginning to worry.

Nearly three hours had gone by since his boss had told him he was going for a walk, but there were not that many attractions in that island to keep the man entertained for so long.

Except, of course, the young man covered in sand with a shirt tied around his waist as an improvised apron, walking gingerly next to an Asami Ryuichi who himself was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

_He should have known._

"Are they back yet?" he heard Majima Makoto ask.

He must have been so focused on his own thoughts that he had barely noticed the woman join him in the patio.

"Who?"

"Your boss and Akihito?"

"Yes, they just got here," he replied, turning his head to look at her. "Why?"

He watched as a small smile curled the corners of her mouth, her beautiful, delicate features lighting up with a mixture of mischief and amusement. Only now did he realize she had changed into some kind of spa uniform, with white Capri pants and a white crossover tunic that clung neatly to her curves.

It was almost enough to make his mind wander, but luckily for him his superego was a trained warrior who kept his own needs and wants on a very tight leash.

"Well, they are all my employees are talking about..." the woman continued, leaning forward and crossing her arms over the railing that separated them from the garden.

"Oh, so that's what the whispers are about..." he replied.

"About the size of your boss's penis, yes."

A disheartened gasp escaped his lips.

Just when he thought he had seen everything, now that, former yakuza gathering around to talk about his boss's genitals.

_What was next?_

"Among other things," the woman added, barely hiding an amused chuckle.

"Oh no, what did they do this time?" he asked.

"I think you know _what._ Probably you meant _where_?"

"Actually, say no more, I think I know."

It was things like that that made him want to resign the position of Public Relations Officer. After all, he wore plenty of hats at Sion, but no role was more challenging than controlling his boss's impulses after Takaba Akihito had entered their lives.

By his side, he counsellor chuckled again.

"The dismay in your voice is refreshing," she said.

"Well... It's very hard to protect someone's privacy when said someone won't hesitate to engage in public sex whenever they have the chance," he replied, after removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Indeed..." the counsellor whispered in response. "You sound like you could do with a massage, would you like one?"

The sudden change in topic made him blink multiple times.

" _Now?_ " he asked.

"Yes."

He cast another glance towards the garden, noticing Shinada guarding the gates and Suoh by the front door talking to the counsellor's assistants; somewhere inside the house, his boss and the photographer had probably gotten busy again...

It didn't look like his presence would be missed anytime soon.

"Sure," he replied, squaring his shoulders with a relaxed semi-smile on his lips.

"Excellent," he heard the woman by his side reply.

In a matter of minutes, they had moved into a separate building which hosted the counsellor's massage parlour, and he was lying on his stomach on a massage table as the woman went around opening bottles and heating up stones.

The silence in the tastefully decorated room was soothing and relaxed, and the fact he was completely naked under a tiny towel that barely covered his backside did not seem to make him uncomfortable either.

Despite the misfortunes of the past couple of months, his intensive routine of physical therapy and martial arts training made him very proud of his body, thank you very much.

 _'It's not as if she can see you, idiot...'_ his mind was quick to point out.

"Regardless..." he whispered to himself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing..." he replied, shifting on his arms as the woman approached.

After a long moment of silence, he could hear the sound of skin rubbing against skin although no sensation registered on his brain. The scent of almond oil and rosemary that slowly filled his nostrils made his eyes flutter closed for a second, and he lazily turned his head to the side just in time to see the small, delicate hands moving up and down his calves.

That would have felt fantastic a couple of months ago.

 _Oh well._ One can't have it all.

Soon enough, the hands would hopefully move upwards and he would finally experience all the legendary magic of the woman's touch.

"From a masseuse to a counsellor..." he said. "That's quite the leap."

"It's not, actually," the counsellor replied, after a quiet chuckle. "I always liked to hear people talk."

When her fingertips finally pressed the flesh of his upper back, Kirishima had to bite back a sigh of relief and blissful satisfaction.

It was almost as if knots and knots of accumulated tension were slowly dissolving under her fingertips, muscles and tendons he didn't even know he had shifting into place as she alternated firm pressure with slow, softer strokes.

"All kinds of people came to my salon," she explained. "From yakuza to hostesses, cops to average salarymen, all of them with their stories."

With his eyes closed, he uttered a disconnected sound to let her know he was still listening, even though he felt he was very close to falling into some sort of peaceful slumber.

"There is a certain science to it, too," the counsellor continued. "When you begin the treatment, all the muscles are contracted, the joints are stiff, their motives, _hidden_..."

Her cryptic tone made Kirishima's lips curve into a knowing smile.

At some point in the past, he had found it an urban legend that a blind masseuse would have managed to develop a notable network of contacts just by offering her therapeutic services.

Now, however, he was beginning to see the science behind it all.

"And then as your fingers and palms explore, you feel the body relax... And a relaxed body leads to a relaxed mind," she explained, her skilled fingers closing around his left shoulder and sending a wave of small electric impulses all the way up to his scalp.

"That is when things get interesting," she said. "Before they know, they are telling me their fears, their childhood memories, plans for the future..."

He wondered how many unspeakable secrets the walls of that small practice had heard over the years.

Did _he_ have any secrets to share?

From the top of his head, he could think of a few, but none of them were particularly groundbreaking or blood-chilling, not the ones about himself, at least...

"Their voices change, their breathing is deeper, their heart rate is slower..." she went on, and at that point her voice was so low and rhythmic that it kept him under a hypnotic torpor that was both worrisome and extremely pleasurable at the same time. "It's almost like a moment of enlightenment, for me and for them. From that to counselling is not that much of a leap, is it?"

And just as the trance began, it was suddenly cut off when she patted his other shoulder, her pitch higher when she spoke again.

"Time to get on your back."

He was quick to comply, nodding and blinking rapidly before repositioning himself. Luckily for him, the table was wide enough for him to manoeuvre his legs with ease, although not without the occasional hurdle.

"Ah, the towel fell on the floor," he said, unsure as to what to do with his hands now that his family jewels were exposed.

"That's okay, it's not as if I can see anything."

The lighthearted response elicited a nervous chuckle that quickly evolved into louder, honest laughter from both parts.

"What a duo we make, uh," he responded, as she turned around to pick another small towel from a shelf.

"Facing adversity with poise and humor."

"Yes..."

His eyes followed the small frame of the counsellor as she walked back to him, one of her hands going up his thigh until it was dangerously close to his crotch. Then the small towel was back in place, but because she found if necessary to smooth the piece of cloth at least twice as it rested over his nether parts, a surprised gasp escaped his lips.

"Could you feel that?" she asked quietly, her vacant eyes going wide.

"It can get a little ticklish sometimes," he explained. "The sensitivity is not the same but my injury was only partial, so some regions under my waist are not totally numb."

"Have you been having difficulty getting erect?"

Her candid tone as she began massaging his left leg made his initial embarrassment fade a little.

"In the beginning, yes, but not anymore."

The counsellor merely nodded in response, but the small smile that curved her lips after his response was very telling on its own.

"Your skin is incredibly soft, Kirishima-san," she whispered.

"That must have been the skin treatment I got," he replied proudly. "It's called _'Bloody Mary'._ "

" _'Bloody Mary',_ huh?"

"Yes, Asami-sama recommended it."

"You went to your boss for skin care advice?" she chuckled. "That's cute."

"He more often than not offers that kind of advice without being asked to," he explained. "In my case, it was after I passed him a report one of these days, and when my fingers brushed against his, he said they felt like nail files."

"Hence the Bloody Mary advice."

"Hence the Bloody Mary advice."

"Yes, I would imagine Asami Ryuichi likes to set trends in man care," the counsellor continued, after another amused chuckle. "Does he also provide guidelines for body hair removal?"

Kirishima frowned slightly at the unexpected question.

"Why do you ask?"

"I can tell you are not exactly the hairy type," the woman next to him responded, "and from what Li Jiao says, neither is your colleague Suoh. I am sensing a pattern..."

"Well... yes," the secretary replied shyly. "We all go to the gym together so the comparisons were inevitable."

"Does he laser?"

"Who, Suoh?"

"No, Asami."

"Yes," he replied, after drawing in a relaxed breath. "But he hasn't gone for the full prepubescent look, there are some parts of his body with some semblance of hair, although it is very thin, after all the cosmetic treatments he experimented with."

" _Some_ body parts?" she asked, her tone mixing amusement and sincere curiosity. "Such as...?"

"Armpits. Lower legs."

"And a landing strip, probably."

"He calls it _red carpet_ ," he revealed.

The moment the words left his mouth and the woman by his side choked in her own laughter, the look on Kirishima's face went from peaceful to downright panicked.

"Of course, he is such a VIP," the counsellor replied, her voice shaking as she made an obvious effort to stifle her giggling fit.

"I can't believe I just said that," the secretary muttered. "I shouldn't have said that."

By her side, Makoto's shoulders were shaking so much she had to turn around and pour herself a glass of water.

"If he ever finds out I'm going around talking about his pubic hair, he will fire me and I will never find a job anywhere else," he said, trying not to laugh himself as the woman wiped away happy tears.

"Well, I don't think he would mind," she replied, after clearing her throat and dropping more essential oils over his skin, in a thin trail that started right above his bellybutton and went all the way up to his neck. "After his earlier adventure with Akihito outside, I'm pretty sure lots of people in this island already know how he grooms his nether parts."

When her fingers started working on his chest, though, his quiet laughter made room for an even quieter, satisfied purr.

"What about you?" he asked mindlessly.

"Hmm?"

"Do you--"

"Oh, I laser too," he heard the counsellor reply. "But unlike your boss, I embraced the full prepubescent look."

His eyes, which had fluttered closed for a moment, snapped open again.

He had been meaning to ask _if she also gave her employees pointers on how to take care of their bodies_ , but now that she had volunteered the information, he might as well take advantage of that newfound knowledge to fill some gaps of... _perception._

"Not only for aesthetic reasons, though," the woman by her side explained, her lips curved in a relaxed smile. "I find it that having no hair increases sensitivity, and not having to wonder what my body hair looks like when I wear certain clothes makes me more confident about my appearance."

_When wearing 'certain clothes'..._

It occurred to Kirishima that Majima Makoto had always looked very charming and attractive in every outfit he had seen, be it her usual skirt suit, one of her low-profile flowered dresses or a spa uniform.

"You are very pretty," he whispered, his eyes fixated on the delicate lines of her face.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I get told I still look like I'm in my late twenties, is that true?" she asked quietly, her brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Absolutely."

Unfortunately for him, the woman was incredibly professional in her ministrations, and avoided touching his nipples when her fingers got dangerously close to them.

A part of him wished she had taken her time. Nipples were not exactly the part of his body he liked to be touched the most, but he doubted there was a single inch of him that wouldn't feel blissfully good under those gentle and yet powerful hands.

"My mother once told me that she and my father looked like they were in their late twenties until the day they turned sixty," she said. "Then, she said, the morning after that the two of them looked like a pair for blue-haired raisins."

"A case of sudden aging," Kirishima replied, after an amused laugh. "It happened to my parents too."

"It will most likely happen to us one day..."

"One day, in the distant future."

When her hands moved to his neck, and from there to his collarbone, he felt the scent of her skin fill his nostrils. She smelt of magnolias and almond, the warmth of her small hands kneading the few tight knots that hadn't yet yielded with poise and determination, her face showing the same serene expression as she stared into nothing and everything.

When she turned around to reach for another set of flasks and bottles, Kirishima stole a glance at his own crotch, just to see the small towel tenting a little.

"How are you feeling?" the counsellor asked, as she walked back to the table.

"Wonderful," he replied, smoothing the towel over his hips in an attempt to hide the evidence of his enthusiasm. "What is that?"

"Jojoba oil with a little cocoa butter," she said, holding out a small bowl. "I warmed it up a little to release more of the scent, do you like it?"

"Yes..."

When the first warm drizzle touched the center of his chest, he had to bite his lower lip to hold back a groan.

It felt good, way too good to be inside that bubble of perfect scents, perfect touches and perfect sounds, and before he could stop himself, he was mentally undressing the woman by his side, wondering what kind of _perfect sights_ she was hiding under that uniform.

"Kirishima..." she whispered, and her voice was so low and throaty that he suspected she was able to read minds.

"Hmm?"

"Are you erect?"

He knew that all it would take was her hands sliding down a couple more inches toward his lower belly for her to find out on her own, but the small smile on her lips showed she was probably trying to extract some kind of confession.

"What makes you think I am?"

"The skin around your hips is getting warmer, which means blood is rushing to your pubic area..."

Yes, he was aware that _a lot_ of his blood was rushing to his groin.

Not to toot his own horn, but he knew a good, solid erection when he saw one and the one he was currently sporting was the kind to be proud of.

"Do your clients normally get erections?" he asked, inhaling deeply to ensure the party would not end before it even began.

"Most of the times," the counsellor replied matter-of-factly. "It's natural. The relaxation allows for arteries to open and more blood to flow into the penis," she explained with the same neutral tone, although the mischievous smirk on her lips told a very different story. "Nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I'm not embarrassed," he was quick to point out. "But yes, I am erect. And it's not just because I'm relaxed."

Her hands stopped moving on the way up towards his shoulders, and he watched as the corners of her mouth twitched slightly.

What a devious woman. _She was going to make him say it!_

"I have been having some... _thoughts,_ " he finally admitted. "About you. _Us._ "

And then, the hands started moving again, the strokes firmer and faster.

"I would gladly help you with that," she then whispered into his ear, "but this is not that kind of massage."

Her tone was somehow scolding and encouraging at the same time, and the contrast made his body tingle.

"Plus, workplaces are sacred, aren't they, Kirishima-san?"

"Yes, they are."

"Touching you like that would be just as inappropriate as... say... having sex on top of your pile of reports at Sion."

"Yes, that would be very inappropriate."

His voice was strained and low, and the idea that any misbehaviour on his part was bound to be punished by the woman by his side was strangely exciting.

He suddenly felt like misbehaving, _a lot._

A couple of soft pats on his shoulder, however, derailed his train of thought.

"I'll let you get dressed now," she said simply, putting away bottles and bowls as she moved away from the table to bring his wheelchair closer to him.

His raging hard-on twitched confusedly, and he himself had no idea what was going on either, until her hand once again closed on his shoulder, her mouth so close to his ear that he could feel the moist warmth of her lips on his skin.

"Meet me in my room when you're ready for that drink."

++++

He was not sure what time it was when he woke up, the weak rays of sunshine coming from the window ahead a subtle indication that perhaps he had slept for much longer than he should.

The side of the bed that was supposed to be Akihito’s was empty but still warm, and in his barely awake, slightly confused state, he almost missed the note that had been left on one of the bedside tables.

**_Didn’t want to wake you up, went downstairs for training. Will be back soon._ **

After putting down the note and rubbing his eyes on the back of his arm, Asami walked to the window and glanced down, just to see Akihito rehearsing a series of martial arts moves under the attentive supervision of his Master.

How he was able to move so gracefully even after the _less than gentle activities_ they had engaged in a couple of hours prior was a mystery to him.

_6:05_

A quick glance at his phone, however, showed him that he had slept much more than just a couple of hours - it was more like an entire day.

He frowned, looking down at the pajama bottoms he did not remember wearing and smelling soap on his own skin even though he did not remember taking a shower, his eyes occasionally falling on red, itchy welts all over his chest, arms and stomach.

From the looks of it, he had been eaten alive by bugs, had another two rounds of sex with Akihito, and gone out of commission either during or immediately after getting ready for bed.

“Excuse me.”

The female voice behind him almost made him jump out of his skin.

“I suppose knocking on doors is an unnecessary formality in this island...” he complained, casting a less than amiable sideways glance at Majima Makoto’s first assistant, who had entered the room carrying a tray with a teapot, a jug of water, cups and all kinds of small bottles and bowls.

“I _did_ knock,” the woman replied simply, reciprocating the glare. “Multiple times, actually.”

“Well, I didn’t hear it.”

“Clearly.”

He averted his eyes to the window again, correctly assuming the woman had come in to bring Akihito’s medication and therefore would not require his attention. Much to his surprise, however, after depositing the tray on the desk on the opposite side of the room, she crossed her arms with a deep frown on her face as she stared at him, showing no intention to leave.

“What?” he asked.

“I don’t think Akihito should trust you that much,” she said, her dark, deep eyes showing not an inkling of fear despite the glare she was receiving. “I saw what you did to him that time. How can he know you won’t do it again?” she asked, contempt and suspicion wrapping every word that left her mouth. “How can _you_?”

“You waited a long time to get that off your chest, haven’t you?” Asami replied, an equally contemptuous smirk curling the corners of his mouth. “I had noticed before, the way you looked at me.”

“Back then, we were all busy with more important affairs,” she retorted. “But yes. Other people might buy that you have changed, but I don’t.”

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, studying the figure in front of him for a very long, very silent minute. He had seen his fair share of pregnant women in his life - some looked resigned, others excited, a couple seemed to be in blissful ecstasy with their newly acquired status.

Li Jiao, however, was the first expectant mother who managed to look just as murderous and lethal with a round belly as she did the first time he had set foot on that island, her beauty somehow obscured by a thick layer of undistilled rage.

Or maybe she was only that hostile when it came to _him_ , and if that was the case, she deserved even more props for having the balls to express her dislike so openly.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because people don’t change. Not that much,” she responded, taking a step forward to get closer to him. “I know. I am a beast too, and not in the good way.”

Only then did he realize she was moving with the aid of a crutch, and the fact she had made it to their room carrying a tray with so many items on it while obviously struggling to keep her balance, earned her an extra amount of respect.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, his voice cold and disinterested as he crossed his arms over his chest and fought the urge to scratch the bites covering his skin. “And what kind of atrocity is in your portfolio?”

He was not sure if he was interested in where that conversation was going, but her upfront approach had been enough to pique his interest, at least.

He saw her eyes drop to the floor for the fraction of a second, all her vulnerability exposed as her frown disappeared into an expression of grief, but the blink of an eye was all it took for her cold facade to be back in place.

“My son was six,” she said, her eyes averted to the window. “He and I were at the store, and I was having a bad day. I had crashed my car, a thug had tried to break into our house the night before.”

She spoke as if she were on a trance, her voice distant and detached as she avoided his eyes.

“I was cranky. Tired. I just wanted to go back home, take a shower, sleep,” she went on. “And then my son, he decided to throw a tantrum as we got to the parking lot.”

She paused, her eyes still fixated on some indefinite point ahead.

“I asked him to get in the car, but he didn’t. He wanted to go see his father, and I said no,” she said. “He wouldn't stop crying and I was so tired. So... angry.”

Her voice was still indifferent, but Asami noticed her eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

“So I slammed the car door on his arm,” she whispered, her chin finally trembling and making her voice falter. “It crushed part of his bone to a bloody pulp.”

When she tilted her chin upwards and turned to look at him, her eyes were two deep wells of indefinite emotions, windows to a past full of turbulence and _remorse._

No wonder she had chosen him to hear that tale.

_It took one to know one._

“The pain must have been so intense that he didn’t cry. He just went pale and passed out,” she went on, her voice firm again even though two silent tears had fallen from the corners of her eyes. “And when I noticed what I had just done…” she scoffed. “What kind of monster does that to their own child, because of a temper tantrum?”

Again, her eyes were averted to the window, as if she was seeing both everything and nothing at all through the thick glass panels.

“I took him to the hospital, and hours later I saw his little arm in a cast,” the quiet, slightly nasal voice continued, as if narrating a story that belonged to someone else. “I told him I was sorry, and he just _smiled_.”

Again, she paused to let out a lifeless chuckle, clearly revisiting memories that were sweet and tragic at the same time.

“He smiled. It was so honest, so… pure,” she continued. “I knew he was afraid, but when I started crying, he said it was okay.”

The next time her voice broke again, a new batch of tears started falling unrestrained from her eyes, pooling at the top of her upper lip.

“And he hugged me. But I did not deserve that hug nor that smile.”

When Asami passed her a box of tissues, her eyes carried a distinct glint of threat, as if she hated herself for telling that story, and him for listening to it.

“And I hated Daigo for forgiving me when I told him it had not been an accident,” she hissed, wiping away her tears with such a forceful stroke her face would probably bruise. “I did not want to be forgiven. And I wasn't.”

There were no tears in her eyes when a bitter, self-loathing smirk curled the corners of her mouth as she brought her recollection to an end.

“He was still wearing the cast when he died.”

“Have you told Suoh any of that?” he asked, after the woman had found it in her to look at his face again.

“No. Why would I?”

“You're expecting his child,” he answered simply. “He deserves to know, don't you think?”

She raised her eyebrows, her expression thoughtful as she nodded and pursed her lips.

“Have you told Akihito?”

“What?”

“The worst thing you've ever done?”

Her dark eyes were boring into him, challenging him to voice the answer she already knew he would give.

“Do you think he would stay if you did?”

How she had managed to turn the tables so fast and put him in such a tight spot was something he would need more time to figure out.

For the time being, he had no choice but to remain silent as the woman walked to a nearby shelf and shoved a bottle of bath salts into his hands.

“I’ll leave Akihito’s medication here, he’ll be up soon,” she said, her expression blank and unreadable. “Just add the salts to your bath and soak for half an hour, it will ease the itching. Akihito got eaten alive by the mosquitoes too, when he got to the island…”

When their eyes met again, he realized that she was coming out of that conversation with visibly higher spirits.

“Excuse me,” she finally whispered, walking out of the room and closing the door behind her.

He, on the other hand, was left with the feeling that a very heavy burden had just been placed on his shoulders.

++++

“What is this smell?” Akihito asked, when the familiar herbal scent filled his nostrils as soon as he entered Asami’s suite.

The bed was empty, but the semi-open door leading to the bathroom quickly clued him in.

“Ah…” he chuckled, casting a mischievous glance at the man soaking in the bathtub. “Itchy, are you?”

Past the blurry filter of his eyes, he could see Asami turn his head to look at him.

“You know, I know it would be mean of me to say I told you, but…” he shrugged, remembering the moment the other man had turned down the natural repellant he had offered the day before. “... _I told you_.”

“Come join me.”

“I need to wash myself first,” he replied, stepping out of his pants and underwear before pulling his T-shirt over his head and turning the shower on. “Give me a minute.”

His skin felt sticky and hot after an hour of practice under the sun, and if he was going to soak in a bathtub, he didn’t want it to be ruined by dirt, sweat and _other fluids_ that still stuck to certain parts of his body.

He knew Asami was looking at him, but despite that - or perhaps, _because_ of that - he had no qualms washing himself with surgical precision, leaving no inch of skin unattended as he lathered up his entire body with foamy soap, spending a considerable amount of time on his crotch and ass, his hands gliding effortlessly over his sex time and again.

“I can feel you stare, ya know?” he whispered, a smirk curling the corners of his lips as he rinsed his hair.

“You look clean enough to me.”

He chuckled in response, and the resulting muscular contractions made him wince. His skin was covered in small, light bruises and bite marks, and his backside had not yet recovered from the onslaught of sex the day before.

He was not going to complain, though - that was the kind of pain he liked best.

“Before you get in, get my bag, near the bed,” he heard Asami ask, as soon as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel to dry himself.

“Which one?”

“The smaller one.”

After locating the small leather item next to the much bigger luggage piece resting against the bed, Akihito walked back into the bathroom, shed his towel and slipped into the warm water while Asami rummaged inside the bag.

“Here,” he heard the man whisper shortly after he was cosily lodged between his legs.

“What?”

“Open your hand.”

He did as he was told, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead as he watched Asami open what looked like a small black box and place two sets of keys on his hand.

“What keys are these?” Akihito asked, a sudden shiver running up his spine when the other man’s lips touched the back of his neck, his erection throbbing softly against his lower back.

“I bought you an apartment.”

The relaxed, blissful expression on the photographer’s face was quickly replaced by a frown.

“I told you not to.”

He would not indulge in another one of Asami's delirious _sugar daddy_ ideas.

“Yes, and you also told me you were planning to go back to Yokohama to live with Kou, but Kou doesn't live in Yokohama anymore.”

“He moved?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” Akihito squeaked. “Why?”

 _‘And how come you know more about Kou’s life than I do?’_ his mind silently added.

“Because his working hours vary throughout the week and I cannot afford him being late because of the train.”

He was about to open his mouth to reply when the words finally registered on his brain.

“Wait, is Kou... is Kou working for _you_?” he asked, turning around so fast his hair whipped the man’s face with a loud snap.

He didn’t even need to hear the answer.

Judging by how uncomfortably Asami seemed to be shifting behind him, there was just one possible alternative.

“Yes.”

“ _Asami!_ ” he exclaimed, his eyes as round as two saucers. “I'm gone for a month and all of a sudden _Kou,_ and I mean, _Kou_ is working at Sion.”

“I didn't coerce him,” the other man calmly replied. “Well, maybe in the beginning…”

“Excuse me?”

“I had him do a couple of... hacking jobs for me.”

Akihito felt his jaw drop.

“He did an excellent job both times so I offered him a position in my cyber security team.”

“ _Cyber security?_ ” the photographer exclaimed again, his pitch hitting an impossibly high note. “Asami, Kou is a _graphic designer_!”

“I know, and that is exactly how he responded to it,” he heard Asami reply, still sounding unphased. “But Sion needs that kind of professional too, so I offered him a position in my marketing team.”

“'Sion needs that kind of professional' _my ass_ , you just want him under your sight now that he got entangled in your illegal bullshit!”

“Are you really that mad that I offered him a job?”

He had to bite his lower lip when Asami resumed pressing slow, soft kisses to the hollow of his shoulder.

Those damn lips felt like soft, warm honey against his skin.

“It's going to add a lot to his portfolio, my business has plenty of completely legitimate partners.”

“I'm not mad,” Akihito replied, his voice still showing irritation but in much lesser amounts. “I'm just... worried. I don't want Kou to get into trouble,” he whispered. “He has been through a lot already. That run in with the Omi... It hit him hard.”

“I know,” he heard Asami respond quietly. “He's safe at Sion.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.”

A part of him was still restless with that new arrangement, but perhaps things had shifted to such an extent that staying under Asami’s supervision was truly the best way to ensure Kou’s safety in those strange times.

He still wished his friend had never become a part of that story, though, but at that point, he figured it would be inevitable. If it hadn’t been the hacking, it would have been his involvement with Maya that would eventually have roped him into Asami’s life anyway...

“Where is this apartment, anyway?” he asked, once again allowing his back to rest against the other man’s chest.

“Ginza,” Asami replied. “It has an airtight security system, a heated pool, a gym... But even with all that, Kou had no interest in moving when I communicated him of my arrangements,” he said. “Turns out he is just as stubborn as you when it comes to accepting gifts…”

A proud smile curled the corners of Akihito’s mouth.

Kou had always been much more into conspicuous life choices than he and Takato combined, so the mere fact he initially turned down Asami’s offer only confirmed he had his morals and values in the right place.

“He insisted on paying rent, so... He's paying rent, a very high one at that,” Asami continued. “What he doesn't know is that his monthly payments end up in his retirement fund.”

Akihito let out a quiet chuckle.

“So wait,” he said, with an amused frown. “These keys are for an apartment that you bought for me, but that you're renting to Kou who is actually not renting anything because every month his money goes to his own retirement fund.”

“Sounds about right.”

_That relentless man and his traps..._

“Will I have to pay rent, too?”

“If you want…” Asami whispered in response, and he had to bite back a moan when the slender fingers gave his ass a squeeze. “I'll be more than happy to collect.”

“Let me guess. You have a copy of the key.”

“Of course. I'm the landlord.”

“Technically, _ **I**_ am,” Akihito replied with a mischievous smile as his fingers slid up and down Asami’s thighs. “But let’s pretend you are. At least you have to give Kou some kind of notice of entry, right?”

“I don't, actually. I erased that clause from the lease contract.”

“No notice, then.”

“No notice,” the man whispered, biting the shell of his ear. “I can show up anytime.”

When Asami’s other hand closed around his cock, a mixture of a chuckle and a gasp escaped his throat.

“What is the other key?” he asked.

Behind him, he felt Asami’s muscles tense for a moment.

“To the penthouse,” he replied, his voice louder and slightly more strained. “In case you want to come back home,” he said, after drawing in a long breath. “ _Whenever_ you want to come back home.”

Akihito turned around again, feeling his heart pound loudly inside his ribcage.

He didn’t need to see Asami’s eyes to know that the idea of him going back to the penthouse made the other man just as anxious - he could tell by the tone of his voice, by the quick pulse throbbing in his neck.

After a quick nod, Akihito put away the keys and surrendered himself to the kisses Asami was already planting on every inch of skin he could reach.

“Ready for round six?” he heard Asami ask, his voice low and raspy piercing his ear shamelessly.

“You mean, round _four_?”

“No... It's _round six_ for you.”

Akihito chuckled in disbelief.

_The asshole had been keeping score._

“Are you sure you have been studying tantric sex?” he heard Asami nag. “Judging by how quickly you came, doesn't look like you have…”

“You're one to talk, last time I checked tantric sex did not involve you ramming into my ass like that.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me more.”

As usual, Asami Ryuichi was not going to make his life any easier.

His fingers were touching him in all the right places, his tongue trailing a wet path from his collarbone to his chin.

“It's... gentle a-and... and s-slow…” he managed to stutter, his hips involuntarily moving to increase the friction between them.

“Like this?”

Asami's touch was tentative but thorough, his mouth mimicking the same pace and smoothness as it ravished the sensitive spot behind his ear, making small sparks of energy head straight to his groin.

He stifled a moan, which was loud enough to make his throat vibrate.

“What else?”

Asami’s voice was like lewd, intoxicating music that was an entire sex act in itself, and it made his body respond with another wave of shivers, his back arching further, the temperature of his skin going up as the solid erection rubbed against his back.

“And it has a lot of touching…”

How he had found it in him to articulate an entire sentence without choking on his words, he really couldn’t tell.

“Go on…”

What he could tell was that he wanted his hands to be busy too.

He turned around, reluctantly peeling away from the warm body he desperately wanted to hold on, if only to give Asami a bit of his own medicine.

Slowly but steadily, his fingers explored, teased, barely touched, his lips following suit as he bathed Asami’s jawline with ever so soft kisses.

“Akihito…”

“What?”

“I _really_ want to ram into your ass.”

Akihito let a victorious smile curve his lips.

Looked like he was not the only one skipping the tantric sex lessons, after all.

++++

"You can take care of my mosquito bites later," Asami found himself saying, not that many minutes later.

The young man straddling him was deliberately taking his time as he applied tiny bits of lotion over every single bump he could find on his chest, rocking back and forth on his lap far too slowly and far too softly to allow him to get the kind of friction he wanted.

"Patience is a virtue," he heard Akihito chant quietly, and rolled his eyes.

His fault for bringing up tantric sex.

Obviously, he had meant it as a taunt, but had soon found out Akihito was taking whatever lessons he had had so far very seriously, and would show even more commitment to the cause now that he had been challenged.

The way he was clearly avoiding his erection - and neglecting his own - only confirmed he had really been reading about tantras and related rituals.

"Akihito..." he hissed under his breath, when the photographer's tongue flickered slightly at his earlobe.

"Hold on..." Akihito whispered back. "Just a little longer..."

The trail of soft kisses continued, and the different air of eroticism it elicited filled him with a strange sort of discomfort.

He had been around, he had tried everything under the sun when it came to sex, but despite all the hype, he had never been much of a tantric sex enthusiast. It just felt like a pretentious excuse for metaphysical shenanigans, and he was all about things being practical and straightforward.

Since Akihito seemed so intent on trying it, though, he would give it a chance eventually.

Some other day, perhaps, when he had the mental availability that the task at hand required.

He sat up, one of his arms wrapped around Akihito's waist to support him as he moved, his mouth capturing the soft rosy lips in a swift motion as his tongue pushed its way in.

"I can see this is going to be very non-tantric," Akihito panted when they broke for air, their chests pressed together.

"We can leave the tantric for another day," he replied. "Turn around."

The small smile curving the photographer's lips as he moved made Asami's heart flutter.

As the younger man carefully placed his knees on either side of his chest, leaning forward and tilting up his perfect bubble butt so that he had full access to his most intimate parts, Asami pondered that Takaba Akihito had the kind of physical and emotional openness that he had never been able to offer.

He figured he would never be able to surrender to another person as thoroughly as the photographer surrendered to him again and again, baring not only his body with that level of confidence and trust, but his own feelings, intentions, thoughts.

Akihito trusted him more than he probably deserved.

"Asami?"

The quiet, amused voice talking to him brought him back to reality.

"Is everything okay back there?" Akihito chuckled.

"Yes," he whispered back, smirking as he kneaded the soft round globes in front of his face. "Everything is perfect."

He heard a loud hiss come out of the photographer's mouth when his tongue traced the first wet circle around the ring of nerves a few inches above his balls, flickering back and forth to tease the tender flesh.

As much as he tried not to hurt Akihito during sex, he knew his body always ended up carrying the burden of their lovemaking, and he was very appreciative of the photographer's resilience despite the obvious discomfort.

"Does it hurt?" Asami asked quietly, when Akihito's muscles clenched after one of his digits had probed his entrance.

"No," he panted in response. "Just go slow."

He would go very, _very_ slow.

After spreading the photographer's legs wider apart, he replaced his finger with his tongue, a jolt of excitement making him gasp when the pinkish flesh yielded to welcome him. When Akihito moaned in response, with his sex still lodged deep inside his mouth, the resulting vibration made his body tingle, his nipples hardening under the man's hips.

"A-Asami..."

He could hear and feel the photographer's breath come in short, quick gasps as his tongue moved farther down to tickle the patch of skin between his ass and his ballsack, the throbbing length resting against his neck dampening his skin with fluid when his finger slipped back into the now very slick passage.

"A-Asa...Asami, I-I'm gonna--"

"Don't hold back."

He felt his own cock expand to unimaginable proportions when a scream of pleasure ripped through Akihito's throat, spurts of warm, thick liquid covering his chest as his muscles twitched, relaxed, pulled him in.

And then it was his turn to make small, embarrassingly lewd sounds when Akihito's mouth took him in again with even more passion, the insistent, warm licks up and down his cock making the muscles of his lower stomach coil.

"Wait," he grunted, gently patting the photographer's hips when he felt his balls begin to tighten. "I don't want to come yet."

"But I do," Akihito panted back, his hand still moving up and down his length with the exact amount of pressure and speed that he knew would tip him over the edge. "I want you... to come... in my mouth."

His voice was raw, determined and playful all at the same time, and that kind of want, with no reservation or hidden motives, made Asami's head feel strangely light, his limbs too relaxed and soft as he allowed pleasure to wash over him.

"Fine," he whispered, gently rescuing his overstimulated sex from the hungry lips still intent on finishing him off. "But ride me first, I want to see your face."

He rested his elbows on the bed, and took the chance to study Akihito's slender body as the photographer turned around once again and guided him in.

His pectorals were certainly more toned than before, and the beautifully shaped obliques were like a panting coming in and out of focus every time he breathed.

Takaba Akihito had always been stunning, and somehow growing more muscle had not taken away the delicate, smooth contours that fitted him so well.

He could stare at that body all day.

When he lifted his eyes to the younger man's face, he noticed he was looking right into his eyes. Seeing what exactly, he could not tell, but there was so much conviction in the hazel orbs that he had to bite his lower lip to stop himself from letting out yet another embarrassing moan, or worse.

He wondered what was going on in Akihito's mind, if anything was going on at all, and what were the words he was not telling him, even though he suspected he could hear them pulsing through his veins as they ground against each other, his sex disappearing into Akihito’s body with every thrust.

He wondered if Akihito could hear the words he was not saying either.

And above all, he wondered if Akihito would stay, if he ever learnt the worst there was to learn about him.

That untimely thought was enough to make his pace falter, and before he had the chance to fulfil the photographer's request, he felt his muscles tense as orgasm burnt through him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Akihito's hips as he held him in place, refusing to let go, his chest constricted by the uninvited weight of doubt.

 


	65. Unloveable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Who knows…_
> 
> _Is this the start of something wonderful and new_
> 
> _or one_
> 
> _more_
> 
> _dream_
> 
> _...that I cannot make true?_
> 
>  
> 
> After a strange dream and a memorable _mikoshi matsuri_ , Asami pulls a Mary Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what can I say? Many things, actually, so fasten your seatbelts! XD
> 
> This chapter took longer than I expected because I wanted to write about the _mikoshi matsuri_ , a Japanese festival in which people carry divine palanquins over their shoulders, for a number of reasons and purposes. There is a lot to it, and I spent a lot of time reading about how long it takes, what men wear, how to tie a _fundoshi_ … Yeah, well, long story short, now you know why this update took forever!
> 
> From now on, expect to see many references to Sherlock ( _ipsis literis_ at times, like one of the lines Asami says in this chapter!), the Leftovers (dream karaoke, anyone?), and even Harry Potter (as in, Makoto citing Dumbledore (?!?!).
> 
> This chapter is very, very long, probably the second longest so far, and certain scenes are only there for us to catch a glimpse of what is going on in Asami’s mind. Please bear with me!
> 
> And finally: thanks for your ongoing support and patience! ^_^

 

 He didn't know where he was, yet the pier where he was standing looked oddly familiar, as if he was stuck inside a memory that did not belong to him.

“Didn't think you'd come.”

The female voice by his side should have surprised him, but for some reason it didn't.

It was almost as though they had both been standing there for ages.

“Do you remember the first time you killed someone?” he asked, his tone casual and neutral, as if that was the most obvious icebreaker on earth.

Instead of replying, the young woman by his side merely nodded, her brown eyes still fixated on some point of the deep, endless ocean.

“Do you?” she asked in return.

“Yes.”

“What was it like?”

“Knife,” he replied with a shrug, unwilling to revisit that specific day or any of its details. “You?”

“Sledgehammer.”

He whistled quietly, hands still stuffed into the pockets of his jeans as he looked at her face.

“It was an accident, actually,” the woman continued, scratching the back of her neck before pulling down her beanie until the tips of her ears were covered.

“How do you kill someone with a sledgehammer _by accident_?”

He saw her open mouth to respond, but before she could do so, another female voice called his name.

“Ryuichi.”

And that was when he realised there was something wrong going on.

Those two ladies could not be with him at the same time.

“ _Mom?_ ” he asked quietly, his eyes dropping to the crimson evening gown she was wearing. Her long dark hair was tied in an elegant bun, secured by a golden hairpin decorated with rubies, and he was positive he had never seen her look so old, so wise and so wealthy.

“Everyone's looking for you,” he heard her say, touching his face with fingers that were warm and motherly and that made him feel like an 11-year-old again. “Why did you run away, are you that nervous?”

_Run away?_

“I didn't run away,” he replied, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

_I don't even know what you are talking about._

“Why would I be nervous?”

The older woman, however, seemed to be interested in someone else.

“Ah, you must be Mirai,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I hear my granddaughter has my eyes, is that so?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“How do--” he started asking, just to be interrupted by his mother once again.

“How come I've never met her?”

Her expression was a mixture of surprise and disappointment, and he chose to remain silent because the most obvious answer - _‘you never met your granddaughter because you are dead’_ \- would sound too rude although entirely accurate.

“E-Excuse me,” he stuttered, hoping that walking away would somehow wake him up from that crazy dream.

“Asami?”

Another familiar voice, however, made him stop dead on his tracks.

“Where are you going?”

When he turned around, he felt like he had just fallen in love with Takaba Akihito all over again.

His smile was wide and warm, his face filled with the kind of joy and nervousness that preceded the sort of big event he knew he was not prepared for.

Yet, he couldn't look away, couldn't help but inhale deeply as the photographer walked towards him, looking like an angel wrapped in _haute couture_.

“Hmm?”

“The wedding,” Akihito replied, placing both palms on his chest. “It's about to start.”

“What wedding?”

“What wedding?” he saw the young man raise his eyebrows, after a scoff. “Ours, of course.”

 _Their_ wedding.

Now the white suit and shoes made sense, but the realisation automatically filled him with the purest panic.

“’ _What wedding’…_ ” Akihito scoffed again. “Seriously…”

“But I'm not... I'm not wearing a suit.”

If only he could say he was wearing anything that would be remotely appropriate for the occasion. Instead, he looked down at himself, and saw a faded green T-shirt that seemed to have been worn far too many times, jeans that did not fit him well and a pair of old boots that he could have sworn he had gotten ridden of as soon as he finished high school.

But it was too late.

They were already standing in front of an officiant, in what looked like a town hall taken from some western soap opera, the crowd behind them a bunch of unfamiliar faces, the flower arrangements too tacky, too many, made up of roses that looked like they were made of plastic.

_“...we are gathered together to celebrate the union…”_

It all felt horribly wrong.

If anything, he would have wanted their wedding to be a unique event, in the perfect venue, with perfect flowers and perfect everything, and the fact that ceremony was so underwhelmingly below his expectations made him grit his teeth in anger.

_“What is the worst thing you've ever done?”_

When he looked at the officiant again, he noticed the man was staring at him intently, as if waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” he replied mindlessly.

_“Yes, what?”_

He didn't even know what the question had been, or why everyone was looking at him with such curious eyes.

“Love…” he heard Akihito whisper. “What is the worst thing you've ever done?”

He blinked multiple times, a wave of murmurs sweeping the small precinct as he mentally browsed through endless archives of misdeeds.

_“Asami Ryuichi, sir…”_

With his lips pursed in an obvious sign of impatience, the officiant tapped his watch and raised his eyebrows, demanding an answer he legitimately did not know how to give.

“I don't know…” he said simply.

“You have nothing to be afraid of, son.”

And then, there was his mother again, that time with a microphone in her hand.

“Go ahead,” she whispered, her tender smile filling him with the kind of courage he needed.

He cleared his throat, led the microphone to his mouth, and waited as the wall behind them faded to black, a giant TV screen showing him the lyrics to an American song he hadn't heard in a very long time.

In no time, he was absolutely alone, singing to his heart’s content. Or at least he thought he was alone, until the loud booing around him made him start sweating profusely.

He was singing so well… He really couldn't understand the public’s response.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snarled, throwing the microphone at the invisible crowd after finally missing a note.

And then they were all gone, and he was sitting at a table covered with enough platters and food to feed an entire village.

“Sir?”

When he looked to his right, he saw Kirishima standing with a tray in his hands.

“What?”

“Your dinner.”

With a disheartened grunt, he waited until his first assistant placed yet another platter in front of him, and removed the stainless steel cloche covering it.

He let out a silent scream the meal he was supposed to have was his own head, eyes still open and staring at him.

_Fuck._

His heart was racing by the time he finally woke up, a sheer layer of sweat covering his chest.

By his side, Akihito stirred and whimpered, yet his eyes remained closed.

Good.

The sun had not even risen yet, and the photographer could certainly do with some rest after the strenuous activities of the night before.

As to him, he doubted he would be able to fall asleep again.

It was not as if he wanted to, anyway.

++++

The sun had barely risen when Kirishima headed to the patio with his laptop and a handful of reports to review.

He hid a yawn with the back of his hand, fixed his glasses and poured himself a mug of coffee before leaving the kitchen to make sure he was alert enough to inspire the usual authority in case he stumbled upon one of Sion’s employees on his way out of the house.

That being said, he did not regret taking a day off, nor substituting sleep with _more vigorous and rewarding activities_ \- as a matter of fact, the mere thought made him avert his gaze to the window of her room and wish he had had time for some kind of breakfast in bed.

It had been a very long time since he had last woken up with a warm, soft arm draped over his chest, so long actually that he had nearly forgotten how good it felt.

Although he knew his presence was needed in Tokyo, he wished he could spend at least one more night in that island.

“So?”

He choked on his coffee when he finally realized he was not the only one to have set a small workstation in the patio. To his left, Asami Ryuichi was also surrounded by papers and a tea set as he struck the keys of his laptop, his eyes fixated on the computer screen.

Apparently, he was not the only one trying to catch up with business affairs.

“What?” Kirishima muttered quietly.

“What was it like?” he heard his boss ask, finally averting his eyes to his face with a knowing smirk.

The secretary cleared his throat, squaring his shoulders as he pushed his glasses farther up his nose.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked.

“That you two slept together?” he heard the man reply. “Yes, that much is clear.”

Well, of course, if anyone would realize something out of the ordinary, it would be the man sitting next to him.

Asami Ryuichi seemed to have a very functional built-in sex detector.

“Though if I had to bet, I'd say neither of you got much sleep…” he heard his boss continue, leaning back on the chair as he spoke. “So...?”

The secretary watched as his boss poured more tea into a cup, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“It... uh... it exceeded expectations,” he replied.

“Was it your first time after the...?”

“Yes, yes. The first.”

“How did it feel?”

It was Kirishima’s turn to let a proud little smile curl the corners of his mouth.

Every now and then, it was refreshing to have his own sexual accomplishments under the spotlight. He had no qualms sharing details of what he did behind closed doors, just like the man next to him had no qualms doing whatever he wanted far from closed doors of any kind.

Judging by how freely Makoto had volunteered specific information about her own habits and those of other residents of that island, he doubted she would take offence in that moment of debriefing either.

He was halfway through his account when Suoh joined them, looking far from amused. Every now and then, the bodyguard would chuckle and nod, but Kirishima could tell his mind was miles away from there.

If on one hand their boss looked like he had gotten several years younger after a couple of days with his significant other, Suoh Kazumi seemed to be experiencing the very opposite process, the wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced even when his face was relaxed, the tension in his shoulders making his usually exemplary posture tilt a little.

“A _foursome_?” he heard their boss interject, after he had mentioned one of Makoto’s suggestions the night before. “Now that would be interesting, don't you think, Suoh?”

The bodyguard’s vacant stare, however, gave him away.

He was not even listening anymore.

“Suoh.”

“Uh?” Suoh quickly replied, straightening his back as he looked from his boss’s face to his. “No.”

“No, _what_?” Kirishima asked.

“I'm sorry, what was the question?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“I don't know…” the bodyguard replied with a shrug, tilting his head towards the garden. “She has been avoiding me.”

Kirishima took that opportunity to steal a glance towards their boss, only to find out the man’s gaze was fixated on the garden as well, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Majima Makoto’s first assistant.

“Must be the hormones…” the secretary offered feebly.

If there was one thing he was not acquainted with, and didn’t even want to become acquainted with, was the universe of expectant mothers.

“No... It's not like that,” Suoh muttered in response. “She doesn't even look at me, every time I try to get close to her she just... runs away.”

In time, the three of them were silently staring at the woman in the garden as she stretched in preparation for her morning yoga.

Kirishima saw the precise moment her eyes locked with the bodyguard’s, and within seconds, she was marching back to the house, leaving her small purple mat and a bottle of water behind.

“See?” Suoh scoffed, before getting to his feet and rushing to catch up with the woman who had just disappeared behind the main door. “Excuse me.”

By his side, Asami Ryuichi looked far from pleased.

“There goes my best security operative,” he complained.

“He just needs some time to adjust to his new circumst--”

“No, Kirishima, _no_. I told you this would happen.”

The secretary had no option but to nod in silent agreement.

Indeed, pretty much everything his boss had predicted about Suoh and parenthood was slowly but surely happening, with his long-term colleague becoming gradually more distracted by his own private affairs - not to the extent of compromising the quality of his work, but more than enough to raise a few red flags.

“We lost him to the batshit crazy black widow,” the man continued, and the bitter, resentful tone underlying his words made Kirishima raise an eyebrow.

“That's a lot of contempt, did something happen?”

The moment of hesitation following his question gave him the answer he needed.

“No,” he heard his boss respond, and although he knew that was an obvious lie just by looking at the deep frown on the man’s forehead, he opted not to press matters any further. “Anyway, I hope I don't have to worry about you getting the baby fever as well.”

Kirishima had to fight the urge to laugh.

Now _that_ was quite the far-fetched scenario.

“There is nothing to worry about,” he replied, his voice showing absolutely no concern. “Makoto said she couldn't have kids.”

“Yes, so did Li Jiao.”

He probably shouldn’t play with his boss’s emotions like that, but the opportunity was far too good to pass up.

As if he had just come to a sudden realization, he forced his eyes to go wide, in what he hoped was an honest expression of fear.

As predicted, he saw the man next to him go pale.

“Kirishima,” Asami Ryuichi whispered. “Please tell me you used protection. _Any kind_ of protection.”

The surge of panic on his boss’s face was invigorating, but he knew better than to push his luck.

“I was kidding,” he admitted, waving a hand dismissively. “Makoto didn't say that.”

The glare he got in return was beyond murderous.

“And as I said, no reason to worry,” he went on to explain. “My factory is closed for business, remember? I prefer not to take chances.”

His boss’s sigh of relief was just as amusing as his previous desperation.

“Oh, that’s true,” he heard the man whisper. “I had forgotten.”

Kirishima didn’t blame him for not remembering that very important detail. After all, it had not been that much of a big deal at the time, with him only needing a full afternoon off work to recover from the procedure.

“How long has it been, five years?”

“And a half, yes,” Kirishima replied.

“Do you regret it?”

“The vasectomy? No,” he frowned, pursing his lips after a careless scoff. “Becoming a parent is not in the cards for me. Even back then... Even with _her_ , I don't think I ever wanted a child.”

“Not ever?”

“No. And if I had to father a child, I would have wanted it to be with her. No one else.”

Sounded fair, then, that he had abandoned any potential chances of becoming a father one week after Hayashi Mirai had gotten married to another man.

“It was the right choice,” Kirishima concluded, pushing away memories he was not willing to revisit and making it clear he was ready for a change of topic.

After a long moment of awkward silence, Asami Ryuichi was finally ready to fulfill his unspoken request.

“Do you remember that dossier we had to prepare for Makoto before I came to this island?”

Kirishima let out a quiet gasp.

How could he possibly forget? Compiling the kind of information the man had requested at the time had nearly given him a stroke.

Back in Tokyo, he had once asked the counsellor why exactly she had asked his boss to hand in details of his professional commitments and other less legal affairs, just to find out she actually _hadn't._

 _“I didn't ask him to give me any information about what he does for a living and why, I asked for personal files only,”_ she had replied. _“But it was an exercise of trust, and the type of information he would choose to disclose or omit was more of a reckoning with himself than anything else.”_

“Kirishima?”

“Yes,” he finally replied. “Yes, I do.”

“Did it include my past liaisons with terrorist groups?” he heard the man ask quietly, and his eyes once again bulged behind the glasses.

“Yes.”

“Torture reports? Sex scandals?”

Kirishima kept nodding, his eyes madly darting around to make sure there was no one else hearing those things.

“Industrial esp--”

“Yes, sir, _everything_.”

He felt even more blood drain from his face when the golden eyes flashed with what looked a lot like _fear._

“Sir…” he whispered, just to see his boss look away as he searched his pockets for a cigarette. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Again, the tension in the man’s shoulders, the frown, the usually strong eyes darting back and forth nervously screamed a completely different answer, and this time he couldn't bring himself to let go.

“Sir…”

“What?”

“Does Makoto still have it? The dossier?”

“No,” he heard the short, clipped reply as he fished a zippo out of his pocket to light up the cigarette now dangling from his boss’s lips. “She didn’t even look at it, she told me to keep it.”

Kirishima didn’t even bother to hide his relief.

“I assume you destroyed it a long time ago, then,” he said, after a long, deep sigh.

“Of course.”

Instead of reassuring him, the answer made him even more concerned.

If the dossier had been destroyed, then why the sudden interest on its contents?

As if detecting his unrest, his boss once again steered their conversation on a different direction.

“What is with all the hustle and bustle?” he asked, pointing his cigarette towards the multitude of people walking in and out of the main house carrying boxes and large rolls of fabric.

“Ah, Makoto mentioned there is going to be a festival,” the secretary explained. “The villagers are carrying the local deity to a different shrine.”

“A _mikoshi matsuri_ , then.”

“Yes.”

He then saw the golden eyes shift to a farther corner of the garden, where Takaba Akihito was laughing a full body laughter next to an equally amused Minami Daisaku.

Judging by the glare his boss was directing at the shirtless yakuza, whose tattooed chest was apparently far too close to Akihito’s, whatever training those two were engaging in wouldn't last long.

“I guess it’s time to go back to Tokyo,” he heard the baritone voice say.

++++

“Done already?” Asami asked Akihito not many minutes later. “That was quick.”

“Were you watching?”

“Of course I was watching,” he replied, his eyes dropping to the younger man’s chest. “What exactly is Minami teaching you? You two seemed to be having fun.”

“He's teaching me… _many things_.”

When Akihito’s lips curled into a mischievous little smile, he tried to smirk back, but the tension in his jaws made it less convincing than usual.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“Well, if you are jealous of Minami Daisaku, you should have your head checked,” Akihito chuckled in response. “And before your imagination runs away with you, every now and then he teaches me some dance moves and capoeira, that's all.”

“Does he ever wear a shirt?”

“No,” he heard the photographer reply, as if it was no big deal. “He likes to show off his tattoos. Do you--” Akihito then paused, and put his hands on his hips with a raised eyebrow. “Do you seriously think I'd be interested in a guy like him?”

“More like the other way around.”

“Oh, so you think he…”

This time, his pause was followed by a genuine laughter.

“You think he's trying to make a pass at me?”

“Who wouldn't?”

He had seen far too many men lose their cool because of Akihito’s charms - himself included - so he would rather not give anyone the benefit of doubt.

“Asami,” the photographer replied, his head tilted to the side as if he was talking to a toddler. “Minami is not even gay.”

“That doesn't mean he can't be attracted to you.”

“Right…” Akihito whispered in response, after clearing his throat. “So I am… some kind of siren, fated to entice men both straight and gay, is that it?”

Well, when he put it like that, it did sound a bit stupid, but he was far too stubborn to admit it.

“Pretty much.”

As expected, his answer was met with an eyeroll and another scoff.

“Join me for breakfast?” he was quick to add, knowing that food was usually a good way to placate Akihito’s fury.

“When are you going back to Tokyo?” the photographer asked, helping himself to a bowl of fruit salad as soon as they took their seats.

“Tomorrow,” Asami replied, ignoring the food as he studied the other man’s face. “I assume you are ready to return as well?”

Still chewing on his food, Akihito gave an enthusiastic nod in response, his eyes darting to the area near the gate for a long moment.

“Asami…” he said, after wiping the sides of his mouth on a napkin. “Do you know anything about Patricia Shen?”

Asami, who had just decided to grab a bite to eat, put down his chopsticks with a less than amused expression on his face.

That name, _again._

“Why do you ask?” he asked quietly, his eyes scanning their surroundings to make sure no one else could hear them.

“Wei told me she went missing some years ago in Hong Kong, so it just occurred to me… I know he and Fei Long are from rival triads, so I thought--”

“It's a complicated story.”

“So you know where she is?” Akihito whispered, his eyebrows shooting up.

“I didn't say that,” Asami promptly corrected. “I don't. No one does, actually.”

He paused, noticing that the photographer had leaned forward, the slight crease on his forehead an indication of how eager he was to learn more.

From experience, he knew that Akihito would not let go if he opted to drop that subject without any further clarification.

“There was a rumor that the Baishe might be involved but... I don't think that's the case,” he explained. “I know you must be thinking about doing some research of your own, but things in Hong Kong are not looking good so you might want to keep your distance.”

“What's happening in Hong Kong?”

Again, he inhaled deeply and pondered his options.

He _really_ wanted Akihito not to get involved.

“Asami,” he heard the photographer say. “I'm an investigative photographer, you know I will end up finding out anyway. Actually, I kinda know something already, I think.”

“How?”

“On my first day here, Majima-san said… She said the Korean mafia was working with the one Omi leader you could not capture, or at least that’s what the rumours say.”

 _Well, so much for him not getting involved._ Why had the counsellor even given Akihito that kind of intel?

“You should be careful,” he heard the photographer whisper. “Fei Long too, if he was working with the Koreans. It might all be connected somehow.”

Asami nodded in response, munching on a piece of grilled fish without much enthusiasm.

That was what he thought, too, and that was one of the reasons why he had to return to Tokyo as soon as possible to consult with his sources in the field.

Still, he felt very strongly that it was way too early for Akihito to go back into his investigative adventures, and he was about to say so when the sound of a gong made them both avert their eyes to the front gate, where Minami - always him - was addressing a small crowd, with a _hachimaki_ wrapped around his head.

_“Gather around, bitches!”_

After a chuckle, Akihito jumped to his feet.

“Oh, I guess I am being summoned.”

_Seriously?_

With narrowed eyes, Asami once again found himself staring at the young yakuza and the strip of hair covering the center of his head - a laughable rendition of a mohawk. That, combined with an infinitude of tattoos and an equally repulsive labret, made Asami wonder _how on earth_ he could sound so full of himself.

Did he think the peculiar sense of aesthetics made him that special?

_What an idiot._

“By the way, there is a festival tonight.”

Akihito’s voice made him snap out of his imaginary rant.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, standing up as well. “I was thinking we could use one of my yachts to see the fireworks.”

He knew Akihito loved festivals, and as a result, those celebrations had grown on him too.

“Uh…”

He raised an eyebrow when Akihito started rubbing the back of his neck with a very apologetic look on his face.

“Sure, but… uh…” he mumbled. “Minami invited me to be one of the _mikoshi_ bearers.”

Asami scoffed in response.

“What?”

“Did you say yes?” Asami asked.

“Yes.”

He bit the inside of his cheek.

 _Stupid Minami Daisaku._ No wonder the man was getting under his skin.

Plus, of all ways to appreciate a _mikoshi matsuri_ , carrying a sacred palanquin that would probably weigh at least a couple of tons sounded like the least fun alternative.

“Do you want to come along, for the rehearsal?” the photographer asked, the tips of his ears a glowing red. “I'm sure they can do with an extra pair of strong shoulders…”

“And spend the entire evening bumping heads with drunk yakuza?” Asami replied, his voice dripping with disdain. “No, thanks.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the small smile in Akihito’s lips fade away, just to reappear in a much less authentic version of itself a few seconds later.

“Got it,” Akihito replied, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “I… I guess I'll see you later, then.”

“Wait,” he found himself saying, as soon as the photographer turned around to leave. “Fine, whatever, I’ll go with you.”

He was entirely aware he would regret those words before the day was over, but what _wasn’t_ he willing to do for Takaba Akihito?

“But you will owe me one,” he whispered into the young man’s ear, pressing his chest against his back and tilting his head to the side so that he could claim a much awaited good morning kiss.

++++

Before he knew, he was standing in the pathway leading to the beach, surrounded by former and current members of the Tojo Clan who had already been drinking and sweating for long enough to make him grimace every time they moved their arms.

“Suoh, go back inside,” he told the bodyguard, after adjusting the wayfarer sunglasses that had nearly been knocked off his face after a random elbow brushed against one of his ears.

“But sir, I can help you carry the--”

“No,” he interrupted. “Stay with Kirishima, find something the two of you can do.”

He crossed his arms, and watched as the other man bowed respectfully.

“I don't want him to feel left out.”

“Certainly, sir.”

After another bow, Suoh excused himself and disappeared somewhere behind the crowd.

In the meantime, Minami Daisaku had started a rather tedious and historically inaccurate account of how the Jidai Matsuri came to be.

“... and so, the first Jidai celebration happened in 1868, and--”

“You meant, _1895_ ,” Asami interrupted, unable to help himself.

After all, he had studied Imperial Japan in college.

“No,” Minami argued. “I'm quite sure it's 1868.”

“In 1868 the capital was relocated to Tokyo.”

“Exactly, hence the first festival.”

“No,” it was Asami’s turn to disagree. “The first Jidai celebration was in _1895_.”

He noticed that several heads had turned to look at him, including Akihito’s, whose wide eyes seemed to be screaming a very obvious _‘what-are-you-doing’_.

“What did they teach you at school?” Asami went on, finding it the perfect opportunity to mock the little punk. “Did you go to school _at all_?”

The collective, almost unison gasp that followed made him smirk.

Minami, on the other hand, looked positively pissed, but was quick to hide his anger by letting out a contemptuous chuckle.

“This guy…” he said, raising his hands with a shrug before getting closer to him to speak again, this time in a very low, very angry whisper. “So that's what you're here for? To whip out your scholarly dick?”

“You're not worth the effort.”

“Then get the fuck out.”

“Certainly,” Asami replied, his arms still crossed. “I can do without the stench of alcohol and sweat.”

“Ah, I see,” Minami exclaimed, his eyes gleaming dangerously as he faked another chuckle. “This whole thing is beneath you. Not elegant enough, not worth your time, you're such a special snowflake, ain't you?”

Around them, Asami could hear the crowd murmur their agreement.

“See, that's what I dislike about rich _trash_ like you,” the yakuza went on, this time walking around with his arms wide open, eliciting cheers from the crowd as if their trite had just become a political rally. “Sitting behind their desks with their fancy diplomas hanging on a wall, never breaking a sweat or getting their hands dirty…”

“Oh I get my hands dirty a lot.”

“Do you, though?” Minami asked, whipping his head around and moving so close to him their noses were almost touching. “Funny. Is that why you're still in one piece when your secretary is in a fucking wheelchair and Akihito is nearly b--”

The loud crack of a bone was the only sound in the pathway, after Asami punched the other man right between the eyes and watched him stumble backwards into the arms of a bulky, bearded man.

The stunned silence, though, was broken as soon as one of Minami’s goons pointed a gun to his head, everyone else grunting angrily in response as they searched for their own, less lethal weapons.

“Fuck!”

He raised his hands, still smirking, although Akihito’s pale face next to him made his smile disappear instantly.

“Fuck! Asami, what the f--”

“Asami.”

A female voice, louder than the many others whispering around them, made him turn around.

“A minute?” Majima Makoto said, her tone calm and unaffected although her face was showing some evident wrinkles of irritation.

After the two of them had walked back into the house, the woman spoke again.

“You should know better than to try to embarrass the Chairman of the Tojo Clan in front of his men.”

Asami felt his jaw slacken.

“ _Minami_?” he asked, not even bothering to hide the disbelief in his voice. “ _Minami_ is the new Chairman of the Tojo?”

“Yes,” she replied simply, sitting on an armchair by the door and urging him to do the same. “He lashed at you to save face. He shouldn't have said what he said, though, he will come to his senses once the adrenalin wears out.”

He nodded, without paying much attention to what the counsellor was saying since his brain was far too busy trying to process the implications of that new fact.

That brainless punk was in charge of an entire syndicate?

The yakuza had officially gone to the dogs.

“And to answer your question, he never got to finish high school, but then again, many people don't,” she went on. “Not everyone manages to get the same quality education you got.”

“Has a formal announcement been made?”

“Not yet, no. Succession matters are always complicated. He was not the first name on the list, but see, I don't think Daigo had time to make any changes,” she explained. “I knew Minami's name was in the mix, but do you know who his first option was?”

He suspected he did.

“Hayashi Mirai,” he heard the counsellor reply, her voice almost reverent as she said the other woman's name. “Wouldn't that have been epic? A woman in charge of Japan's second biggest syndicate?”

“Yes.”

“But it was not meant to be, I suppose,” she added quietly, after a long, saddened sigh. “His second option was a man by the name Kazama Shintaro. He went into exile many years ago, and when I went to him a few weeks ago, he opted to serve time instead.”

“Goes to show the Tojo is far past its golden days…” he whispered in response.

“It's true. These days the Tojo is a cross that not many are willing to carry.”

“Is Minami?”

After another pause, in which the woman’s vacant eyes drifted to the ceiling, she spoke again.

“No. He was never interested in climbing the hierarchy ladder, he does what he does because he still believes the yakuza are more than just a bunch of thugs.”

“Then why give him that kind of power?”

“Why not?” she asked, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. “As a wise old man once said, _"perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it”._ Don't you think?”

“If only things were that simple…”

He realised for one moment that he was no longer thinking about Minami.

“You don't look very pleased,” he said, filing certain thoughts and worries for later.

“I'm not,” Makoto replied. “I would have given everything to see Minami follow a different path in life, but…” she said, after a resigned shrug. “It is what it is, and I intend to be by his side until the very end.”

“He still has a lot to learn.”

“He does. But he is loyal. He is smart. And he has his heart in the right place,” she added. “He likes Akihito a lot. In a non-romantic way, I should say, so there is no reason to be jealous.”

“I am _not_ jealous,” he immediately replied, knowing that he had sounded way too defensive for it to be true.

++++

 _There were things about Asami Ryuichi that one would have to look very closely to notice,_ Akihito thought to himself as the other man exited Majima Makoto’s office.

He could tell Asami was restless, and he had learnt to read those signs with his entire body, noticing the changes in his voice, in his posture, in his touch; noticing the things he said and did but most importantly the things he _didn't_ say and _didn't_ do.

There was something bothering him, and he suspected whatever it was, it had nothing to do with what was going on in Hong Kong, or in Tokyo, or in that festival, it didn't even have anything to do with Minami, although clearly the man had been picked as target for the day.

“Asami, do you wanna do something else?” he asked, as soon as they were face to face.

“What do you mean?”

“We can just see the fireworks, eat some takoyaki…”

It was clear at that point that the man had no desire whatsoever in participating of the festivities, not by carrying a divine palanquin with a group of men he clearly despised, at least.

“We can go to your yacht--”

“No,” he heard the man interrupt. “I want to carry the _mikoshi._ ”

“But you said--”

“It was just to piss Minami off,” Asami replied, his fingers tilting his chin up so that their mouths were nearly touching. “I'm not passing on the chance to see you wearing a _fundoshi_ …”

Akihito smiled.

“Are you gonna wear one too?” he asked.

“Do you want me to?”

He had to bite back a painfully aroused groan.

Asami wearing a _fundoshi,_ the utmost symbol on Japan’s virility?

“Y-Yeah, I guess,” he muttered, a familiar tingle travelling up and down his spine when Asami’s lips brushed against his ear.

“What do I get in return?” he heard the man whisper back, and at that point he could think of a million things he was willing to offer and they all began and ended with the two of them tangled in the sheets somewhere upstairs.

“Gentlemen…”

The thunderous voice of a tall man behind them put his thoughts back on track.

“It's time,” the man announced, arm stretched out to indicate a room where the _mikoshi_ bearers were supposed to get dressed.

He quickly made his way to where the _happi_ coats were hanging, but Asami was unceremoniously barred at the door.

“Not you, _dickwad_ ,” the tall man snarled.

“Let him.”

The order had come from none other than Minami himself, who had stuffed a paper napkin in each nostril to stop them from bleeding, his eyes casting an unforgiving glare towards his attacker.

“See over there?” he told Asami, tilting his head towards a middle-aged man who seemed to have three baseball balls under the skin around his neck. “Been carrying the _mikoshi_ for a while. _Mikoshi dako_ , a true badge of honor.”

Akihito could vaguely see Asami’s Adam's apple bob up and down as he processed the information.

“Akihito, tell me again why we are doing this,” he whispered, as he pulled his polo shirt over his head.

“It's a tradition. Have you never wanted to carry a _mikoshi_ before?”

“No. Why would I?”

When Asami took off his pants and underwear in a single move, Akihito couldn't help but be distracted for a moment.

Apparently, he was not the only one - even soft, Asami was above average and the not so subtle glances he was probably getting were more than justified.

“It will be fun,” Akihito finally replied, getting rid of his clothes as well.

“It will _cripple_ us.”

He had to chuckle at Asami’s obvious worry that his perfect shoulders would get the same hideous calluses Minami had just pointed out.

“Really? We're not gonna get like that, idiot,” he said, doubling the black linen cloth and draping it over his shoulder. “That is like... the result of years doing this like... many times…”

He was nowhere near done twisting the first cord of his _fundoshi_ when it occurred to him Asami probably needed some guidance as to how to do it - except, of course, that his _fundoshi_ was already neatly tied, the cords twisted symmetrically and just tight enough.

“How--” he muttered, raising an eyebrow at how fast Asami had gotten the undergarment in place. “Have you been wearing a _fundoshi_ behind my back or something?”

“No,” the man replied, his tone amused and horribly smug. “But I used to do it a lot in college, so it's muscle memory, I guess.”

“In college, huh?” Akihito whispered. “Don't tell me you were in a drama club or something.”

He heard the man laugh quietly in response.

“What if I were, any problems with that?”

Akihito shook his head, his own laughter rattling inside his chest.

Just when he thought that man had run out of surprises.

++++

If anyone had told him that one day he would be shaking a divine palanquin up and down the sandy roads of Tsumino, Asami Ryuichi would have laughed.

There couldn't be an activity that suited him less than mingling with the lower ranks of society, their loudness and their cheap beer, yet there he was, just another man in an indistinct mass of drunk, sweaty thugs.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear Akihito chanting and cheering as if there was no tomorrow.

_If only he could say he was having half as much fun._

"I'm not sure you should be doing this," he hissed, his shoulders throbbing when their group finally put down the palanquin to take a break.

"I got clearance," Akihito replied.

"From whom?"

" _From whom_ , from my doctor, obviously."

"You can hurt yourself," Asami insisted.

"I'm not carrying it on my head, Asami," the photographer replied. "It's on my shoulders."

"Which is still close to your head. What are you drinking, beer? Did you get a clearance for that as well?"

Despite the incessant ruckus around them, amplified by the loud, rhythmic beat of multiple taiko drums, he could hear Akihito let out an almost exasperated sigh.

“Yes, Asami, I did,” he answered. “Stop nagging me, why don’t you just admit that you want us to go to your yacht and do… stuff…”

He smirked when the photographer licked his lips, the mixture of alcohol, obstination and tiredness making the hazel orbs look even more enticing than usual.

“Do _‘stuff’_ , huh…”

He was about to say that it appeared he was not the only one with a hidden agenda, when the image of a man stumbling down a small staircase caught his eye.

“I'll be right back,” he said, before heading to the place where Minami Daisaku had landed flat on his face, a bottle of sake still firmly secured in his hand.

“Better slow down on the liquor or you won't be able to stand long enough to hold yourself…” he said, “let alone a palanquin.”

“Why the fuck do you care?” the man drunkenly snarled in response. “You didn't even want to... to take part.”

“Who said I care?” Asami answered, snatching away the bottle that the other man had up until then refused to let go.

“Oh, I get it. She told you.”

He raised an eyebrow when the newly-appointed Chairman of the Tojo Clan snorted, after bringing himself to a sitting position.

“You're here because you don't want trouble with the Tojo. Diplomacy and all that shit,” he dragged on, his vowels coming out longer than necessary. “I might have dropped out of school, ya know, but _I ain't dumb_.”

Perhaps he had underestimated Minami Daisaku, after all.

“Are you scared?” Asami asked quietly, as the man got to his feet and swayed back and forth before finding his balance again.

“Scared? Of what?”

“Your new position.”

Another snort, and an even more inebriated response, after the man took another large gulp of sake.

“Fuck no. Even if I was it's not as if I would tell you, you fucking kidding me?”

And then, Asami saw his shoulders droop for a moment, and his loosely-tied top, combined with his contrived hairstyle and the headband that was almost covering one of his eyes, made him look like a sad, drunken clown.

“But I don't kinda get it,” he went on, eyes fixated on his own feet. “Dojima Daigo, Hayashi Mirai… Majima Goro...They were so much better than me.”

His voice faltered for a moment, and a sob made the rest of his monologue sound shaky and nasal.

“And I'm still in one piece... but they're all dead.”

To give the man some privacy as he cried his eyes out, Asami averted his gaze to the traditional dance taking place on the level above, ignoring the mumbling and whimpering behind him until they had faded away.

“Fuck…” Minami whispered, the empty bottle of sake he had been holding landing on the sand a few meters ahead of him with a soft thud.

Asami watched as he blew his nose unceremoniously on one of his sleeves.

“Not a word about this to anyone, do you understand?” he heard the man mutter, his voice much more sober although his eyes were reddish and unfocused.

“Sure.”

Minami was already heading to the staircase when something made him stop dead on his tracks.

“Ah.”

Without a word, the new Chairman of the Tojo Clan turned around and landed a poorly-calculated punch on his left ear.

More out of surprise than pain, Asami took a step backwards. Other than an

inconvenient, brief buzzing, he doubted that weak blow would leave any kind of bruise, and if anything, he was willing to indulge the man in that mild version of a payback.

“Now we're even,” he heard Minami say, squaring his shoulders with a defiant look in his eyes.

As he walked away, though, Asami could clearly see he was nursing his hand and cursing what sounded a lot like _‘tough motherfucker’_ under his breath.

“Asami!”

Akihito’s voice made him avert his eyes back to the staircase.

“What, are you giving up?” the photographer asked, smiling as he held two steaming bowls of food in his hands. “Heading to the yacht without me?”

Behind him, Asami could see that the other men in the group were getting ready to pick up the palanquin again, which meant more hours of sweating, throbbing shoulders and smelly men gathered around him.

Still, _that smile_ was worth all the inconvenience and more.

“Never,” he replied, drawing in a long breath as he prepared for the second half of what was turning out to be a very unusual evening.

++++

“Hey, Asami.”

At the end of the night, what was left of Akihito’s voice after hours of enthusiastic chanting and cheering sounded like a low, unsteady drunken wheeze.

“Asami Ryuichi,” the photographer insisted, his limp arms folded clumsily around the other man’s neck as Asami dragged him back to the main house. “I should start calling you by your first name, _Ryuichi_.”

Asami let a little smirk curl the corners of his mouth as he kicked the front door open.

Akihito only called him by his first name when he was utterly and irrevocably _wasted_.

“Ry-Ryuichi,” he heard the photographer hiccup. “You're so _hot_.”

“Yes, and I need a shower. So do you,” Asami finally replied, dropping the other man on the bed and letting out a relieved sigh in the process. “We both stink of cheap booze and sweat.”

To climb three flights of stairs with that extra weight on his shoulders would have been a breeze if it weren't for the fact he had spent the past six hours carrying and shaking a palanquin that seemed to grow heavier and heavier as time went by.

He bit his lower lip when the cotton of his happi brushed against his bruised shoulders as he untied the garment and peeled it back to check his reflection on the mirror. At the very least, he was lucky the skin hadn’t broken, he pondered to himself as his fingertips ghosted over the gnarly welts leading to his collarbone.

Akihito’s _happi_ coat, on the other hand, was sporting two stains that made it very clear his wounds were not as superficial.

_Smack._

The loud slap on one of his buttocks proved that alcohol tended to make some people oblivious to danger, embarrassment and even to pain.

“I spent... I spent all night thinking,” he heard Akihito drawl, kneeling on the bed and ignoring the injuries on his shoulders as he kneaded his butt, “...of tearing your _fundoshi_ away with my _teeth…_ ”

With a raised eyebrow, Asami turned his head, just in time to see the photographer lick his lips as he tugged on the black cotton undergarment.

“Your butt…” he wheezed, eyes unfocused and feverish as he stared at his hips. “It makes me hard... just to think of it.”

He chuckled, unable to look away as the photographer crawled closer to him, his chin tilted upwards as his words melted into unintelligible gibberish, his hands still resting on his butt.

“Touch me,” he pleaded, grabbing one of Asami’s hands and leading it to his own crotch. “See?”

How the man in front of him still had the energy to produce such a vibrant, solid erection was a mystery to him.

“How many beers did you have?” Asami asked, his thumb pressing against the wet spot on the other man’s _fundoshi._

“Just one,” Akihito moaned in response, shamelessly forcing his hand to rub him harder. “Two, I had _two._ ”

“Two beers were enough to get you like that?”

“ _Nheee,_ I'm just a little woozy.”

“You are more than just a little woozy.”

When Akihito moved his hand away and squared his shoulders, he wondered if his words had been taken as an offense, but his impression was quickly proven wrong when the photographer cupped the back of his head and brought his face closer to his.

“I want to eat your ass, _Ryuichi._ ”

He felt a sudden throb below his waistline at the unexpected turn of events.

_‘Woozy.’_

Yeah, right.

Akihito had to be seriously _plastered_ to suggest they crossed that threshold.

“It feels so good when you… when you do it to me,” he heard the other man continue, his hazel eyes many shades lighter, shining like two wells of liquid amber surrounded by dark brown circles. “I want you to feel good too…”

Perhaps it was the deep, raspy quality of Akihito’s voice that was making his knees go weak, perhaps it was the determined smile that curved his lips immediately after the words had left his mouth… Or maybe those few seconds in which he stood in silence, without putting a stop to the other man’s advances, were just the result of his extreme, mind-numbing tiredness.

Yes, that had to be it.

“We will feel good tomorrow morning,” he finally replied, taking a step back after patting Akihito’s hand. “Plus, you should not start what you won't be able to finish.”

“Asami... please…”

It was as though Akihito had grown an extra pair of hands, his inebriated state making his fingers even more nimble than usual as he filled the gap between them and tugged on his _fundoshi_ with a morose pout.

“Please…”

Those eyes… that _voice…_

“Call me by my first name again,” he said, his own voice turning dangerously low when Akihito’s hand sneaked under the black fabric, his drunken smile widening as the evidence of his excitement twitched against his fingers.

“ _Ryuichi_ ,” the photographer whispered into his ear.

What kind of button he had pushed, Asami did not know. All he knew was that it took less than a second for him to untie the knot that kept his _fundoshi_ together so that Akihito could finally tear it away - sadly not with his teeth, but at that point neither of them cared for the details.

He was actually so into it that he didn't mind being ushered around on the bed until his back was resting against the pillows, his legs stretched out and parted so that Akihito could crawl between them. The erratic, clumsy rhythm of the photographer’s licks when his mouth descended on him didn't bother him either, the warmth of his mouth being more than enough to make his cock expand even more, the wet tongue gently teasing his balls just as successful in getting his heart racing.

It was only when Akihito ventured further below that his muscles tensed, his thighs immediately closing around the other man’s ears.

“Ouch…” the photographer whimpered, wobbly leaning on his elbows as he tried to break free from the unexpected leglock.

His persistence had to be rewarded.

After successfully forcing Asami’s legs open again, Akihito smirked in triumph, his mouth promptly locating his target, his tongue sneaking out without a moment of hesitation.

On the receiving end of those ministrations, Asami Ryuichi grabbed one of the headboard slats behind his head and gave it such a forceful pull that the piece of wood snapped under his fingers.

To be honest, it was not as if he had put up that much of a fight, really.

He had never suggested it, Akihito had never offered to do it, but that didn’t mean he would pass on any sexual act the other man was willing to perform.

That one felt particularly good.

 _Too good,_ really - so much so that he managed to break the headboard behind him in yet another place when Akihito’s tongue finally gave his ass a break, his attention once again averted to his balls, and from there up, and up, until half of his cock was lodged inside his mouth.

Just then, he noticed Akihito’s left arm moving way too fast, and a frown wrinkled his forehead.

“Stop touching your--”

He didn’t even have time to finish the sentence.

Akihito’s muffled moan was the last sound to leave the photographer’s throat as he shuddered through his orgasm, his entire body going gradually limp until he blacked out between his legs, the tip of his cock still inside his mouth.

_Seriously._

“Well, never mind…” Asami grunted in response, his shoulders slumping as the head of a now fast-asleep Akihito rested against his thigh. “I should have known.”

He was the sober one, after all. He could have resisted.

_If only he had wanted to._

With a long sigh, he untangled himself from the mess of limbs and bodily fluids and headed to the bathroom, running the bathtub as he showered.

Intermittent thoughts of how that day had gone by made him smirk as warm water soothed the pain on his shoulders and other achy joints that were beginning to protest as dopamine wore off, along with his erection.

_Who would have thought._

Asami Ryuichi, carrying a _mikoshi_ with a bunch of yakuza, sweating like a pig, drinking cheap beer, sweating some more and… enjoying it.

It was pretty ridiculous.

But then again, he had taken to doing and feeling many ridiculous things ever since Takaba Akihito had entered his life.

The young man who had stuck his tongue out while running away from him, the photographer who had been bold enough, or naive enough, to think he could enter his world and come out of it unharmed…

The one he had worked so hard to capture, but that had captured him instead.

_Who would have thought._

He had been caught in his own trap, he had succeeded in bringing Akihito closer to him but the virtues he extolled were not compatible with his lifestyle, and he knew it. He had thought it would be fun to see the photographer struggling under the weight of morally impossible choices, but he couldn't actually remember the last time he had been amused by the idea of Akihito _giving in_.

And now he was cornered.

Akihito staying true to himself meant not colluding with a man who had no qualms killing, lying and manipulating, for starters. It meant turning away from the abyss when he finally realised how deep it was.

But having him turn away would be just as much as a defeat, so he was bound to lose anyway.

_Oh well._

At least he had made sure they had enjoyed themselves, he told himself, before getting out of the shower, checking the temperature of the water that had filled half of the bathtub, and walking back into the bedroom.

It had been a good day, a good night, those were good memories to keep.

He could not stop the hangover that would probably fall upon Akihito the next morning, but at the very least he could ensure he would wake up feeling clean.

He untied the photographer’s _happi,_ eliciting an unhappy whimper as he tugged the fabric back to reveal the bloodied cuts blemishing the fair, soft skin of his shoulders.

_What a stupid idea that had been._

Knowing Akihito, though, he would probably look at the injuries as some sort of badge of honor the next day, he pondered, gently rubbing a wet towel up and down the photographer’s arm.

Not even being placed in a bathtub had been enough to wake him up.

He stirred and blinked when Asami started washing his hair, though, his eyes darting around for a second before fluttering closed again.

It occurred to him that maybe he should have not let Akihito drink at all. He was still on medication, what if it had been too much for his body to handle?

A rush of panic made him wrap the younger man in a towel before tucking him under the covers, his eyes already scanning the room in search of his own satellite phone.

It took him two vital signs checks, a sugar blood test, a blood pressure reading and almost half an hour of reassurance from his private physician for his heart to stop racing.

_Akihito was fine._

Despite his bleeding shoulders, that is.

By the time those were properly bandaged, it was almost three in the morning, but it didn’t actually matter.

He doubted he would be able to sleep, anyway.

His eyes fell on a distant corner of the room as he combed the photographer’s hair, his thoughts a million miles away.

In a matter of hours, everything was going to change.

It had been a good day, a good night, those were good memories to keep.

That was a good way to be remembered.

++++

When Akihito woke up with a start the next morning, sitting up as if propelled by a set of invisible springs, there were far too many things for his brain to process.

The light coming from the window made it obvious that it was way past five in the morning, Asami was reading a newspaper next to him on the bed, and unless he was mistaken, he was completely naked under the blanket that now covered only half of his body.

“Good morning,” he heard the baritone voice say.

“What happened?” Akihito asked groggily, just to find out little to no voice was coming out of his throat.

“We carried a _mikoshi_ together.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” he whispered in response, rubbing his eyes on the back of his arm and noticing he smelled a lot like lavender and honey. “I don't remember taking a shower, though.”

“I'm sure you don't remember many things…” Asami replied.

Even in his barely-alert state, Akihito noticed that the smooth, deep voice contained a note of mischief and satisfaction, as if those words had been uttered through one of Asami’s trademark smirks.

“What happened?” he asked again, trying to raise an eyebrow although the light coming from the window was making him squint. “Why is this thing broken?”

So his voice was gone, he was naked, his jaw hurt, and he had just realised two slats in the headboard behind them were missing. He suspected he already knew what Asami had done to him but--

“You gave me a rimjob, I gave you a bath, we went to sleep.”

The answer made his eyebrows shoot so far up he felt a painful pang in the middle of his forehead.

He had probably misheard it.

“I gave you a _what_?”

“A rimjob.”

By his side, Asami couldn't possibly look more relaxed. Through the blurry filter of his eyes, he could see him wearing a robe, hair combed back, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, still reading the newspaper without a single care in the world.

“Haha, that's funny,” he chuckled nervously. “I didn't give you a rimjob.”

He tried to lick his lips, only to find out his mouth had gone incredibly dry.

No, seriously, he couldn't have. For one, it had taken a while for him to even get used to _receiving_ rimjobs, because the whole thing always felt so shameless and wrong and…and…

“I-I mean, if I had, I would--I would remember it,” he stuttered, fully aware that he was blushing. “I would remember it, right?”

Akihito could tell Asami’s smirk had intensified tenfold.

“I guess…” he heard the man whisper in response.

Clearly, he was joking.

“Geez,” Akihito chuckled, after another moment of confused hesitation. “I almost believed you for a second.”

He could hear the man by his side mutter something under his breath, but a sharp, painful throb on the right side of his head derailed his train of thought.

“Ugh, my head hurts,” he whimpered.

“Here.”

“What are those?” he asked, after the man passed him a small bottle and two pills.

“Painkillers and tea, to help with the hangover.”

“Thanks…”

He washed down the medicine with large gulps of tea, ignoring its bitterness and letting his body slide back onto the bed with a tired sigh.

“How do your shoulders feel?” he heard Asami ask, after finally putting away the newspaper.

“What about my sh--”

His own question was interrupted by a yelp of pain when he touched one of the bandages covering his shoulders.

“The skin broke.”

“Shit!” he exclaimed, noticing that the gauzes covering the wounds were clear, as if they had been changed while he was asleep. “Wow…”

Once again, his fingertips ghosted over the bandages, but this time a quiet smile curved his lips.

“Heh, I can't wait to tell Kou,” he wheezed, some of his words coming out so low he was not even sure Asami could hear them. “He always mocked me for not carrying the palanquin when we graduated from high school.”

“Why didn't you?”

He felt his smile fade a little as the corners of his mouth twitched.

The year he graduated happened to be a year of very few happy memories, what with one of his grandparents passing away and his own parents planning to move abroad.

“It was not a good year,” he replied quietly. “I didn't feel there was much to be grateful for.”

“What's there to be grateful now?”

The question made him blink slowly, a myriad thoughts going through his head.

In hindsight, the past few months had been nothing short of disastrous, but it was almost as if each door that had snapped closed on his face had opened a window showing a better place, a better version of himself.

“Many things…” he whispered in response, his eyes darting quickly to Asami’s face and then back to the bed. “Did you participate just to appease me or were you grateful for something as well?”

“I did it to appease you.”

The honest, point-blank answer made him chuckle.

_The always-candid Asami Ryuichi._

“But I'm also grateful,” he went on. “I'm grateful that you're here.”

He held back a gasp when blood rushed to his cheeks, his heart skipping a beat or two as he felt the powerful amber orbs fixated on his face.

That man would be the end of him.

“And I am also grateful for painkillers, and cold packs, and the ability our minds have to forget certain embarrassing circumstances, like… say, going around wearing a _fundoshi,_ surrounded by a bunch of sweaty, drunk reformed criminals…”

“You liked it!” Akihito replied, laughter rattling inside his chest. “I could hear you laughing and chanting, you were all giddy shaking that _mikoshi_ …”

“You are an unreliable narrator,” Asami replied, his voice showing the slightest hint of amusement.

“Still…” he whispered back, wiping away happy tears as he stared at the ceiling. “That's quite the story to tell when we get older…”

“When we get older, huh?”

Akihito bit his lower lip in silence.

Every now and then, even though he knew he probably shouldn't, he liked to imagine what it would be like for them to get old together.

Many years down the road, he could envision Asami still at the top of his game, with both mental and physical abilities that could put any twenty-year old to shame, still sharp, still busy, still _hot._

But maybe at some point in the future, his joints would start to ache and every now and then they would just be two old farts spending their retirement years at the beach or in their own country house, wearing yukatas… An older Asami would just sit around and sip his scotch and the elderly version of himself would take pictures of their grandkids playing outside.

He shook his head quietly, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

For fuck’s sake, _grandkids_?

From what he could remember, Maya had once said she had no plans whatsoever of becoming a mother.

Still, he could tell from experience that plans changed, so who knew… He himself had never imagined becoming a parent, but maybe one day, when the time was right--

_‘I don't want a family.’_

Asami’s words echoed inside his head, and brought his own meanderings to a halt.

That had been a strange conversation, back in the day. At times, Asami had sounded terribly sincere, but that was also the same man that said he didn't care about his daughter when in reality he cared about her a lot.

Perhaps he did want a family, after all, but was somehow worried about failing at it.

Just like _he_ was.

“Asami…” he whispered, after a long minute of silence.

“Hmm?”

“Did you mean it, when you said you wanted to marry me?”

His heart was pounding so loudly inside his ribcage that he had to wonder if Asami could hear it.

“Of course I meant it,” he heard the man reply, his voice just as confident and collected as usual. “Did you mean it when you said you didn't?”

“I didn't say no…”

“You didn't say yes either.”

His eyes were still staring blankly at the ceiling when he chuckled nervously.

_Marrying Asami Ryuichi._

True, he had not said yes either, perhaps because he was still overwhelmed by the insane amount of implications of a formal union. Japan’s most famous bachelor no longer up for grabs, all the media coverage, the repercussions for his career, and his family… man, what would his parents say? They didn't even know he was into guys…

But it was time to bite the bullet.

“I-I--”

“There is something…”

Asami’s interruption made his stomach drop.

“There is something that I want to give you, before you answer,” he heard the man mutter, his voice suddenly very serious.

The sound of a faint beep and a click made Akihito sit up, and he felt his head spin. Whereas the nausea that had hit him was still part of his hangover or due to anxiety, he could not tell.

“What is that?” he asked, after Asami returned from a distant corner of the room with what looked like a bulky folder in his hands.

“A dossier.”

“A dossier?” Akihito whispered, frowning in confusion. “About whom?”

“About me.”

The folder that had been placed on his lap all of a sudden felt impossibly heavy.

“What?”

“You said you didn't know much about me,” Asami replied simply, sitting at the edge of the bed with his back turned to him. “That's everything there is to know.”

Akihito tried to swallow a lump in his throat, just to realize his mouth was still dry.

_A dossier about Asami Ryuichi._

Judging by the size of that monster, it surely contained a lot of info.

“A fair warning, though,” he heard Asami continue, after an audible sigh. “Most of it might not live up to your... moral standards.”

Akihito blinked in confusion.

What kind of info was he being given, exactly? And why now, why like that, what was he supposed to do?

“Is this some kind of test?” he asked quietly.

“No,” he heard the other man reply, still staring at the wall and deliberately avoiding any kind of eye contact. “It's not a test.”

“Then why?”

“I don't know…” Asami replied. “You are an investigative photographer, maybe you would find out anyway. And at least I get to be the one to tell you.”

Akihito was torn between feeling outraged and flattered.

Yes, he was an investigative photographer, but did Asami really think he was still trying to get a scoop out of his life?

“Asa--”

“It's the least I can do,” he heard the man continue. “It's the best I can give you.”

He sounded so sincere that Akihito’s response died in his throat.

It finally occurred to him that Asami Ryuichi, the epitome of mystery, was laying all his secrets at his feet - or, as it was, at his lap.

That damn folder, which was already way too heavy just because of the nature of its contents, was beginning to crush him in a variety of ways.

“Most of it is in Braille but you can use that text-to-voice scanner you have…”

At that point, he was barely listening.

“And then you'll know more about me than Fei Long, Kuroda and Kirishima combined. Well, maybe not Kirishima, but--”

“Of course,” he chuckled nervously in response.

“But then again, you and I have done things together that I had never done with anyone else…”

When Asami finally turned around to look at him, his fingers inadvertently closed around the edges of the folder, the intensity of his gaze burning through him and making his heart flutter.

“So I guess you win,” Akihito heard him whisper.

His eyes darted back and forth, searching something to rest upon even though his mind was still racing as he opened the binder, his fingertips gliding over the cover page to try and make sense of the small bumps on its surface.

He was still semi-illiterate when it came to Braille, so who knew how long it would take for him to finish reading a single page of that endless report.

“I would really appreciate it if you didn't read it in front of me,” Asami said not even a full minute later.

“Why not?”

“Do you love me?”

Akihito pursed his lips, his face so hot he was convinced he had blushed a fierce shade of purple.

He hadn't really expected the question, but the two of them had danced around it for so long that he really couldn't find it in him to go off on a tangent.

“Yes.”

“You won't love me when you've finished,” Asami replied, his voice low and resigned. “And I don't want to see the look in your face when that happens.”

The few seconds of silence that filled the gap between those words and Asami heading to the bathroom felt like an eternity.

At some point in the past, he would have given anything to have proof of that man’s illegal side businesses, because at some point in the past, he had truly believed that Asami represented everything that was evil, immoral and cruel in Japan and beyond - he was the villain and it was his job to expose him.

And now, three years and something down the road, he had just been given a free pass to go ahead with it, if he still wanted to. Except that now, the villain was also the man that he was willing to fight for, the man he envisioned getting old with, and the sudden turn of events made him feel felt he was freefalling into a void - his chest was constricted, and his hands were two blocks of ice as he stared blankly at his own feet.

“We should finish getting dressed,” Asami announced, after returning to the bedroom already wearing pants and a shirt, his voice now carrying its usual tone of detachment. “The car is waiting for us outside.”

 

 


	66. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you all! This update took quite a while, but that is basically because I decided to write two chapters at the same time to give you guys a double update (and it would have worked out just fine if life had not decided to kick my ass in every imaginable way). But, alas, no more whimpering, let's get down to business: this chapter focuses on four characters: Akihito, Tanimura, Mine and Maya. No Asami. Let's just say that the events here might look far removed from Asami and Akihito’s current moment but I guarantee that the plots will converge in a rather… uh… _bombastic_ way. XD

_Crew, prepare for takeoff._

The voice coming from one of the small speakers above his head made his mind wander, and his hands stopped halfway through fastening his seatbelt.

Before Asami, he had never even dreamt he would one day see the interior of a private jet plane. If anything, he had thought travelling in the Gran Class of the _Hokkaido Shinkansen_ a year after he had gotten his first paycheck as a photographer was as ostentatious as it would get for him…

How things had changed.

When the plane finally started speeding up, he straightened his back against the seat and cast a quick glance towards Kirishima, whose stiff posture on the other side of the aisle seemed to indicate the man had not yet recovered from the shock of seeing him enter the jet with Asami Ryuichi’s dossier firmly secured in his hands.

The secretary’s only reaction at that point had been a quiet, surprised gasp that both he and Asami chose to ignore as they took their seats, but minutes had gone by and the eyes behind the glasses were apparently still fixated on him.

When Asami turned his head, he couldn't quite make out what his facial expression was, but whatever look he exchanged with Kirishima was enough to get the secretary to look out of his own window and remain oblivious to their presence until the end of the flight.

Still, the whole thing left Akihito feeling uneasy, and the fact Asami seemed intent on remaining quiet for the entirety of the trip didn't make matters any better.

“I… I think I need a nap,” he offered feebly, unfastening his seatbelt as soon as they had reached cruise altitude.

“Already?” he heard Asami ask. “You woke up less than two hours ago.”

“I...uh...I still have a headache, I should probably lie down for a while.”

He saw when the other man nodded quietly in response, eyes once again averted to the small window next to his head as he excused himself.

After locking the door of the private suite behind him, Akihito dropped the folder on one of the chairs and sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on top of his knees.

He closed his eyes, and had a vision of himself many years prior, seeing the cherry blossoms in Hirosaki for the first time as a kid. His chest was filled with the same nostalgia that had hit him when he remembered the _Hokkaido Shinkansen_ , as if he was mourning a time of his life when things were easier to understand.

A time of his life when he saw Japan as the best country of the world, where people could trust the police, politicians were honest and crime did not pay.

How long had it lasted? Enough years to get him through most of his school life, but not long enough considering his long list of juvenile court records.

He had never been naive enough to think things were perfect, but he had been taught to have faith in the system, and so he did, to the best of his capacity. He had made it a personal goal to sort out the bad guys from the good ones, even though the child inside him still believed that even the scum of all scum probably had something good to give, if one spent enough time looking for it.

His eyes momentarily slipped to the door when he heard footsteps outside, and for a second he wondered if Asami had followed him. Part of him wished he had, so that he could seek comfort in that warm body that always succeeded in taking his breath - and his concerns - away.

But what would be the point, anyway? At some point he would have to wake up from the trance, and that stupid dossier would still be staring mockingly at him.

When the footsteps retreated, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Exposing Asami for whatever crime he had committed was out of the question, his own heart would not be able to take it. But then what? That kind of knowledge would make him an accomplice at best… what kind of life was he about to embrace?

He let his back fall gently on the bed, one of his hands pressed against his mouth as he frowned.

Except that he had already embraced it. He had thrown his own professional integrity to the winds more than once to protect Asami from being investigated for his own illegal shenanigans.

It was amidst those thoughts that his eyes fluttered closed and he dozed off, because although he had not been totally honest with Asami when he had said he needed a nap, the part about his headache was true and the pain on his shoulders had made him more tired than usual.

_“Akihito.”_

The man’s powerful voice made him scramble out of bed, his eyes still adjusting to his surroundings as he opened the door.

He was partially disappointed when Asami did not rant about him keeping the door locked, something he knew the man despised with all his heart, and chose instead to stare at him with some sort of morose silence before speaking again.

“We’re here.”

He watched as the taller man then returned to his seat, picked up his laptop and jacket and waited for him by the exit.

The journey to Ginza was equally silent, and because of that, it felt ten times as long. Mindlessly, he said his goodbyes when half of the entourage, including Asami, headed to Sion after dropping him off at the fancy reception of a residential building.

In a matter of seconds, a familiar voice greeted him.

“Aki!”

“Kou!”

He allowed his friend to squeeze him into a bone-crushing hug, and a smile curled the corners of his mouth.

It felt good to be back.

As the two of them headed into the elevator, with the designer enthusiastically praising him for how good and strong and healthy he looked - _what a nice tan you got, eh!_ \- Akihito took a moment to study his friend’s face.

Even though Kou’s voice was full of energy and joy, he looked like he had lost weight and he suspected his eyes were dim and downcast.

“... the pool, I’ll show you when everyone leaves,” the designer rambled on, this time enlisting the building’s many VIP facilities.

“Who’s everyone?” Akihito asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You'll see,” Kou responded, before unlocking a pristine white door and guiding him to a hall that soon revealed one of the largest kitchens Akihito had ever seen.

“This is Emi,” said the designer, as a young woman wearing a skirt suit helped herself to a glass of water. “She works with Takato.”

“Nice to meet you,” Akihito heard her say, her pitch high and girly as she bowed, her small hands clasped together at her chest.

The photographer bowed back, his eyes quickly shifting to the hallway behind her, where other quiet voices were coming from.

“Is Takato here too?” he asked.

“Yes, in the living room,” Kou replied. “Let's--”

“Is there--”

Noticing that Takato’s coworker was still looking at them, Akihito brought his mouth closer to his friend’s ear.

“Is there _a safe_ somewhere?” he asked quietly, the large folder still clasped to his chest.

“Yes, one in each bedroom,” Kou replied, casting a curious glance at the folder but choosing not to ask any questions. “Come, I'll show you.”

Given the circumstances, he barely had time to fully appreciate the layout of their new apartment, the art that seemed to be adorning the walls or the tasteful furniture in each room.

Trying to be as fast and as inconspicuous as possible, Akihito merely shoved the folder into the safe of his own bedroom, punched in a pin and closed the door behind him, aware that Kou was probably looking at him with a wrinkle of concern.

“Work,” he shrugged, as a means to dissipate the obvious question hanging above their heads.

Once again, his friend responded with resigned silence.

_Blessed be him._

When they were finally in the living room, Akihito quickly identified Takato as he stood up.

“Aki!”

As they hugged, the photographer’s eyes slipped to the man’s wife, who was getting up much more slowly, with a small bundle in her arms.

“Wait a minute,” Akihito whispered, squinting to try and make better sense of what he was seeing. “The baby?”

When a small arm protruded from the blankets, his eyes went wide.

“The baby!” he exclaimed. “Already?”

It had not been that long ago that they had gathered to celebrate the news that Takato was going to become a father. True, at the time, he didn't even remember asking what his wife’s due date was, there was so much going on...

“He was a little bit early, so… yeah,” Takato replied, as he carefully picked the child from his wife’s arms. “Already. Say hi to your uncle Akihito, Hiroto-chan!”

“Hi Hiroto…” Akihito replied, still looking at the small hand moving around aimlessly with a mixture of surprise and tenderness.

“Wanna hold him?”

“S-sure…” he stuttered in response, feeling his heart skip a beat when the warm bundle was placed in his arms. “Like this?”

He let Takato adjust his hands so that he was holding the baby properly, and when the newest member of the clan stirred and yawned in his arms, a wide smile curved his lips.

He had probably met Takato when the two of them still wore diapers, and to hold his friend’s newborn son made him feel funny in a variety of ways.

_Life that went on._

“He's so tiny…” Akihito whispered. “And perfect. Congratulations!”

The day went by with them eating and talking and laughing, and the lighthearted atmosphere made the multiple knots of tension that had spread all across Akihito’s body slowly dissolve into a mass of satisfied, relaxed muscles.

“Kou seems to be having a good time with your coworker,” the photographer noted, when all food and drink were gone and he and Takato were doing the dishes.

“Oh yeah. They get along alright. Emi is a good girl.”

“Are they going out or something?”

“I'm trying to get them to.”

Akihito nodded, wiping his hands on a dishcloth as he cast a glance towards the living room.

“Maybe you should give him some time.”

“Oh, I did,” Takato replied, both eyebrows raised. “And you know what happened? He started working for Asami Ryuichi.”

It was Akihito’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

“How does that have anything to do with--”

“He thought that he would have a better chance of finding _her_ if he got close to her father.”

And by her, he meant Maya.

Akihito pursed his lips, his shoulders dropping slightly.

Of course, he should have figured that Kou had his own agenda when he joined Asami’s ranks, but to imagine that it would somehow get him closer to Maya was delusional at best.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Takato whispered back, after a long sigh. “It's been months and I know he's still waiting for her to call, but at this point he's just torturing himself. Maybe it's time for him to move on.”

He didn't know how to feel about any of that.

On one hand, he completely understood Takato’s efforts to get their friend back on the dating game, but knowing how strong Kou’s feelings were for Maya and vice versa, he had a hard time imagining that a new relationship would be a lasting solution.

And knowing what had happened to Maya… he couldn't really blame her for disappearing without a trace.

For the longest time, he had felt like doing the same back in the day.

“I will… I will see what I can do about that,” Akihito finally replied, after a long pause.

“Yeah.”

They were about to leave the kitchen when Takato spoke again.

“Hey man.”

“Hmm?”

“Welcome back,” his friend replied, after patting him on the back. “We missed you.”

He smiled.

It felt good to be back, it really did.

“Yeah... I missed you guys too.”

When their guests left, he and Kou still found the energy to engage in a quick karaoke battle that the photographer ended up winning by default when the designer had one beer too many and passed out on the couch.

He, however, was not ready to call it a night just yet.

During his talk with Takato, a name had popped into his mind, the name of a person who perhaps would be able to help him in more than just one way.

After covering Kou with a blanket, Akihito reached for his phone, plugged in his headset, and brought the small built-in microphone closer to his lips.

“Phone numbers for RJDF International Crime Division, Bangkok, Thailand.”

++++

"Heh. Lucky bastard."

With a disdainful scoff, he saw the man next to him take another bite of his sandwich, shaking his head.

"It's not luck," Tanimura replied. "It's strategy."

"It's luck."

"No, it's n--"

"It's slots, for fuck's sake," he heard his supervisor reply. "Not even real ones."

With a shrug, the detective stole a last glance at the colourful reels still spinning on the small screen of his phone before putting it away.

"We should be betting money," he said.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd love that."

With a sigh, Tanimura looked at his watch and noticed he still had almost half of his lunch break left. His eyes then shifted to the board behind his desk, where pictures, maps, newspaper clippings and all kinds of annotations formed a complicated maze of clues.

"It feels like it was yesterday that you and Shen were in this same room, looking at that same board, with the same evidence," the man on the desk next to his muttered. "It's been what, five, six years? More, even... hell if I know."

"Goes to show how little progress we've made."

The RJDF International Crime Division in Bangkok, as usual, was bubbling up with a new batch of unresolved criminal cases. No wonder the Tokyo Police had sent him there - that was where all unwanted cops ended up, so that they could work on mysteries that were a disgrace to public safety statistics.

He, however, felt that exile was a blessing in disguise.

"Do you think it's bait?" he asked, eyes narrowed as he looked at the old picture of a young Chinese girl pinned right in the middle of the board.

"What?"

"The leads we got yesterday, about the whereabouts of Patricia Shen."

"Most likely. What are the odds she's been holed up in Kanagawa the entire time..."

_What were the odds indeed._

That part of Japan would have been out of his jurisdiction but the idea that she could have been a train ride away from him was unsettling.

Part of him hoped it was just another rumor.

"But it doesn't matter what I think," his supervisor continued, after wiping his mouth on a napkin and adjusting his belt. "What matters is that we keep hitting walls... every single time. Whoever is behind this is no amateur."

Tanimura nodded in agreement, mindlessly reaching for the phone that had started buzzing inside his pocket.

"Tanimura speaking," he said, without much enthusiasm.

_"Masa?"_

The familiar voice on the other side of the line nearly made him fall off his chair.

"Who's that?" he asked.

_"Akihito."_

His jaw dropped at the confirmation, and his widely confused eyes elicited a curious grunt from the man by his side.

_"Masa?"_

"Akihito? H-Hold on."

Tanimura glanced at his watch again. Technically, his lunch break was over but he couldn't possibly care less.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," he said, leaving the room without batting an eyelash and ignoring his supervisor's rather unfriendly stare.

"Akihito?"

_"Hi."_

"Hi," he repeated clumsily, as he closed the door behind him and pressed the phone even closer to his ear. "How are you?"

_"Fine. Much better than the last time you saw me, I guess."_

"I'm sure you are."

_"How are things in Bangkok?"_

"Busy," the detective replied with a shrug. "Humid and hot, the weather here makes summer in Tokyo feel like a breeze."

_"Yeah, it's monsoon season over there."_

"Uh-huh."

That time, the only response on the other side of the line was a deep, somewhat melancholic breath, and he tried to equate the rapid beating of his own heart with the surprise factor of that unexpected call, and not with... other feelings.

"Did something happen?" Tanimura asked, his eyes darting back and forth as he waited for an answer.

 _"No,"_ he heard Akihito reply. _"No, I- I'm just calling to check how you are."_

"I'm fine. I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Another moment of silence.

"Akihito?"

 _"It's just... I don't think I can talk about this to anyone else,"_ the photographer replied. _"I don't think they would understand."_

"What is it?"

Instead of replying, Akihito let out a nervous chuckle that made him frown.

 _"It's strange to do this by phone,"_ he said. _"I wish I could go see you in a noodle joint or something."_

"Did you... did you and Asami...?"

_"We're together. Yeah. We're good."_

Tanimura pursed his lips, wincing at his own idiotic, unfinished question. He had obviously read too much into the other man's words, but for the time being he would blame, once again, the surprise factor - that had to be the one reason why his mind kept coming up with the dumbest things to say.

_"Uh... Sorry, did it sound like I was hitting on you or something?"_

"No," he squeaked in response, glad Akihito could not see how red his face had turned.

_"If it did--"_

"No, it didn't. I just... I just wanted to make sure."

_"We're still friends, yeah?"_

"Of course."

He noticed that the photographer's voice had gotten more amused and relaxed, almost as if his _faux pas_ had provided a much needed moment of comic relief.

"Of course we are," he reinforced, a genuine smile curving his lips.

It was not so bad, after all, to be reminded that romance was not in the cards for them but that the aftermath of their separation went beyond the standard emotional wreckage contained in those arrangements.

He would never pass up on being friends with a man like Takaba Akihito.

 _"Okay,"_ the photographer then continued, after clearing his throat. _"You told me once that the police force had disappointed you."_

"Yeah. Probably multiple times."

_"Why?"_

"Why what?"

_"What disappointed you?"_

He whistled quietly in response, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to think of a reasonable answer.

"It's... uh... well, many things."

_"Like what?"_

"Like, I don't know," he replied, still having trouble putting into words his years of accumulated frustrations as a cop. "I think I grew up thinking that the police were always on the right, but they're not."

In fact, that was just the tip of the iceberg. There were far too many irregular things in the force that were particularly difficult to explain to civilians, especially if they were not that well versed in the nitty-gritty of Japan's legal system, which might as well be Akihito's case.

_"Do you think you're losing sight of what you wanted to do with your life?"_

Tanimura's eyebrows shot up again.

Apparently, the photographer had put together quite the arsenal of difficult questions.

"I... I don't think I ever knew what I wanted to do with my life," he chuckled in response, but there was not much humor in his voice. "I'd just go where the wind would blow."

_"Is that so?"_

The corners of his mouth twitched.

Most people would have bought the nonchalant facade, but Takaba Akihito was not like most people, after all.

"No..." he then whispered, almost apologetically. "I wanted to make a difference."

Just then, he noticed his supervisor knocking on the door and urging him to get back to work. After mouthing a hurried _ten-more-minutes_ , he draw in a long, deep breath, and turned his back to the door once again.

"I grew up seeing things going wrong and people falling through the cracks of a system that is obsessed with keeping up appearances..." he said. "I think I wanted to change that."

_"Did you give up?"_

When his mouth twitched again, he let his eyes drop to the floor and shrugged.

Maybe he had not given up just yet, but hitting the same walls time after time had left him jaded and cynical. As a result, he was now a very different person from the younger version of himself that had dared to dream that big.

"I remember there was this one time in the beginning of my career when I was sent to deal with the case of a young man who had died in a hospital," he said, letting his mind travel back to many years prior. "His face was cut, he had multiple bruises on his arms, one of his eyes was really swollen... He had a couple of broken teeth and a broken wrist, there was violence written all over that case."

He could still see it all very clearly, and the images and facts filling his mind were leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"But my supervisor at the time... He didn't even ask for an autopsy. _Heart failure_ , he said," he chuckled, but his voice remained serious. "See, in Japan the police take pride in closing 99% of cases, usually with a confession, but that kid had come out of nowhere. A homicide without suspects? That was a scandal in the making, the media would be all over it."

It would take him at least another hour to explain to the photographer the amount of pressure the police had to deal with to guarantee crime stats would remain low enough to preserve Japan's image as one of the safest places in the world.

Now he too wished the two of them were having that conversation in person, at least.

"So there was no point claiming it had been a crime. And no crime meant no investigation, no questions left unanswered, no public concern..." he said. "And then he sent me off to talk to the parents."

He paused, clearing his throat to buy himself some time.

He didn't like remembering what had happened next.

"A school teacher and a housewife," he continued. "If they were outraged at the 'heart failure' bullshit, they did not let it show, not even for a second. They looked at me as if my word was law. And well, that was what it should be, right?"

That feeling of being a _fraud_ , of lying for reasons that were so below his oath to fight for justice, to protect and to defend, embarrassed him up to that day.

"That night I didn't even go home," he chuckled nervously, fumbling with the bunch of keys inside his pocket to outrun his sense of humiliation. "I didn't think I could manage looking the kids in the orphanage in the eye after that."

On the other side of the line, Akihito listened in silence.

"And I know that kind of thing still happens," he said, once again clearing his throat, this time to bring his own lamentations to an end. "But I think time has made me bitter, so maybe you should take my words with a grain of salt."

_"Masa?"_

"Yeah?"

_"Even if you've changed just one life, you've already made a difference."_

Tanimura's fingers closed tightly around the phone, his mind still processing what he had just heard. Coming from anyone else, those words would have sounded condescending and pointless, but Takaba Akihito was different. Through his voice, that idea sounded more honest, more pure, more dignified, and it helped him feel better about himself in a way that he couldn't quite explain.

 _"You should give yourself some credit,"_ the photographer continued. _"It would be a shame if you ever gave up."_

"You're too kind."

 _"It's the truth,"_ he heard Akihito reply, after a friendly chuckle. _"We can't win all the battles we fight, but that doesn't make us losers, yeah?"_

"Yeah."

And just like that, towed by the invisible smile he knew had followed the photographer's words on the other side of the line, his determination to keep fighting despite all major setbacks had been renewed for at least another season.

"I guess you're right," the detective whispered in response. "As usual. How's your investigative journalism going, by the way?"

"Oh, I was taking a sabbatical."

They both laughed at the explanation for his absence, but Tanimura couldn't help but feel a pang in his heart when he remembered the kind of ordeal Akihito had been through.

_"My eyes... they're not quite the same, so I'm still not sure how it's gonna be from now on."_

Even though Akihito had chuckled quietly, he could hear a mixture of sadness and apprehension in his voice.

"I'm sure you're gonna nail it."

_"Hopefully."_

"I'll keep an eye on the newspapers, so make sure to surprise me."

When the photographer chuckled again, he sounded slightly more encouraged.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I was much help, was I?" Tanimura asked, once again ignoring his supervisor, who was shaking an angry wrist at him on the other side of the glass door. "You sounded like you had something important to talk about and I just rambled on about my predicaments."

_"No, not really. You helped me more than you realize."_

"Oh. Good."

_"When you come back to Japan, let's have some takoyaki. They opened a new store in Ginza."_

When he went back to Japan...

That would take a while.

"Ginza, huh? That's fancy," he whispered, staring at his own shoes and for the first time feeling homesick since arriving in Thailand. "I'll start saving right away."

_"Yeah… Well, I should get going."_

"Me too."

_"Take care, Masa."_

"You take care too."

He was about to end the call when he heard Akihito speak again.

_"Oh, Masa, Masa?"_

"What?"

_"You don't happen to know where Maya is, do you?"_

Tanimura's eyes darted back and forth, the tips of his ears going slightly red.

He knew that question would come at some point.

"No," he answered. "I'm sorry."

 _"That's okay,"_ Akihito replied, and although his voice was casual, the detective suspected it carried a very subtle note of disappointment. _"I just wonder if she's alright."_

"I'm sure she is. She knows how to look after herself."

 _"Right..."_ the photographer replied quietly. _"Ok. Bye, then."_

"Bye bye."

_"Bye."_

Lost in his own thoughts, the detective lowered his eyes to his phone, sliding the menu of his last call logs and staring at the same number that he had called the day before, and the week before that, and at least once a week for the past month.

++++

The sun had already set by the time Mine Kyohei got back from work. After stealing a furtive glance past the blinds of his window to study the dark alley beyond his front gate, he undressed, folded his clothes neatly, laid them on a chair, and headed to the bathroom, but not before staring at his own reflection in the mirror above the dresser for a very long minute.

He was still bloated, although his joints were gradually becoming less achy.

With a sigh, he started the shower and filled his mind with things that were more practical than dwelling on the pain. He made mental lists of what kind of food he needed to buy and clothes that needed to be washed, dried and ironed. He revisited the events of his day to ensure he had kept track of the right people and their actions, tried to remember what he had read in the newspaper about the stock market and took the last moments of his shower to decide whether or not it was time to diversify his own investments.

When he finally went to bed half an hour later, his mind was just as uncluttered and organised as the small, decrepit unit tucked in a dirty corner of Kuboyoshi, where he had been residing for nearly two months.

To keep things simple, he pondered, was the best way to keep one sane.

Morning found him with the same nonchalant, indifferent demeanour as he put on his white cotton pants, rubber boots, a T-shirt and a heavy coat before heading to the fish market, the sky still dark, only a handful of other dedicated, relentless sushi chefs keeping him company as the freshest fish and shellfish in Osaka were poured in gigantic ice buckets in front of them.

After grabbing a decent-seized eel and enough salmon and rainbow trout to cater for the few customers that were bound to show up during the day, he walked the few miles that separated the riverside from the village, his only stop at a convenience store to buy a new pack of cigarettes and newspaper.

Diet members gather to celebrate third consecutive drop in national crime rates, he read under one of the headlines, an acid smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he raised his eyes to the other side of the street, where the contours of the humble buildings of the ghetto had begun to show.

A drop in crime rates...

Oh yes, he remembered that, from his brief time in university. The third lowest murder rate in the world, only behind Monaco and Palau.

He knew for a fact those numbers would change if they took into account all the crimes that were underreported or underinvestigated, or the homicides that ended up indexed as suicide, or worse, as deaths by natural cause, even when said natural cause was a penetrating wound to the neck.

He had more important things to do with his time than groan about Japan's problematic law enforcement system, though.

Or perhaps, not important, but necessary, like gutting the fish he had bought, preparing the first batches of soup of the day, and opening the sushi parlour that was actually a front to a clandestine strip club and brothel.

If Asami Ryuichi ever found out that was where his daughter had ended up, he would be the one getting gutted, and for good reason.

To infiltrate that kind of establishment and initiate a dismantle operation whose only tactical support came from a discredited detective in Thailand was beyond reckless, but his job was to follow orders, and not to question them.

When his mind drifted to the discredited detective in question, he scratched the tip of his nose and shook his head in silence. It was almost as if his life kept going round in circles, and one way or another he always ended up crossing paths with that idiot.

Perhaps that was the universe's way of punishing him for everything he had ever done wrong in life.

Before long, the day had gone by, and he was taking large bags of garbage to an overflowing dumpster outside, ignoring the many cockroaches near his feet and the habitual drunk man passed out in the gutter. Now there was just one task left undone, the one that happened to be his least favourite - cleaning the bathroom that the restaurant shared with the brothel, and that therefore had a multitude of suspicious stains and foul doors that made his stomach turn.

He lit up a cigarette and took a drag off his daily poison, his eyes scanning the buildings nearby.

That entire neighbourhood, home to some of the almost one million undesirable spread across Japan, transpired despair. The alleys were narrow, just like the small windows of the substandard houses; women had their eyes on the ground the entire time, kids hardly ever got out of their houses to play, and men looked like they had nothing left to fight for.

Strangely, though, he did not miss Tokyo.

When he returned home, he went over the same motions of the night before, but this time his mind was vacant when he stepped into the shower. No lists, no thoughts, no musings, except a rare, unwelcome sensation of loss.

He did not miss Tokyo, but he could tell that certain memories were trying to resurface all at once and remind him of a million different feelings, most of them bad.

It was a knock on his front door that rescued him.

"I was not sure you would be stopping by tonight," he said not that many minutes later, a towel still wrapped around his waist as he opened the door.

"I was not sure either," Maya replied, only peeling back the hood of her sweatshirt when she was sure all windows and doors were properly shut.

Her caution was understandable, given that the women working in the brothel were not expected to go out alone at night, let alone to be in the company of a man who was not a paying customer.

He spent a quick moment studying the features of his young boss, her back resting against the wall as she sat cross-legged in front of his small coffee table, her eyes tired and dim as she stared at the floor.

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked.

"Yeah, I got some noodles from the store..."

Noodles were not exactly his idea of a decent dinner, so he walked to the kitchen and heated up two bowls of homemade beef stew, returning a few seconds later to the room to pat his hair dry and get into a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt.

Since there were no partitions in the small unit, he was aware that at some point he had flashed his pale butt at his boss, but she did not seem to care and so, he didn't either.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked, resting his hands on the floor behind his back when the bowls were already half empty.

"Sure."

"Why here? There are other buraku near Tokyo, why come all the way to Osaka?"

He watched when the girl put down her bowl, a saddened smile curling the corners of her mouth.

"My mother was born here," she replied quietly. "Her mother used to work in the brothel."

As if to show he was willing to listen to her story in case she felt like telling it, Mine wrapped his arms around his knees and straightened his back against the wall.

"I don't even like to think about the kinds of things they had to endure," Maya continued. "She never once talked about her parents, or her childhood. Everything I know about her, about our family, I learnt from my stepfather. He was born here too."

The golden eyes lost even more of their spark when she spoke again.

"And knowing how things turned out for him, I'm willing to bet he didn't have a good childhood either."

"So it's for revenge?"

"No," the girl replied, her brow furrowed. "Not revenge. Justice."

"It's a very fine line that separates those two things."

"I know."

He was still looking into her eyes when the golden orbs flashed with a different kind of emotion, one that he had seen many times in her father's eyes in the course of the two years he hand been under his command.

"Hell, maybe it is revenge," she whispered, her voice carrying a very distinct note of indifference. "But if in the end, that makes things different for these people, I'm fine with it. Call it revenge, I don't care."

Mine nodded quietly.

He found it easier to respect his leaders when they did not hide their true intentions under layers of misguided philanthropy.

"Poverty crushes people, Mine. Poverty and hopelessness, and being treated like trash. It leaves scars that don't go away. I saw them, the scars," the girl went on. "In her. In him. People don't deserve to live like that."

And with those words, she averted her gaze to the ceiling, jaw clenched and hands equally tense as they closed into fists on top of her thighs.

"How are things going in the club?" he asked, his attempt to keep the conversation going a mechanism he had taken to employing every time he noticed the girl's anger and grief were clouding her thoughts.

"Same," she shrugged. " I’m still a cleaner, apparently I don’t have the right looks to be promoted."

"What does that even mean?"

"You know, the kinks. They already have the schoolgirl, the femme fatale, the exotic foreigner, the purebred, the matron… They recruit to cater to their customers’ preferences and my type is apparently not on demand."

Mine shook his head, a strand of dark hair falling front of his eyes as he scoffed.

Demand was a variable that could easily change, and if things ended up going that way, he was not sure he would be able to just allow the girl go through with it.

"Sometimes I feel like washing my hands with bleach when the day is over."

"If we called your father, he would obliterate everyone in this place and you would--."

"A new girl got dropped off at the club today, do you know how old she is?" Maya interrupted.

At the unexpected question, Mine chose to let the rest of his sentence die on his lips.

"Twelve," the girl replied, her eyes once again gleaming dangerously. "Her own mother brought her in."

"They gave her one hundred thousand yen, and said they would return her after their client was done," she went on. "Twelve, Mine. And I, I couldn’t help myself, I had to talk to that mother. I had to understand why."

He noticed that her voice was growing raspy and low the further she went.

"She said her husband was sick, and she couldn’t raise her kids on her own. She works three jobs, but medicine is expensive," she whispered. "So when one of those pigs approached her, she agreed. She agreed to sell her daughter’s virginity."

Her eyes were now vacant as she stared at the floor, her hands slackening their grip on her knees.

"You know what scares me the most?" she asked, the golden orbs filling with dread. "That one day I will hear one of these men say my father’s name."

He looked away when she lowered her head, one of her hands moving to her mouth so that she could stifle a quiet sob.

The fact she was either crying or about to made him uncomfortable - he had never been good at comforting people.

"That this is part of one of his businesses, that he helps fund monsters like those, like-like the scum that runs that filthy brothel, like the men that sell young girls to be raped day after day for an entire week in some shady hotel room--"

"Your father is not involved with this kind of business," Mine interrupted, mainly to prevent the young woman in front of him to continue what was an increasingly loud rant.

The walls, after all, were paper thin, and even if he had no immediate neighbours, he did not want to risk their conversation being heard by random passersby.

"How can you know?" she snapped, her voice still strong and angry. "How can he? Maybe he doesn’t deal with these people directly, but he might deal with people who do."

"Hayashi-sa--"

"Maybe he is much higher in the chain, so much higher that he doesn’t even get to see the kind of shit that is going down, but he is still part of this fucking chain," she hissed, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He is still one of the reasons why this kind of thing happens."

"That is not true."

"How can you know?"

Mine drew in a long breath as he shifted on his legs.

Although he was only a couple of years older than the girl in front of him, he suspected he had been able to catch a better glimpse of human nature through his many misadventures, and if at least some of that knowledge could help Maya feel better, then perhaps he should put it to good use.

"I was almost your age when I left Japan," he said. "I went to Colombia, to work in a coffee farm. Except that I had inadvertently taken part in a scam. When I got there, I was taken to a black market cash crop. Coca."

"And?"

"I stayed. The pay was ridiculously low, but I had studied Law in Japan, so I knew a lot about drug trafficking. About the kind of money that circulates."

"So you became a drug dealer?"

He had obviously skipped a series of very important parts, which included, obviously, the reason why he had left Japan in the first place. What had happened from the moment he had arrived in a new country until his first operation as a dealer was too long and too strange a story, so he opted to spare her the details.

"Well... yes," he shrugged instead. "But mainly, I decided to start a rebellion, to give the people in the crops access to the processing facilities and the profits coming out of it."

He saw when the girl's expression went from neutral to puzzled, and from puzzled to amused.

"Must have been quite the revolution," she chuckled.

"It was. Before I knew I was in charge of Colombia’s most famous trafficking routes, and our communist model was… a blast."

As he spoke, his mind was filled with images of buildings and warehouses on fire, civilians enveloped by clouds of white dust and torn Colombian pesos, bullets piercing random heads as people tried to run for their lives, police cars and officers getting blown up in Hollywood style explosions.

_A blast indeed._

"People from other countries started worrying, they even came down to Colombia to negotiate with me," he went on, after another deep sigh. "They wanted to take over, have me out of the picture..."

 _'...stop the chaos...'_ his mind added.

"Let's say that none of them succeeded," he said, trying to make his account more concise. After all, the only reason why he had even bothered to share that portion of his past was because he hoped the girl in front of him would be able to get some new, fresh perspective about his former boss.

"Until one day, your father came along."

His words made Maya square her shoulders, her eyes showing the conflicted spark of someone who was looking forward to hearing something good but at the same time refused to get their hopes too high.

"He wanted to make a bid to take charge, but the money wouldn't go to me. It would go into an institute that he would create to support local people and their families," he explained. "Remove them from the world of traffic, let them find a better way to earn their money... I checked all the paperwork, it was all legit. I mean... within reason."

More images ran through his mind, this time of Asami Ryuichi himself partially covered in blood as he tried to strangle him at the top of a hill, gunshot and more explosions echoing in the distant valley below them.

Once again, the events that separated the billionaire trying to take his routes by force from the two of them striking an agreement were worth a narrative of their own, and as such, were better left untold for the time being.

When he raised his eyes to the girl's face, her expression was hard to read.

"He changed things for those people."

"And now he gets the profit of those routes all to himself," she replied, after a brief moment of silence. "How selfless of him to undo your communist model."

"I didn't say it was selfless," he pointed out. "I don't see your father as a pantheon of righteousness."

He didn't see anyone as a pantheon of righteousness, actually.

"My point here is, men get on the wrong side of the law for different reasons," he concluded. "There are men like Sengoku Hiroshi, and then there are men like Asami Ryuichi. They are not the same."

The mention of the Omi's patriarch's name made the golden eyes staring at him grow hallow and cold as Maya brought her knees closer to her chest.

Clearly, memories of that day still haunted her.

"Hold on," he said, jumping to his feet and rummaging through one of the drawers in the small kitchen's cabinet.

"What is that?" he heard the girl ask, as soon as he reappeared in front of her with a small aluminium coffee maker.

"It's a moka pot. I brought it from Cali," he replied, a proud little smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Does coffee keep you awake at night?"

"Nothing has that power..." Maya chuckled in response.

"I'll make you a cup, then."

Soon enough, he was sniffing a series of jars to decide what kind of bean to use, his slender fingers setting up the grinder as he carefully measured the amount of coffee he would need.

He had once flirted with the possibility of becoming a barista, but that had just been one of the many plans for his future that he had dropped along the way.

"So?" he asked some minutes later, eagerly studying the girl as she sipped the fuming, creamy espresso from her cup.

"Wow," she replied, licking her lips with her eyes wide. "This is potent."

"I know. I made only half a cup because there is a lot of caffeine."

"Are you not going to have one yourself?"

"I can't. I've been on an autoimmune protocol for a while now."

"Autoimmune protocol?"

"I have Hashimoto’s," Mine replied, as he revelled on the aroma filling the tiny room. "It's an autoimmune condition. And I have celiac disease, so the list of things I need to stay away from is very long. Dairy, alcohol, gluten, sugar, eggs, cereals, nuts, caffeine…"

"You can't eat sugar?"

"No."

"Then how come you always have some candy on you?" the girl asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You mean the popsicles? Those are maple syrup and cinnamon, they're allowed. I also have some sugar-free peppermint gum made with arrowroot."

"With what?"

"It's a kind of starch," he explained with a shrug, after retrieving a handful of candy from another drawer. "Here, take some with you, but don't try them now because they are not that sweet and the coffee would just make them taste bitter."

As Maya's fingers closed around the popsicles, Mine saw her eyes go wide.

"Oh fuck. Wait a minute," she said. "The cake I made for you last week!"

"What about it?"

"Shit, Mine! Why didn't you tell me?"

With his usual blank expression, the bodyguard shrugged again.

"You never cook, I thought it was very kind of you to bake a cake for my birthday."

"It could have killed you!" the girl shrieked. "It had everything you can't eat, mind you, in very large quantities."

"It's okay."

"Shit! That's why you were sick the next day!"

"I'm getting better."

"You're still sick?"

"Just a little bloated, it will go away in a couple of weeks," he replied.

"Weeks?" Now Maya's voice was low, and the pinkish shade spreading across her cheeks only made her own embarrassment more evident. "And I made you eat two slices... I am so sorry!"

"Don't be," he said, returning from the kitchen after taking away the empty cup by her side. "It was the first birthday cake someone ever baked me."

As he spoke, he kept his eyes fixated on the ground, the dark orbs glassy and vacant, as if a part of himself had traveled to a very distant part of his past.

"I would have eaten it again," he then said, raising his eyes to Maya's face and blinking rapidly to refocus on the present moment.

"Well, next time I will use marrow wood..."

"Arrowroot."

"Yeah," the girl replied, waving a hand in front of her face. "Make me a list of the stuff you can eat, yeah?"

He nodded in silence, his gaze automatically slipping to the window when the sound of dogs barking echoed loudly outside.

"I need to go back," he heard Maya say as she stood up.

"I'll go with you."

"No, Mine, we talked about this. If they see a man walking me home, they will be suspicious."

"Then let's make sure no one sees us."

His words elicited a glare that he chose to dismiss.

"I'm not letting you walk back to that place on your own, not this late at night," he insisted.

Not without a considerable amount of reluctance, Maya finally agreed to be escorted back to the shady guesthouse five blocks away, and they had almost reached the destination when a thin, short bald man appeared at the porch of a neighbouring house, casting a suspicious glance towards them.

"Shit," Mine heard the girl mutter by his side.

"Friend or foe?" he whispered back, memorising every detail about the man's appearance and place of residence as he bought the hood of his sweatshirt closer to his face.

"Foe."

When he noticed the man was still looking at them, he grabbed Maya's wrist and pushed her against a wall covered in graffiti.

"You gotta trust me, ok, you'll be fine," he muttered under his breath as he covered her mouth with one of his hands, pretended to fumble with her pants, and then pressed his own hips against her backside.

He felt a puff of hot air against his fingers when Maya realised what he was doing, her entire body tensing up as she cast a sideways glance over her shoulder.

It was distasteful to simulate such a crude act of violence, especially considering the kind of experience the girl had been through, but he also knew that was the most guaranteed way of keeping the man away.

Count on people to turn their backs on victims when witnessing a crime, especially that kind of crime.

_Or not._

With a frown, he too stole a quick glance towards the house behind them, only to find out the man had not turned away.

Instead, he was watching and laughing, one of his hands tucked inside his own pants.

"Son of a bitch," Mine whispered, when he felt warm droplets fall on the fingers covering Maya's mouth.

If the girl had managed to see the same thing he had seen, he couldn't actually blame her for being that distraught, her shoulders shaking slightly against his chest as he continued to move his hips.

Part of his attention was on the girl and the frenetic beating of her heart, the other part on what was happening behind them.

The minutes that went by until the man's arm started moving faster felt like an eternity, and filled Mine with a mixture of hatred, disgust and disbelief.

Apparently suffocated by the same feelings, Maya barely seemed to be breathing.

Before any other sick fucks showed up, they rushed into an alley, then into another, and Mine entered the guesthouse without being invited, without asking for permission, climbing flights of stairs as silently as a cat with Maya leading the way, without saying a word.

"I just want you to know--"

"I know," she interrupted, standing in front of the door leading to her dormitory. "I know. You did what you had to do to protect me, to protect our identities, I'm fine."

He nodded in silence.

Sometimes, undercover missions charged a very high price, and he was relieved to see that the girl, despite all the trauma the situation had evoked, was no longer pale, or crying, or afraid.

"I'm fine, Mine," she whispered. "Go."

When she closed the door of the shared room on his face, he did as he was told.

Instead of going back home, however, he walked to the restaurant, picked up the key the owner always felt on the flowerpot near the gate, and grabbed one of the many large duffel bags that had been abandoned at the storage room.

Mixing with the shadows that silently moved along the walls as he walked, he stopped in front of the one house whose layout he had taken the time to memorise, picked the lock of the front door, and silently made his way to a room where a television was on and a man coughed.

His eyes fell on a leather belt dangling from the back of a chair, and by the time the bald man finally noticed his presence, the accessory was already firmly wrapped around his neck, cutting the passage of air, making him splutter as he kicked, writhed and tried to claw his attacker's face.

Uselessly.

When his limp body finally slid to the floor, Mine calmly reached for the duffel bag, made a mental estimate of what bones he would have to break to make the body fit into it, and got to work.

Luckily for him, the man's flimsy frame did not require much more than a few blows to the knees and neck, which he would have been able to take care much faster if he had brought his hammer.

Alas, one could not think of all the details.

Before zipping up the now stuffed bag, he stole a glance at the man's dead eyes.

"Not laughing now, are you…" he whispered.

With a sigh, he flung the bag over his shoulder and winced at the weight he would have to carry.

Under different circumstances, he would have chosen a less rustic method of execution and employed an easier way to dispose of the body, but he lacked the means and time for elaborate plans.

His back would probably kill him in the morning, but it was what it was, he thought, as he tied the bag to a rock, dumped it into the Ito river and watched it disappear under the dark, silent waters.

Eyes averted to a moon partially hidden by clouds, he lit up a cigarette and drew in a long breath.

A face without a name, a man that would probably not be missed by anyone, in a corner of the country no one wanted to look at...

Just one more crime that would never make it to the news.

 

 


	67. Unstoppable Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Atención, amigos!_ This is part two of a double update - make sure you read chapter 66 too to get a better grasp of what ‘parallel’ events are taking place as Asami and Akihito sort out their personal problems!
> 
>  

The presentation about Sion's possible alliance with Japan's second biggest telecommunication company was coming to a close, so Kirishima Kei took that moment to let his eyes slip from the manager doing the talk to the CEO on the opposite side the table.

As always, Asami Ryuichi's amber eyes were zeroing in on the presenter's soul, the subtle movement of an eyebrow the only reaction when a particularly impressive number was announced.

It was no wonder, then, that even seasoned business people like the senior manager in front of them would work up a sweat trying to sound convincing, stuttering every time the piercing orbs narrowed.

Doing business with his boss required nerves of steel.

What also required nerves of steel was to be the man's secretary, it turned out.

For three days, Kirishima had been on pins and needles, waiting their lives to be nuked because of a dossier that was beyond incriminating.

The fact that said dossier rested in the hands of Takaba Akihito only made things even harder to understand, and since his boss was no fool, he had skillfully avoided any situation in which the secretary could voice his concern by scheduling meetings and appointments back to back, and then retreating into the penthouse when no one was looking.

This time, however, Kirishima had him cornered.

When the presentation came to an end and participants left the room one by one, the secretary made his move.

"Sir," he said, nearly knocking an intern out of the way when he was bold enough to try and dare to walk in the same direction as him. "Do you have a moment?"

The man's eyes were still fixated on the screen of his laptop computer, but a knowing smirk had already curled the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, Kirishima, I do," he replied, gently snapping the laptop closed. "What is it that you want so desperately to get off your chest, that you had to move my next appointment to tomorrow evening?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question."

"Clearly."

The quiet response was followed by a sigh.

"It's about the dossier," his boss then continued. "Were you really that surprised?"

"Well, I had suspected you had not destroyed it as you claimed you had, but to give it to--"

"Do you think it was a mistake?"

The point-blank question gave him pause.

"That depends on what you were trying to accomplish," Kirishima answered, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. "You have placed a huge burden on his shoulders."

"I know."

"So... why?"

The secretary watched as the man in front of him laced his fingers on top of the desk, drawing in a long breath before speaking again.

"Because he deserves to know," he said. "He earned his place in my life, it is my turn to try and earn my place in his, and if that means he will see me as nothing but a rival from now on, then be it."

The calm with which his boss was uttering those words made Kirishima frown.

Had the man been lobotomised? Brainwashed, maybe? Joined a crazy cult behind his back? Asami Ryuichi peacefully accepting the fact that Takaba Akihito might walk away on him - or worse - for the things he did in the past did not sound like an acceptable reality.

"I wouldn't want anyone else to bring me down but him," the man went on.

"Sir, that's--"

"I don't expect you to understand my reasons, Kirishima."

"I'm not saying I don't understand your reasons," the secretary responded. "I just happen to think your logic is flawed."

The eyes looking back at him were still emotionless, cold, hard to read, but he did not let any of that discourage him.

He knew what hid behind that facade, and in a way it entitled him to throw in his two cents whenever he thought that was necessary, even when the stakes were personal -perhaps way too personal for him meddle with.

"That dossier is incomplete," Kirishima said. "You are not showing the entirety of your life to him, you just picked the ugliest parts."

"Which are the ones that matter the most."

"Which should not be taken out of context."

" _Context,_ what context?"

For the first time, the calm and collected expression on the man's face disappeared, substituted by an angry frown that made his sharp eyes look even more dangerous and brighter.

"I am not going to whitewash the things I did because of context, Kirishima, that is the subterfuge of _cowards,_ " he continued, his voice louder and showing a very noticeable note of irritation. "I'm not trying to win his affection… He’s already given me much more than I could ask for."

Kirishima cursed quietly when his phone chose that precise moment to buzz inside his pocket, and he was halfway through dismissing the incoming call when his eyes fell upon the caller ID.

**_Takaba Akihito_ **

There it was, the _nuke_.

"What?" the secretary heard the baritone voice ask, probably realising his eyes had nearly popped out of his skull.

 _What now?_ If the photographer was calling him and not his boss, clearly he was not supposed to reveal he was calling at all.

"My doctor," he said, putting away the phone after rejecting the call. "I--I forgot I had an appointment," he added, keeping his face straight. "You were saying...?"

He saw when the golden eyes moved to his pocket, back to his face, then to his pocket, and then back to his face.

Asami Ryuichi did not like being lied to and the consequences tended to be catastrophic when people tried to deceive him.

He mentally told himself that white lie might have been for a good reason, though. The fact the photographer was reaching out to him, regardless of what he had decided to do, made him hope that maybe things were not so bad, after all.

"It's time for him to know," his boss then continued, finally averting his gaze back to the desk. "And we both know it would happen sooner or later. It's far too time consuming to think of ways to block his path forever, I'd rather be done with it."

"Perhaps he already knows..."

"What?"

"Who you are," Kirishima replied with a semi shrug. "In which case, your elaborate plan to reveal your true colours is deemed completely unnecessary."

"He doesn't know my true colours."

Just then, the phone buzzed again.

**_Takaba Akihito_ **

"Do _you_?" the secretary then asked, putting the phone away once more and this time keeping his face absolutely blank. "Perhaps none of us is equipped to see the true nature of anything when it is too close to our eyes."

His words seemed to elicit a brief moment of hesitation, but that too was quickly replaced by his boss's usual expression of disinterest.

"I'm afraid this is getting too metaphysical," the man finally replied, opening his laptop to signal their talk was officially over. "Are we done?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Since my next appointment was rescheduled, I suppose I will review our latest HR contracts, if you don't mind," his boss said, his eyes already fixated on the computer screen.

"Certainly. Excuse me."

He had just left the room and closed the door behind him when his phone buzzed again, this time to announce an incoming text message.

**_Meet me at the penthouse in half an hour, not a word to Asami._ **

"Oh, great," he whispered to himself, slowly getting closer to his assistant's desk.

He wondered what the photographer had in store for him.

Honestly, he was not sure if he should be optimistic or not about being summoned to the penthouse - as of lately, that place seemed to be the stage of rather unfortunate events, only.

"Clear my agenda for the rest of the morning, I forgot I had physical therapy," he muttered, prompting his assistant to nod and take notes. "And go take Asami-sama our latest HR contracts, he wants to review them."

++++

Alone in the penthouse, Akihito lifted his eyes to one of the bare walls of the living room.

It felt strange to be back.

He could still remember the exact spots where his pictures used to hang, his fingers softly running over the small marks on the cold concrete as he remembered the day all of his belongings had been dropped at Majima Makoto's house.

Certain wounds only hurt when one found a way to poke them.

He gulped, trying to avoid a rerun of all the events of that day, deliberately ignoring the TV rack even though he could tell that was not the same one where he had hit his head - all the furniture in the penthouse seemed to have been changed.

Many things had changed, indeed.

_"What is he up to?"_

Kirishima's voice coming from behind the main door broke his reverie.

 _"I have no idea,"_ Akihito heard Shinada reply.

_"No idea at all?"_

_"He has been very secretive so I can only provide a subjective assessment,"_ the bodyguard continued, and Akihito let an amused smile curl the corners of his mouth.

Shinada was a good man.

 _"And will I like your subjective assessment?"_ the secretary asked, after a disgruntled sigh.

_"Probably not."_

_"Great. Then I don't even want to know."_

Akihito opened the door half-knock, and heard the two men gasp at the same time.

"Come in," he told the secretary, giving Shinada an appreciative nod for giving them the privacy the situation needed without even being asked.

"I am hoping this won't take long, my next meeting is--"

"Cancel your appointments for the rest of the day," he replied, before Kirishima had the chance to finish his sentence.

His words created a moment of awkward silence, with the secretary stuffing his chest like a peacock.

"I don't know if you are aware of my work arrangements, but I cannot take an entire day off," the man then responded, and Akihito could literally hear the scowl in every angry syllable. "Unlike you, I'm not a freelancer."

"Call your assistant."

"I don't take orders from you, I presume you remember that?"

"Call your assistant and cancel your appointments, _please_."

When Kirishima started fumbling with his glasses, quietly complaining under his breath, Akihito let out an impatient sigh.

"Asami-sama will be suspicious," the secretary said at last.

"Then be creative."

"How about _first,_ you tell me what I'm here for, and then I decide if I want to go back to Sion _or not."_

"No. You _call your assistant_ first," Akihito insisted, passing him his own phone, his pitch getting higher as his irritation increased.

"Are you even aware of the kind of mental suffering you are inflicting on him?" the secretary snapped back. "It's been three days, how much longer are you going to sit on that dossier?"

The photographer shifted on his feet, stuffing his hands on his pockets as he chuckled nervously.

"It's a very long dossier," he replied.

He could sense the time for bantering was over with that one. In front of him, he could tell that the trademark, nearly comical frown had disappeared from the secretary's face, and the heavy silence between them was more serious and urgent.

"That's not funny," the man said quietly. "Whatever you are planning to do with the information that you have now, do it quick. Enough with the little games."

"You know, I didn't ask for it," Akihito replied, but unlike Kirishima, his voice was not low and controlled, just the very opposite. "I did not want to be given a stupid, shitty dossier!" he yelled. "It was his decision, why are you pissed at me? Go be pissed at your fucking boss!"

When he noticed his eyes had grown slightly moist, he cleared his throat and crossed his arms.

He was beginning to think calling Kirishima had not been a good idea, after all.

After a long sigh and another complaint, the secretary finally reached for the phone inside his pocket and called his assistant, turning to talk to him again not even a full minute later.

"Fine, it's done," he said. "Now, what am I here for?"

++++

Suoh Kazumi stepped out of the black limousine as soon as it parked outside Tokyo Chamber of Commerce and Industry.

As expected, photographers had their cameras ready by the entrance, and he didn't even blink at the wave of flashes and clicks that followed him opening the door so that Asami Ryuichi could step out of the car.

As he escorted the man into the building, eyes scanning the area to ensure no threat had gone undetected by the venue's security team, he noticed that the media seemed more interested than usual in the CEO's choice of company for the event.

That was saying something, considering the fact they were usually very interested in scavenging the man's life for some sort of juicy detail of his private affairs.

Thanks to the efficiency of _a certain first assistant_ , none of them had ever succeeded, and Kirishima's strategy of recruiting one of Japan's most prominent pop stars to attend the event with their boss as a means of creating a distraction was proving to be spot on.

As the man had predicted, the journalists seemed in fact to be far too avid to snap pictures of 23-year old singer Sawamura Junko to give Sion's CEO the usual undisputed attention, although many cameras were still targeting him and him alone.

Suoh noticed, however, that not only had his boss realised he was not being followed as closely as usual, but also that the man seemed to be sincerely relieved for having the journalists get the young woman off his hair for a while.

_"Asami-san, what an honour..."_

Every now and then, the bodyguard would steal a glance at his boss as he bowed at CEOs and a few well-known politicians, the impeccable posture preceding a polite smile and a brief, well calculated few words to each of his allies - and potential enemies.

_"Yes, yes, we saw that headline too, it's excellent..."_

And then he would partake in a toast to good luck in the future, bow again, and exit towards his next group of acquaintances, in a zigzag that Suoh knew by heart after years and years of guaranteeing his boss's personal integrity in that kind of event.

For that reason, when the man walked right past a group of Malaysian investors when he was supposed to have stopped for a quick round of small talk, Suoh raised an eyebrow, signaled the other two operatives that had entered the venue to remain in position, and followed him into the restroom, just to find the man staring at his own reflection in the mirror, his bow tie undone.

"Sir..." he started, after making sure they were alone. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Suoh..." he heard the man reply, after a sigh. "There is nothing wrong, I'm just tired, that's all."

"If you are not feeling well, I can arrange for you to exit without being seen."

"No. I'm fine," his boss continued, tying his bow tie after splashing water on his face. "Plus, I only have the Malaysians and the governor to talk to, I am not staying for dinner."

"Right..." Suoh responded quietly, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. "I will arrange to have the car ready, then."

According to the itinerary he had been given, _yes, Asami Ryuichi was supposed to stay for dinner,_ but it was not the first time he had to deal with last-minute changes, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

Therefore, he was not particularly concerned when they left the event two hours ahead of time, with his boss choosing to go to the penthouse to get some rest before returning to Sion.

He _was_ concerned, though, when the man changed his mind halfway through the journey, and demanded to be taken to the warehouse where he and Akihito had had their first... _encounter,_ so to speak.

Suoh had been in the job long enough to know that every time his boss reminisced about the early events of his relationship with the photographer, his mood tended to deteriorate considerably, and he had very little reason to believe that time would be any different.

As if to confirm his suspicions of an impending storm, the dark clouds above them finally dissolved into heavy rain a second before his boss got out of the car.

"You can stay in," Suoh heard the baritone voice say. "I don't need company, or an umbrella."

"But--"

The man then slammed the door, and the bodyguard was left with no choice but to watch him from a distance as he walked around aimlessly, immersed in his own thoughts and completely ignoring the thick raindrops falling on his face.

++++

Almost an hour later, Asami Ryuichi was standing in front of the main door of the penthouse, fumbling in his pockets for his keys, water dripping from his hair, soaking wet clothes clinging to his body.

The rain had made his headache go away, if only for a while, but now he was beginning to feel it coming back with a vengeance, probably due to the fact he still hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast.

Kirishima being gone all day meant that he had ended up with extra matters to handle and meetings to attend, but at least he still had three hours to take a shower and have a meal before heading back to Sion.

In a way, the change of pace was welcome. More time working meant less time thinking about... _other things._

 _Other things_ that he was forced to remember as soon as he opened the door and found Akihito's sneakers on the _genkhan._

Ignoring the sudden flutter at the bottom of his stomach, he took off his own shoes, put down his suitcase, and walked around the place without announcing his presence. He knew, though, that the photographer's keen sense of hearing had probably caught the clattering of the keys when he had placed them on the kitchen counter, so there would be no surprise when the two of them came face to face.

Akihito was not in the hallway, he quickly realised, or in the small bedroom that used to be his.

He was not in the living room either; the balcony was equally deserted.

A mix of excitement and surprise filled him when he realised that chances were, then, that the photographer was waiting for him in the master bedroom, but that too proved not to be the case.

He found the bed in the very same state he had left it hours prior, not a single thing out of place, not a sign of anyone's presence but his.

He was about to turn around when he noticed the door to the secret room was unlocked and slightly open, and by then he could no longer ignore the fact his heart had started to race.

Two steps later, he could already make out the photographer's silhouette facing a wall, holding his hands behind his back, the familiar black folder on the floor next to him.

Of course, talk about poetic justice.

He had used that room to punish Akihito, so now it was only fair that he would be punished as well, in the very same place.

"Have you read it?" he asked, his voice doing a very poor job in trying to hide his apprehension.

When Akihito turned around to look at him, his expression was very hard to read, and it just made him feel even more restless.

"Could you... please come here?" he heard the photographer ask, pointing to a chair next to him.

"No," Asami answered simply, his eyes darting to the wall where not that long ago he had brutally attacked the man standing in front of him, his mind filled with memories that he wanted to forget. "Have you?"

"Will you...?" Akihito insisted, once again pointing to the chair.

Whatever emotion he was feeling, he was hiding it well.

How long had he been inside that room, looking at that wall, _remembering?_

Asami Ryuichi had never been one to fear, basically because he had never given anyone ammunition that was powerful enough to tear past his armour.

Takaba Akihito was his only exception.

That strange feeling of being at someone's mercy made his cold hands grow even colder, and he ended up sitting on the chair more to hide his own nervousness than to comply with the photographer's request.

Whatever it was, he just wanted them to be done fast.

"You know..." he then heard Akihito say, leaning against the wall and crossing his legs at the ankles in front of him. "When I got my first jobs as an investigative photographer, they would send me off to cover high-school baseball."

Akihito, though, was not going to make it fast, he could tell.

"I know, right? Baseball," the photographer chuckled, his eyes fixated on the floor, as if he was revisiting very distant memories. "They said it was good training for crime journalists. Teamwork, attention to detail, stats."

Asami raised an eyebrow, still unable to see how the earlier days of the man's career had anything to do with him.

"And then one day, this girl was murdered," Akihito continued. "They found her body in a dumpster."

There was a pause, in which both men seemed to be deep in thought.

Asami, for one, was desperately trying to remember if such a case was part of the dossier.

"I was very upset," the photographer went on. "But what I never admitted to anyone was... I was excited too," he chuckled nervously. "I was _excited._ Someone had been murdered, and I was walking around with a pep in my step."

Asami saw Akihito fidget with the hem of his T-shirt, the hazel eyes vacant and dim, as if he was not exactly proud to be revealing that part of his past - and of _himself._

"It wasn't you that dragged me into this life, Asami," he whispered. "I would have found my way in anyway."

When he remained silent, the photographer spoke again.

"You give yourself too much credit," he said, eyes once again averted to his own feet. "In the great scheme of things, you are just one man. I know that doesn't do much to your ego, but... it's the truth."

An involuntary frown wrinkled Asami's forehead.

The idea that Akihito would have had to endure all the trials he had been through if the two of them had never crossed paths was unfathomable, perhaps because he was fully aware of the damage he had done and unlike the photographer, he was not that quick to forgive...

Or to forget.

As if sensing that moment of tension, Akihito cleared his throat and continued.

"Anyhow, I want to spend the rest of my life doing something relevant," he said, one of his hands closed into a fist. "I know I can't win all the battles that I'll fight, but I want to fight them anyway."

The determination in his voice, and the way his eyes seemed to spark with the prospect of new adventures, even if they ended with him falling flat on his face, made Asami's heart skip a beat.

Of course he had fallen for that man, how could he not.

Takaba Akihito was a _warrior._

"I never found out who killed that girl," he went on, eyes still bright although his voice was lower and less enthusiastic. "All leads ended up pointing to some member of the Diet so the police withdrew, and all my contacts disappeared. I ended up hitting a dead end."

Asami tried to keep a blank expression despite the lump forming in his throat.

That sounded a lot like the kind of mitigation work he did on a regular basis to help his allies in the Diet.

Had Akihito read the damn dossier or not? He needed to know.

"Did you--"

"But I know that just by trying to find out what had happened, I know I was honouring her memory, whoever she was," Akihito interrupted, his pitch slightly higher. "I know it counted. And I want it to continue like that."

Asami closed his mouth and squared his shoulders, like a little kid who had just been told to be quiet.

"Now _you..._ "

When the photographer raised his eyebrows and avoided looking on his face, Asami couldn't tell if it was out of hatred, disdain or disappointment.

It couldn't be anything good, judging by the long pause that followed.

"Make no mistake, I know what side you stand on," Akihito whispered, before letting out another nervous chuckle. "Hell, maybe you were one of the people backing up that guy in the Diet, helping people disappear..."

He had never felt bad for the things he did for his job.

He knew he was not in the right, but it was not as if what was right had ever mattered.

He had never cared about what other people thought of him either, but again, Takaba Akihito was his only exception, and the idea that he was disappointed in him did _sting._

"Just tell me--"

"I thought long and hard about what I wanted to tell you," Akihito once again interrupted, after breathing into his hands and inhaling deeply. "These are prepared words, Asami."

"Ok."

"I thought about them very carefully."

 _That was some high-quality emotional torture right there_ , Asami had time to think, as the photographer paced the room without looking at him for an entire minute, before picking up the folder and walking towards him.

His heart was ready to burst out of his chest.

"I'm not here to change you," he heard Akihito say. "I'm here... because I can't imagine my life without you anymore."

Asami felt one of his eyes twitch. The muscles of his face seemed to be moving at random, trying to cope with the unusual surge of relief flowing through his body. For the first time, he was glad Akihito could not see him very well, because he was absolutely certain he looked ridiculous as his chin trembled slightly, and he tried to keep his mouth shut although his lips seemed to have gained a life of their own, curling into an uncertain smile as his own eyes fought back an extra layer of lubrication.

"So no, I didn't read it."

He was glad he was sitting, because the words made his knees feel like rubber.

He had always known Takaba Akihito would eventually annihilate him, and he was right. There he was, his nerves scattered all over the place, his usual carefully hidden emotions swimming freely at the surface, exposed for the world to see, not Japan's most powerful man, not the CEO, not the man with all the right connections.

The king was naked, at last.

"What happened in your past is between you and your conscience," Akihito continued, apparently unaware of his own power. "I can't relieve you of that burden. I wish I could, but I can't. And getting into your head and seeing it all would not help you," he said. "Or me."

When the photographer passed him the folder, Asami noticed it was way too light.

"The folder is empty," Akihito explained, while retrieving a bunch of carefully folded papers from his pocket. "Kirishima and I destroyed everything, I just asked him to save what he thought was worth saving."

What was worth saving, it appeared, was a birth certificate, his diplomas, and a bunch of pictures that included his mother's and baby Maya's.

Segments of his past worth remembering - a past that was worth more than the sum of its ugly parts.

He was quick to wipe away the tears that escaped the corners of his eyes, glad that the photographer had taken that moment to avert his eyes to the floor as he once again searched for something inside the pockets of his jeans.

"Now..." Akihito finally spoke again, after drawing in another long breath. "What happens in your future is _my business_ ," he said, his voice faltering at the end - a moment of vulnerability that he was quick to cover with a faint smile. "And I have no intention of turning away."

His eyes, however, betrayed him by darting back and forth insanely fast as he passed him a small square box.

"Here."

"What is this?" Asami asked, noticing that the slender fingers that brushed against him were shaking violently.

"Open it."

He figured there was no way his battered heart could beat even faster as he popped the small case open, but he was once again proved wrong.

His eyes shifted from the contents of the box to the photographer's face, just to find out the other man was blushing profusely, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes glistening nervously as he waited for some kind of reaction.

"What are you doing?" Asami asked, his jaw slackening as his eyes once again dropped to the matching rings he was holding.

"Don’t make me regret this."

"I am the one who should be doing this."

_He was the one who had proposed, after all!_

"Well, sorry if I stole your thunder, asshole," Akihito chuckled in response, still shifting on his feet, his entire body transpiring nervousness.

So bold, and at the same time _so cute._

"These are good rings," Asami replied, clearing his throat as he studied the white gold jewellery and its shiny little gems. "How much did they cost you?"

He was deliberately trying to keep his voice clear of any emotion, if only to see Akihito get even more flustered.

The photographer, however, seemed to have successfully gotten his nerves under control.

"100 million yen," he replied with a shrug.

Asami had to bite the inside of his bottom lip not to laugh.

"Just out of curiosity, please don’t see this as criticism…" Asami went on, his fingertips still touching the cold surface of the noble metal. "I am very happy you are finally learning that my money is yours to spend, but… how did you manage to spend 100 million yen in a set of rings?"

"The…gemstones…" he heard Akihito quietly reply. "...they were produced out of our…combined… _sperm_."

The answer caught him off-guard, and before he could stop himself, his eyebrows shot up.

"Say what?" he asked.

A quick glance at Akihito's face was enough for him to realize the younger man was desperately trying to hold back laughter.

"Very funny," Asami muttered in response.

"You fell for it."

"I did not."

"You did," Akihito replied, after a loud cackle. "You totally fell for it."

"I just thought it was hot," Asami replied, with a dismissive shrug. "I would love to walk around with your sperm on my finger."

The other man's laughter gradually died on his lips as they stared at each other.

"If there were such a technology available in the world," Asami then whispered into his ear, after getting up, "I would make you wear a necklace with mine, every day…"

"Too bad the jewelry industry hasn’t gone that far, yeah?" the photographer whispered back. "Looks like I will have to wear your sperm the traditional way, then…"

At some point, Asami Ryuichi had thought he would never get to hear Takaba Akihito openly admit the lewd things he knew he wanted them to do.

They had certainly come a long way.

He felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards when Akihito's hands dropped to his belt, tugging his shirt loose so that his fingers could slip under it to touch his rain-soaked lower stomach.

“Why are you all wet?” he asked.

“It's raining outside,” Asami answered simply, unwilling to revisit his past moments of anxiety.

“You should--”

“Later.”

He had listened, he had held back, he had ignored the urge to kiss him breathless multiple times, but there was just so much waiting one could do.

By the time their lips finally touched, Asami's tongue was eager, insatiable, merciless, as it probed and forced its way into Akihito's mouth, the gasps and moans mixing with his own breath, his own lips being teased by urgent licks and bites that were soft, warm, sweet, his.

Only his.

His mind was already shutting down to everything that was not Akihito, and zeroing in on every texture, every sound, every scent that he could associate with that man. His arms had at some point tightened around the slender waist, pulling the photographer even closer, their kiss becoming so ferocious that he reluctantly agreed to part for air when Akihito suddenly pushed his chest away.

"Is that a yes?"

"What?"

His puzzled question made Akihito blush an even fiercer shade of pink.

"You know what."

When the hazel eyes dropped to his left hand, he felt like laughing.

He had been the first to suggest they got married, was that insufferable brat really waiting for him to say yes?

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I wanna hear it," Akihito insisted, still slightly out of breath.

As he spoke, his eyes had some sort of outlandish spark, and it occurred to him that maybe the photographer had envisioned that moment, and that for some unexplainable reason he was really expecting him to confirm the obvious.

"Yes," he replied, noticing the innocent, boyish look fade into lust as Akihito licked his lips, pupils dilated, chest heaving up and down. "Yes."

When the warm hands slipped one of the rings on his left ring finger, he took the other one and did the same, and then they were kissing again, trying to devour each other. The shameless sounds of tongues dancing and lips sucking were like music to his ears, enticing him, making all reason disappear as he gave in to his basest urges.

"Asami... shower..."

He figured that the photographer might or might not be saying something about him being soaking wet and cold because of the rain, but there was absolutely no way he would stop now.

"No," he grunted.

His response found no objection; instead, he felt Akihito's hands clumsily sliding down his chest as he tried to unbutton his clothes, his attempts quickly replaced by a quick, impatient motion that sent buttons flying in the air as Asami tore the shirt away and proceeded to undress the photographer in a similarly rough fashion, the sound of fabric ripping eliciting a chuckle and a surprised gasp.

He soon realised that destroying the man's T-shirt with his bare hands was taking him more time than just getting rid of it the traditional way, but at that point he would just finish what he had started.

After another forceful tug, the remaining fabric finally yielded and Akihito's bare chest came into view, and he felt his mouth water at the sight of perky nipples, lean muscles undulating under the fair skin with each breath.

"Beautiful," he whispered, only a second before turning the photographer around and pressing his stomach against the wall.

At that point, his mind was too far gone for subtleties.

His painfully rigid cock had already found its position, resting against Akihito's body despite the layers of clothes that still stood between them. Luckily for him, he was not the only one who craved that connection: without much effort, Akihito had already unbuckled his belt and the sound of a zipper being pulled down was the sign he needed to yank the jeans and underwear down to the photographer's ankles.

On a normal day, he would tease Akihito until he begged for it - he would take his time, he would make all the foreplay an entire act in itself.

Today was not a normal day, though.

He could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he urged the photographer to bend over, his hips up in the air so that he could easily spread his butt cheeks and gain access to the one part of his body he so desperately wanted to claim.

To hell with romance and glamour - the only force in charge of his actions was some kind of primitive instinct, the scent of his mate making him grunt as his tongue bathed and swirled over the tight ring of muscles.

"A--sa--mi...!"

He could feel his own saliva drip the side of his mouth as he feasted on the tender flesh softly yielding to his advances, twitching, relaxing, sucking him in. A quick glance at the tumescent cock jutting between Akihito’s legs and leaking profusely, combined with the lewd sounds coming out of his throat, only made him drift even farther into oblivion, his tongue gently dabbing the slick entrance before giving it another slow, wet lick.

There was no room for dirty talk, and whatever the photographer was hissing and moaning was far from coherent. All he knew was that his body was pliant and hot, relaxed enough to accept two of his fingers without great resistance, and so he kept on stretching, licking, sucking, until the muscles under and around his mouth were ravished by a wave of powerful, rhythmic contractions.

Akihito was still lost in his climax when Asami unzipped his own pants, his cock throbbing even more as the photographer screamed and moaned and quivered in front of him.

He figured the generous amount of lubrication that had covered his own sex as he prepared Akihito to receive him would be enough to prevent any discomfort, so he once again opted to skip the usual preambles and pushed in relentlessly, feeling the tender flesh stretch to accommodate him, not stopping until half of his length was lodged deep inside the other man's body.

Even in his haze, he could hear the photographer whimper quietly, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment to cope with the intrusion. It didn't take long, though, for another ring of muscles to relax and welcome him further in, and this time he did not wait, did not slow down, did not stop.

His hips were slapping so hard against Akihito's backside that the sounds coming out of his throat were shaky and intermittent as his body jolted with each thrust.

"Akihito..."

His own voice was low, weak, throaty, and he was clinging to whatever was left of his willpower not to simply explode. He wanted more, he wanted it never to end, and his mind, overtaken by desire and need, made him cling to that warm body as if there was no tomorrow.

But there was.

There was a tomorrow.

When a wave of shivers rolled up and down his spine, he grabbed one of the photographer's hands and laced his fingers with his against the wall, the bright, milgrain edges of their matching rings a reminder of that.

They were in it for the long run.

His eyes took in the silent promise as his heart managed to beat even faster, and with a final thrust, he felt himself falling over the edge, the muscles of his pelvis tensing as he gritted his teeth, their bodies still connected as he released his seed deep inside the warm body quivering around him.

A full minute went by until he was able to breathe again, and gain enough balance to take a step back.

"There..." he panted, wiping sweat from his forehead as he watched a generous streak of white liquid drip down Akihito's inner thighs when he pulled out. "...the traditional way..."

"Nngg..."

He was still kneading the photographer's glutes when he realised the younger man was wincing, although his lips were curved in a smile that showed satisfaction and anguish in equal amounts.

"Did I hurt you?" Asami asked, when he was finally able to put together a coherent sentence.

Akihito, however, seemed to be in some sort of trance, merely shaking his head in response.

"Hot..." he wheezed, his voice throaty and barely audible. "...inside me..."

Only then did he notice that the photographer was erect again, his eyes bright and liquid with need.

"Tell me what you need," Asami whispered.

"Mmm..."

"Tell me what you want."

He waited until the other man gathered enough consciousness to vocalize an intelligible answer.

"...t-touch me..."

Asami smirked at the perfection in front of him.

Face flushed, sweat making his lower back glisten, his well-fucked ass still twitching, his erect cock begging for attention.

Takaba Akihito was everything he had ever asked for, and so much more.

"Here?" Asami asked, the tip of one of his fingers circling the sticky entrance.

Eyes shut, lips still parted, the photographer nodded, and he could have teased him longer if only he himself could wait.

The loud wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of the other man's body were just as obscene as the white, viscous liquid that was now dripping down all the way to his elbow, but he did not stop until Akihito started shaking again.

When the younger man urged him to go down on his knees and proceeded to ejaculate on his mouth, he almost thought Akihito was too out of his mind to realize what he was doing.

"There..."

The satisfied smirk that curved the peachy lips, however, proved otherwise.

"You too... get to wear mine."

"With pleasure," Asami responded, as the other man slowly slid to the floor, exhausted.

In time, the post-coital mist inside his own head began to dissipate and he let out a sigh as the photographer stirred and purred contently in his arms.

"I have a meeting in three hours, should I reschedule it?" he asked, after licking his lips clean and carefully wiping the corners of his mouth.

"I already asked Kirishima to clear your schedule for the rest of the day," Akihito replied groggily.

"So you’ve been the one behind my secretary’s mysterious disappearance, huh?"

"Yeah..." Asami saw him reply with a proud smile. "I needed some operational assistance."

He mindlessly nodded as his fingers drew patterns on the cooling skin of Akihito's back, revelling on the feeling of his head resting peacefully on top of his chest.

"The rings, by the way, didn’t cost 100 million," the photographer then continued, his voice much more alert as he turned on his back to look at him. "And I didn’t use your money, but I wanted us to have quality rings, so I didn’t get anything cheap either."

"Of course you didn't..."

"They’re custom made," Akihito explained, gently touching the ring on his finger and raising his own left hand to compare them. "I picked the blend of gold and the gems, they're called musgravite and the artist said they're super rare..."

Asami studied the delicate and yet very sober design of the rings, the small, elegant gem insertions giving the white gold a spark of intense color.

The fact Akihito had put so much thought into them only made the jewels even more valuable to him.

"Do you remember the jewelry studio in Ginza? The one where you went one time, to… to say goodbye before you traveled to Hong Kong?"

"I do."

"Well… turned out the owner of the studio did hear us," he said, after an embarrassed chuckle.

"'Us'? I suppose you meant, 'me'?"

"Whatever..." he heard Akihito reply, his ears going red as he rolled his eyes after laughing again. "But, here is the funny part, it actually inspired him to come up with a new design," he explained. "He called it 'Unstoppable Fire', but he never actually made the rings, just drew them."

The narrative was shared with so much enthusiasm that Asami couldn't help but smile.

"I really like his work. He’s a very talented artist, and he uses no harmful chemicals. His diamonds and gemstones are conflict-free, everything is handcrafted," he went on. "I knew I could get something unique, something made only for us."

In silence, Asami brought the photographer closer to his chest, ignoring the mess of bodily fluids between them.

The shower could wait, after all.

"So Kirishima helped me with the measurements and… there you go," Akihito shrugged. "I bought the design as well so that the store wouldn’t use it in its commercial line. These are just ours."

His voice trailed off as his eyes shifted from the rings to the wall ahead.

"They're perfect," Asami whispered. “You clearly thought of all the details.”

“Yeah…”

“But… why here?” he asked, frowning slightly as he too looked at the wall. “We could have gone out…”

“Neh…” the photographer replied, a soft smile curving his lips. “I figured this room needed happier memories. Don't you think?”

Once again, his bright, fierce eyes were fixated on his face, and Asami felt his chest fill with the kind of peace and contentment he knew he was not entitled to have, but that for once he would gladly accept.

He was ready - and happy - to take the risk.

“Yes,” he answered, after pressing a soft kiss to the top of Akihito’s head. “I agree.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Yes, Akihito did pull a John Watson, how could he not? XD Once again, a couple of iconic lines taken _ipsis litteris_ from Sherlock's ‘His Last Vow’
> 
> 2) When thinking of what rings Akihito would buy, I was inspired by the wedding rings designed by [Yoshinobu Kataoka, and imagined something like a mix between the Bias & Milgrain and the Square Adamas](https://www.kataoka-jewelry.com/en/en-wedding/).
> 
> 3) Akihito’s story about being sent to cover baseball games is actually taken from the true story of Jake Adelstein, an American journalist working in Tokyo as a crime reporter.


	68. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The men with the guns. Who are they? Where do they come from? What do they want?"_
> 
>  
> 
> Maya gets a surprise visit, and in Tokyo, Takaba Akihito has a really tough day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for long, LONG author's note ahead!
> 
> I live! Thanks for your concerned messages - I guarantee I have not lost interest in this story, on the very contrary. Whenever the circumstances allowed, I wrote a lot, including a chapter called "House Takaba", in which we will finally see Aki's parents!! \o/
> 
> I can't even believe I am finally able to post an update again. My mental health deteriorated in August due to a series of unfortunate events, and by the time I had to leave Australia, not even the prospect of going on a trip around New Zealand, Fíji and Japan helped much. Depression is a funny thing. (Not)
> 
> In addition to arriving in Auckland without a computer, my tablet refused to open any of my docs, and when it finally did, I was sick enough to have to spend three days in hospital, and then another three taking a combination of drugs that left me hallucinating to the point of seeing carrots doing cartwheels at the foot of my bed. I managed to post "Just this time" from my phone, while sailing to Fíji on a rocky boat, still not in my best shape (physical or mental), and at that time I truly believed it was a matter of hours until I was able to post again.
> 
> Except that when I travelled from Fiji to Tonga my Internet died again, and remained dead until I got back to Auckland. Many other unpleasant things happened in the in between but I won't bore you with the details, on with the show, here it is, a very long chapter.
> 
> Seriously, it is very long. Grab a hot beverage and a snack.
> 
> And yeah, I had to bump the chapter count because I will not be able to squeeze the remaining scenes in 3 chapters (I completely underestimated the logistics involved in their ~~red~~ wedding!) 
> 
> Also,  
> Do svidaniya: Russian for "until next time" (if not, sorry, mi Russian is très ruim)
> 
> Thanks for your ongoing support! =)

Leaning against the driver’s door of his Lexus NX, Asami Ryuichi crossed his arms and watched the slender frame of Takaba Akihito gliding past trees on the other side of the road, camera firmly secured in his hands, a belt loaded with all kinds of lenses and accessories dangling from his waist.

It was the third time the photographer had asked him to stop so that he could register the highlights of the scenic route connecting Miyagi and Yamagata, a road that Asami himself hardly ever took but that was unequivocally beautiful.

As Akihito tilted his head, crouched, and initiated a series of endless clicks, he had to wonder what exactly the hazel eyes were capturing amidst the towering rows of ginkgo trees that was worthy of so much effort. To him, taking pictures was pretty much a straightforward task that began and ended with tapping a button on his phone, and landscapes were far too boring to keep him engaged for more than two minutes.

To Akihito, however, that entire process was almost divine.

The way the slender fingers played around with lenses, buttons and angles was hypnotising, almost as much as the patch of tanned skin showing from under the hem of his T-shirt as he stretched to reach a branch above his head.

The passion in his eyes and the seriousness in the young face, combined with the muscles of the photographer's lower belly undulating every time he moved, were more than enough of an image to make his mouth water.

It had been silly of him to think that the blowjob he had gotten minutes earlier would sate him, and it was equally silly to think they would be able to keep their hands off each other for the remainder of that drive.

His devious plotting was interrupted by the quiet buzzing of the other man's phone, and when he retrieved it from inside the glove compartment, he sincerely considered advising the photographer he had a call to answer until he saw the caller ID.

**_Masa_ **

The four letters on the screen seemed to be jeering at him, and his jaws clenched involuntarily in response.

He knew Akihito and that curse of a cop had been far too intimate at some point for the photographer to save his number under 'Detective Tanimura', but even if that level of formality was far gone, it would have been in good taste to keep things on a last name basis, at least.

But no.

 _Masa_.

**Aki, call me ASAP.**

Asami's eyes narrowed when the short message popped on the screen.

It didn't sit well with him that the two of them still kept in touch, certainly not with such intimacy, even though that was to be expected after Akihito's decision to teach photography to the youth at the detective's orphanage. If anything, Asami had expected him to report more to the place's assigned manager than to Tanimura... As it was, though, he suspected the exchanges between them were not exclusively related to Akihito's pro bono activities, anyway.

He realised he had come very closely to smashing the phone to pieces a moment before Akihito found his way back to the car, swinging his camera bag onto his seat unceremoniously.

"Is that my phone?"

"Yes," Asami replied in a clearly annoyed monotone as he returned the device to its rightful owner. "It was ringing."

"Ah..."

Asami cast a sideways glance at the road, his thumbs rhythmically stroking the steering wheel as the photographer stared at the screen, his plans for a quick escapade quickly replaced by a wave of uncontrollable jealousy.

"So?" he asked, voice slightly strained.

"So, what?"

"What does he want?"

"How am I supposed to know?" he heard the photographer chuckle in response.

"Akihito," Asami replied, his own voice showing no humor as he turned the ignition on and pulled into the road. "If Tanimura gets you into trouble again, I will kill him."

"Stop it, I don't like it when you say that kind of thing."

"I mean it."

"No one is getting killed, and you need to stop being paranoid," Akihito whispered back, with a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.

"I know that whatever he wants has nothing to do with the orphanage."

The silence that followed made him avert his eyes from the road for a split second, just in time to see the photographer shift on his seat, lips slightly parted as if he was on the verge of saying something.

Just then, his phone buzzed again.

"It's Sachi," Akihito said quietly.

"Put him on speaker."

Were it anyone else, he would be more than happy to tell Akihito to ignore the call until they were done with the Tanimura imbroglio, but there was one thing that trumped his will to strangle that stupid detective: the preparations for his wedding with Takaba Akihito.

"Hi Sachi, you are on speaker," Akihito muttered quietly.

 _"Takaba-chan, good morning!"_ was the enthusiastic response. " _Asami-sama, good morning sir, is this a good time?"_

Asami noticed the other man cast a quick glance at him before speaking again.

"Sure, yeah," Akihito replied, still sounding far from thrilled. "How can I help you?"

 _"No, no, how can **I** help you?" _ said the procurer. " _Did you receive the sketch of your wedding attire?"_

"Yeah."

_"And?"_

"It's very nice," the photographer replied, and Asami felt his eyebrows shoot up involuntarily. "And very expensive, too."

_"Precisely, they will be made by Asami-sama’s favourite designer. Can I schedule the first fitting?"_

"Uh… Sure."

_"Excellent."_

Asami let out a mildly disheartened sigh. On one hand, it was Akihito's reluctance to have an ostentatious lifestyle that had attracted him in the first place; on the other, that same disregard for luxury made him unable to appreciate certain high-quality, exclusive arrangements.

Well, one could not have it all.

_"Oh, and before I forget - the 3D maquette of stage two is ready to be delivered to Sion later today, Asami-sama."_

"Thanks, Sachi."

By his side, Akihito let out a gasp, his eyes wide.

"Stage?!"

Asami shrugged at the surprised exclamation, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. Upon the announcement of their engagement, there had been a fierce dispute between the procurer and his first assistant regarding whom should be in charge of the official preparations. Kirishima came up with a list of internationally-awarded wedding planners; Sachi felt he would be missing his calling in life if he himself did not plan Asami Ryuichi's wedding. Granted, the man had been around for almost as long as Kirishima, he knew his tastes just as well as his secretary, and in terms of loyalty and discretion he had to be just as commended. That being said, only one of them was a professional MC, and it was by that narrow margin that Sachi had earned the title of part-time honorary wedding planner.

_"Takaba-chan, may I confirm the flower arrangements as well?"_

"What flower--"

_"Track 8."_

With a sideways glance, Asami watched as Akihito put on one of his earbuds and tapped the screen of his phone.

"Birds of paradise, ghost orchids, bleeding hearts... sounds like Halloween decoration," the photographer chuckled.

When his humorous remark was met with strained silence, Akihito lowered his eyes to the phone again, and cleared his throat.

"I'm sure they're beautiful, though," he whispered. "What else... water lilies... dahlias, lotuses..."

There was a pause, and upon looking at the photographer again, Asami noticed he was now smiling.

"I really like lotuses," Akihito said quietly.

"I know," Asami replied, one of his hands moving from the steering wheel to the photographer's left leg.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Akihito follow his fingers with curious eyes as he touched the denim-clad thigh with very obvious intentions, his grip slowly moving upwards.

_"Soo…?"_

Sachi's voice made the photographer jump.

"Sure, yeah," he hurriedly replied. "Uh... Yeah, go ahead."

_"The catering?"_

"What about it?"

_"Let me guess, you didn't check that either."_

When Akihito began to blush a fierce shade of pink, Asami raised an eyebrow.

One thing was to lack interest in luxuries, but to lack interest in their own wedding was a completely different story.

"Geez, do we really need to choose everything this early?" was the photographer's feeble response. "The wedding is like... half a year away."

_"Exactly! Which means we are running out of time already!"_

"Ok, ok..."

Still complaining under his breath, Akihito once again led the earbud to his ear to listen to the catering specifications the procurer had sent him.

"150 pounds of akage washu, 250 pounds of lobster..." he whispered, his brow furrowed as he spoke. "Wait a minute. Are we feeding the entire island, what's going on?"

_"That's just an estimate based on the guest list your fiancé submitted, sugar bun."_

"And what's with the sit down arrangements, I thought we were doing something more informal?" he heard Akihito ask, turning his head to look at him.

"More informal?" Asami asked, ignoring the other man's heated look as he glanced at the side mirror. "Like what?

"Like... It's Hawaii, yeah? Something at the beach?"

_"Like a luau?"_

"Yeah!" Akihito exclaimed.

"No," Asami said at the same time.

A once in a lifetime occasion, and Akihito wanted them to have a _luau_?

If he let that one slide, next thing he knew they would be serving their guests luncheon meat and canned soup.

"You can have your luau after our wedding," he added, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Sachi, hold on."

After a quick tap on the screen, the call was muted and the photographer had once again turned to look at him.

"Asami, I thought we had agreed to do something small."

"Maybe your small and my small are not quite the same."

"Fine, what is your small?"

"Less than 3 digits," Asami shrugged in response.

"Oh... ok."

He watched as Akihito scratched the back of his head, quickly averting his eyes back to the road and leaving the photographer alone with his own thoughts.

"So, like, anything from 10 to... 99 people, right?"

"Pretty much."

"Sachi, how many names are on your list?" Akihito asked, after tapping the phone again.

_"98."_

"Asami!"

It was his turn to tap the screen.

How rich of him to be shocked at the number, when roughly ninety people on that list were friends and family that Kou had compiled after Akihito neglected that task for months.

"I sent you a tentative list of guests two months ago," he snapped. "It's not my fault if you didn't even bother to look at it."

"I have been really busy," Akihito replied, shoulders slumping slightly as he spoke.

"So have I, but at least I have made time to think about our wedding," Asami quickly retorted, his voice dry and cold. "Someone has to."

When he shifted his eyes to the passenger seat again, he noticed the photographer seemed to have sunk into the car seat.

"Sachi, I'll call you back," Akihito said quietly, before ending the call.

A long minute of silence had gone by before the photographer spoke again.

"I'm sorry. I have been slacking, I know."

"You have been slacking a lot, Akihito," he replied, jaws clenched. "It almost makes me think you don't want to get married."

"I do!"

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Really," the photographer replied.

The words leaving his mouth, however, did not match the hesitant shadow clouding his eyes.

"Then what is the problem?" Asami asked.

Once again, he could see the other man's lips parting as if ready to let out an answer, just to snap closed within seconds.

"Nothing," Akihito then whispered, looking out of the window. "It's nothing."

Asami's grip on the steering wheel grew tighter. Takaba Akihito was not good at lying or at hiding things from him, and he knew there was something off, just like he had known there was something off when he brought up Tanimura.

'You need to stop being paranoid,' he said.

 _Right_.

++++

When Maya stepped out of her room that same day, the sun had not yet risen. After making sure there was no one else around, she headed to the entrance of the guesthouse, pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and braced herself for the cold wind that would greet her as soon as she opened the door.

After a long, deep breath, she stepped outside and made a run for the abandoned pharmacy just around the corner. Luckily for her, the sprint always kept her warm, and as time went by, she was rarely out of breath when she reached the entrance to the place she and Mine had been using as an improvised dojo.

Behind the empty, dusty shelves, she wasted no time in locating the door that led to a hidden staircase, and made her way downstairs. She was willing to bet that at some point in the past, the small basement had been the stage of rather shady transactions.

She would rather not think about it, though.

After scanning the area, she spotted her bodyguard doing push-ups next to a window, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, his biceps glistening with sweat.

"What time did you get here?" she asked, putting down her backpack and unzipping her sweater.

"A couple of hours ago," Mine replied, without turning to look at her. "Couldn't sleep."

She nodded to acknowledge his response, but didn't ask for details.

As of lately, she hadn't been in the mood for small talk.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No."

"You should," she heard Mine reply, finally taking a break from his workout to look at her face. "You look pale."

"It's too early to eat."

She hadn't been in the mood for food, either.

There were better ways to spend her time, she figured, as she put on her boxing gloves and held a rather decrepit punching bag in place.

Hanging from a chain around her neck and hidden from view by a worn-out T-shirt, the cool metal of the ring Kou had given her was gliding over the sweaty skin of her chest, shaking with every punch she threw.

Almost half a year had gone by since she had left it all behind. Her job, her friends, college... Everything was beginning to feel like a memory from another lifetime.

Even him.

 _Kou_.

Almost half a year had gone by, and although he was still in her mind an awful lot, she knew it was probably too late.

She had fucked up with him.

Face already flushed after half an hour of exercise, she rested her forehead against the bag, wiping away a drop of sweat that was about to fall from the tip of her nose.

It didn't matter anymore.

Almost half a year had gone by, and that meant she would have to work extra hard to shut down that brothel. Time was running low; she knew that sooner or later she herself would be recruited to customer service, and if she wanted to remain undercover, she could not afford to make a scene.

Not yet, at least.

"Maya."

Mine's voice made her turn her head.

"It's time to head back," the bodyguard said, placing a hand on her lower back after zipping up his sweatshirt and throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

In silence, she nodded her agreement before putting her own sweater back on, her feet mindlessly taking her back to the guesthouse and from there to the shady establishment where she had been assigned an early shift.

Her worst fear happened to come true not that many hours later.

"You are working in the tea room today," she heard one of the women in the brothel say.

The tea room, unsurprisingly, was just an euphemism for a service that had nothing to do with tea.

"The manager demands you get ready immediately, the client does not want to wait," the woman went on. "He looks like a VIP, and he made a very specific request."

Maya felt her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

She knew that day would come sooner than later, but not with such short notice. And a VIP client with 'a very specific request'?

The commotion coming from behind one of the beaded curtains separating the several tiny rooms across the hall from the reception derailed her train of thought. As quietly as she could, she pulled the curtains aside a couple of inches to sneak a peek, her eyes going wide when she recognised the man all other women seemed to be talking about in rolling waves of excited whispers and laughter.

"Here, wear this kimono," the woman muttered, patting Maya on the shoulder and urging her into a small changing stall. "And take off the shorts, you are not supposed to wear anything under it."

She ignored the recommendation, obviously.

The 'VIP client' could go take a hike for all she cared.

"Quick, quick, let me do your makeup."

With a slight frown, Maya shifted on her seat as the woman behind her combed her hair in a hurry, and started patting her face with a very white, very thick powder.

"What kind of makeup is that?"

"Geisha," the woman replied. "Client's request."

Maya's hands curled into fists, and within seconds she was on her feet, as if propelled from the chair by invisible springs.

"Where are you going, I'm not done! Wait! Wait!"

Despite the desperate voice calling out for her, Maya kept marching towards the room where she was being expected. Upon reaching the door, she forced herself to draw in a long breath in order to regain her composure, and gave a confident bow so that the manager wouldn't be called to check what was going on.

When the woman's shoulders finally relaxed and she bowed back, Maya faked a smile and slid the door of the tea room, her expression once again clouded with anger.

"Do you think you're funny?" she hissed, as soon as the door behind them was properly shut.

"Yes," the man waiting for her replied. "Among other things."

"Things must be pretty slow in Russia, if you have the time to travel to this corner of Japan just to pick a fight with me."

How Mikhail Arbatov had found her, she could not tell. Her mind was far too busy trying to handle his unexpected appearance, so the guessing game would have to wait.

Now it was time for damage control.

"A fight?" Mikhail replied, his eyebrows shooting up for a second. "Well, now that escalated quickly."

Her nostrils flared as she watched the blond man lounging on the tacky red sofa in front of her. No wonder all eyes had been on him at the reception - with his leather jacket, designer jeans and a shiny wristwatch that could probably be seen from a mile away, the Russian leader stood out like a strawberry in a bowl of peas.

"Will you pour me some tea?" she heard him ask, holding up a chipped teacup as he looked at her.

"Pour it yourself."

Despite the diss, or maybe because if it, the cobalt eyes gleamed with an extra spark of amusement.

"Is that how they treat customers in brothels these days?" he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Appalling. I think I will need to complain to manager."

She should have seen it coming.

If the man had found out where she was, he might as well know that no one in that place knew her true identity, and from the looks of it he had no qualms holding that little secret over her head.

For the time being, there was no choice but to play along.

"Thank you," said Mikhail, smirking as she kneeled on the tatami next to him and filled his cup with freshly brewed chrysanthemums tea. "Although you should be the one thanking me..." he then whispered, glancing at her neck with very obvious second intentions, "...because I could have asked for _more than tea._ "

"I would cut your dick off before you had the chance," Maya replied, noticing that the blue eyes were once again smiling as the man in front of her took a sip of his tea.

"Spicy. I like it," he said, after clicking his tongue and putting down the cup. "I like it very much."

In response, Maya merely laced her fingers on top of her lap, looking unimpressed.

If Mikhail was trying to rile her up, he had picked the wrong day, the wrong week, the wrong month.

She did not feel like indulging him with those silly little games.

"Now… what are you doing here?" he went on, ignoring her silence. "Asami Ryuichi’s daughter, working in a brothel? What did I miss?"

"What I’m here for is none of your business."

"Must be some kind of… big secret," Mikhail whispered, and his voice carried a hint of humor despite the menacing gleam in his eyes. "Like an undercover operation with Tanimura Masayoshi, perhaps? He really takes the whole human trafficking thing very seriously, doesn't he?"

When she finally lifted her eyes to the man's face, her expression was a mix of tiredness and shock.

How the hell did he know what she had been up to, and why had he decided to keep tabs on her, of all people?

"That one got balls..." Mikhail went on. "He's a cop, so his motivations I can understand, but you... Why are y--"

"It's the papers, isn't it?" Maya interrupted, getting back on her feet and squaring her shoulders as she spoke. "That's what you're here for?"

"So you did have time to look at them."

"Yes."

"And...?"

"They don't have any legal value, not until I agree to be added to my stepfather's _kosai_ ," she whispered, looking over her shoulder to ensure her voice was low enough not to be heard by anyone on the other side of the door. "I can't claim anything unless I am legally recognised as his daughter."

Yet another advantage of having Mine by her side. The first time she had read the documents Mikhail had handed her on the day of her stepfather's funeral, the avalanche of technical terms and complicated clauses had thrown her off her feet. Luckily for her, though, the bodyguard had turned out to be a living and breathing Law compendium, able to detect and translate legal traps without breaking a sweat.

"Correct," she heard Mikhail reply, his voice equally low. "What's giving you pause? It's not as if Asami would mind, I suspect he never wanted you anyway."

"What's in it for you?" she asked, ignoring the sudden stutter of her own heart. "Why do you even care what Asami wants or not, why are you here?"

"I'm just trying to settle an old debt," the Russian leader answered, settling deeper into the couch and stretching his arms along the back. "Let's just say that your stepfather and I met under turbulent circumstances."

"You don't strike me as the kind of person that goes into so much trouble just to settle an old debt."

"I work extra hard when there is a perceived opportunity."

"A perceived opportunity to piss off Asami Ryuichi, you mean," Maya scoffed in response.

She doubted the man would be amused by Mikhail's meddling in what was already a complicated family matter.

"Asami makes a living out of pissing off other people, in case you don't know," Mikhail replied with an unconcerned shrug. "As it is, so do I. We are connected through business but that doesn't mean we're friends. If given the chance, we will always try to snatch away each other's assets."

"I am not one of his assets," she mumbled back, her blank stare fixated on the window behind his head.

 _'I am not his anything,'_ she added mentally.

"You're wasting your time," she concluded, eyes once again averted to his face.

"No, I'm not."

After clearing his throat, Mikhail got to her feet and closed the gap between them.

It was the first time Maya realised how tall he was, probably because that was the first time they stood in front of each other.

Her eyes were still taking in his slender figure when he spoke again.

"The papers are not the only reason why I'm here," he said, his carefree demeanour in full display as he leaned one shoulder against the wall and shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. "You joining forces with me would be a nice plus, of course, but I was not even looking for you when I found you, believe me."

"I don't have time for your riddles," Maya replied, her voice showing her evident tiredness.

"Then I will try to be more specific," the man continued, the aquamarine orbs still fixated on her face. "Picture this, two people, on a scenic route to Yamagata, minding their own business. What they don't know, what they don't see, is that there is a car following them," he whispered, peeling himself away from the wall and moving closer to her. "A car, with men hired to execute them. Men with guns."

A frown wrinkled Maya's forehead when Mikhail paused, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel warm puffs of air leaving his lips.

"All it takes is one moment of distraction."

"Who are the two people?" she asked.

"I am more interested in the other side," Mikhail replied, his voice so low she could barely hear it. "The men with the guns. Who are they? Where do they come from? _What do they want?"_

Her heart was thumping uncomfortably inside her chest when he took a step back, the gleam on his eyes leaving her with a lasting, foreboding impression. Even if those words had been meant as a mere exercise of imagination, they had been enough to fill her with worry.

"And _you_... You are closer to finding the answers to those questions than anyone else," Mikhail concluded, once again ignoring her silence and casting a casual glance at his watch. "Fifteen minutes," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't even be done with the foreplay if I had hired your services, but since this is just make-believe, I think I'm good to go."

She was still immersed in her own thoughts when he moved even closer than before, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before she had the chance to push him away.

"Thanks for the tea," he whispered into her ear, before heading toward the door.

"Mikhail."

He stopped on his tracks when Maya called out to him.

That was not the time to be offended by his unexpected approach, not when his words were still echoing inside her head.

"Who are the two people?" she asked, her eyes unwavering as she stood in front of him, silently demanding an answer.

"You know who they are, princess," Mikhail Arbatov replied, once again smirking as if he didn't have a single fuck to give.

After retrieving a 10,000 yen bill from his pocket, folding it and sticking it neatly into her cleavage, he gave her a wink and slid the door separating them from the hallway.

_"Do svidaniya."_

++++

 _Asami could look pretty scary when he wanted to_ , Akihito had time to ponder as he once again walked away from their vehicle and crossed the road to walk among the trees.

It was the fourth time already, and that time the stop had less to do with the pictures he wanted to take and more with the fact he could feel Asami's angry stare burning through his skin every time he turned his head to look at him.

The man knew him far too well.

Akihito let out a sigh as he leaned against a rock, not too far but hidden enough not to be seen as he stared at the sky. Why was he making such a big deal of it, anyway? He should just go ahead and tell Asami that the reason he didn't even want to look at the list of guests had nothing to do with not wanting to get married, and everything to do with the fact he had not yet told his own parents he had gotten engaged.

He hadn't told his parents _anything_ , actually.

He hadn't even told them he was into guys.

It was pretty pathetic, really, that after everything he had found the nerve to do, coming out to his own parents was the one thing that got him completely terrified.

No, seriously. If he told Asami what was going on, the man would never let it die down. And he would be pissed, probably offended, with good reason.

Then there was Tanimura's call, just to add insult to injury.

No wonder Asami had thought they were up no good. "Call ASAP", of all things. True, he had been thrilled when the detective invited him to collaborate in an international investigation, but he had not accepted to take part yet. The fact that the Chinese gang in Nagasaki Tanimura needed help pinpointing was a Baishe subsidiary in Japan made things particularly complicated.

The irony. As an investigative photographer, of course he was interested in exposing the potential human trafficking ring, but doing so would immediately put him at odds with Fei Long and Asami, by default.

His life had become an endless conflict of interests.

A very busy conflict of interests at that, considering the multiple responsibilities he had embraced since returning to Tokyo - the orphanage, his first exhibit, freelance work for travel magazines and the occasional scoops he and Mitarai managed to work on...

 _'But that's no excuse_ ,' he mentally told himself. _'I should talk to Asami, he must be feeling left out...'_

Hazel eyes no longer clouded with hesitation, a determined Takaba Akihito straightened his back and started making his way back to the road, just in time to spot a police vehicle parked right behind the SUV.

His heart skipped a beat.

It was probably not the first time Asami had to deal with the police and whatever it was, Akihito knew the man would handle it just fine. Even so, there was something in the air that felt foreboding and menacing, something that made all his senses tune in even more carefully to his surroundings.

He quickly hid behind a tree when an officer got out of the car, walked past him and stopped right next to Asami's window, and his fingernails dug into tree bark as he focused on what the man was whispering into his shoulder radio.

_"...off the road, those two fucking or something?"_

_"Doesn't matter, get the target first, then kill the other."_

_"Positive. Approaching vehicle now, keep your eyes open."_

He didn't have time to be shocked, or to wonder what kind of cop was assigned to murder civilians.

The man in uniform had already knocked on Asami's window, his other hand holding a pistol right next to his body, waiting.

If Asami rolled down that window, it was all over.

He blinked away images filled with blood and blasts as he rummaged in his backpack for the only thing that could save them.

" _Asami_!" he yelled, tasering the cop just a second before he raised his arm to shoot. "Take cover!"

"Akihito!"

"Get--Get down!" he panted in response, crouching behind the door Asami had just opened when bullets started bouncing off the rear window of the SUV.

"Are you hurt?" he heard the man ask as he grabbed his arm.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Akihito replied, ignoring the rush of adrenalin that was making sounds and images around him strangely clear and vivid. "Shit, I thought it was just two of them."

"I counted three," Asami muttered in response, a pistol firmly secured in his hands.

Where the gun had come from, Akihito didn't even have time to notice.

"You took one down, there is one with a submachine gun right behind us, and one in the car."

"Right."

"Just stay behind me."

He did as he was told, mainly because he didn't want the other man to worry as he engaged in combat. As soon as Asami took down the cop with the submachine gun, though, Akihito knew it was his time to act.

Without being noticed, he went around the SUV, taking every precaution not to be seen as he reached the police car.

The last man standing was taking cover behind the passenger's door to escape Asami's bullets, far too worried about what was happening ahead of him to notice Akihito sneaking up on him from behind.

All it took was one well executed kick to the knee and a punch to the back of the neck for the man to fall on his side, disoriented, giving Akihito enough time to take his gun away and run for his life.

"No, no, get back in the car!" he screamed, waving his arms frantically as Asami ran towards him. " _In the car_!"

They barely had time to close their doors when one of the men Akihito had knocked out regained conscience and got back on his feet, trying to take aim despite his wobbly legs.

"Go, go, _go_!"

The last thing Akihito saw before the car swerved back onto the road was one of their side mirrors shake with the impact of a bullet.

"Who the fuck were those people?" he managed to pant a few seconds later, when the car behind them was no bigger than a bluish spot in the distance.

By his side, though, a frowning Asami Ryuichi remained silent.

++++

"Pick up the phone, pick up the phone..."

Tanimura Masayoshi whispered the words like they were some sort of sacred tantra, although his surroundings lent themselves more to chaos than to meditation.

Called to check an altercation in one of the busiest Bangkok's residential areas, the cop tried to ignore the woman to his left, who was still brandishing a rolling pin as if it were a weapon of war, apparently not yet satisfied with the broken nose she had just given the teenage kid on his right side.

"...school, pay bills, what for?!" the woman screamed at the top of her lungs. "Selling drugs at the market, you fool! Delinquent! _Ayiiaaa_ , I can't believe you are my son!"

The boy, whose nose had stopped bleeding after Tanimura held a dish towel to his face for several minutes, tried to explain himself, but the effort resulted in another profuse spurt of blood falling from his nostrils.

He sputtered a curse, and at that point, so did Tanimura, part of his uniform now stained with red sprinkles.

_"Officer Tanimura, do you copy?"_

Only then did he realize the voice coming out of his shoulder radio.

"Yes, central, I hear you loud and clear," he lied, grimacing when a symphony of dogs barking joined the already very loud scene, music blasting from a radio somewhere above his head.

_"There is a bar fight on..."_

He was way too busy looking at his phone screen to make sense of what the woman at central said next.

"Let's go," he told the boy next to him, before grabbing his arm and dragging him to the police car parked outside.

"Wait, why?" the boy replied, his cap nearly falling from his head as he spoke. "You should be arresting her, not me!"

"You are in trouble too."

"It's just marijuana!"

"Yeah, yeah."

After slamming the door behind him, Tanimura led his phone back to his ear.

"Akihito, I don't know if you saw my message," he said, this time in Japanese. "Anyway, just to let you know my unit got informed of a possible hit on the road to Yamagata and Asami seems to be the target. Just stay safe, preferably in Tokyo if y--"

A beep prevented him from finishing his sentence, and his shoulders drooped in defeat.

Would Akihito get that message in time? The mere fact he was not answering the phone was a reason for concern, but there was no point just standing there and imagining the worst.

After turning off his shoulder radio, Tanimura led his phone to his lips, his eyes distant and vacant as he pondered the best course of action.

The list of people he could contact was not exactly long - it was not as if he had made many friends in the force, and he doubted any of them would be able to reach the almighty Asami Ryuichi in time, anyway.

That left him with one option.

" _Mine_."

"Mine? It's Tanimura."

The silence that followed was so absolute that not even the sound of Mine breathing could be heard on the other side of the line.

 _"I thought we had agreed you would not call during daytime_ ," the bodyguard finally responded, his smooth, harmonious voice making his mind go blank for a split second.

_He tasted of peppermint and pumpkin spice latte..._

"Uh, yeah, I...I know," the detective muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and get his mind back on track. "This is an emergency. You need to call your former boss, I--"

_"I already did."_

The unexpected answer derailed his already faltering train of thought.

"You did?" Tanimura asked, frowning deeply.

" _Yeah_."

"Why?"

_"Maya got word that a hit would take place in Miyagi."_

"She got word? From whom?"

"Mikhail Arbatov."

Tanimura closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned against a wall covered in graffiti.

"How?" he asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.

_"He showed up at the brothel."_

"Fuck."

_"He knew she was working with you. He knew a lot, actually."_

"The database at the station got hacked last night,” Tanimura explained, walking back to his car and hitting the window with a closed fist when the teenager inside started fumbling with the locks, trying to get out. “Russian bots. They must have traced my last calls as well, I was going to wait for Maya to call later today to tell her to watch her back, but those fuckers work fast."

_"Is that how he found out about the hit?"_

"Probably,” the detective replied. "My sources in Osaka reported some unusual movement in Dotonbori yesterday, it was not Omi related but there were rumours a hit was going to take place near Yamagata. I only got confirmation of the possible target a couple of hours ago."

_"So it's not the Omi?"_

"No. But whoever it is, they have freedom to come and go in their territory."

There was another moment of absolute silence, and it was almost as if he already knew what Mine would ask much before he actually did.

 _"Tanimura... why would anyone hack into your unit_?"

"I don't know..." he whispered in response, although that was not entirely true. "The only things I get assigned here is bar fights and altercations... Other than that…”

His voice trailed off, and for a split second he considered filling Mine in on what at that point had become an international manhunt of strangely large proportions.

To think that it had all started with a missing girl somewhere in Hong Kong.

Back then, he would have never imagined that the man working in that investigation with him would eventually become a red pole for the Sun On Yee, and trigger a triad war with the Baishe, another equally powerful Chinese organization, a conflict that would eventually kill more than one hundred men in the course of two years.

For Wei Shen, the stakes were always personal. Tanimura was in it because he wanted to dismantle the human trafficking rings operating on both sides; Wei was in it because he wanted his sister back, and to kill whomever was responsible for her convoluted trajectory with drugs, prostitution and crime.

No wonder Patricia Shen had become such a mythical name in police units all over Asia. Syndicates in Korea and Japan, triads in mainland China and in Hong Kong, drug dealers from Eastern Europe: all of them had at some point been connected to the case, but all the evidence gathered so far had been circumstantial.

Her whereabouts remained a mystery, and so did the intentions of whomever was keeping her hostage.

Luckily for him, and sadly for the hackers that had broken into his unit, the details of that case were securely hosted many miles away from Bangkok.

“There's just this ancient case I'm working on, my supervisor thinks I should have dropped it ages ago,” he finally said, after drawing in a long breath. "Were you able to liaise with your people in Tokyo?"

" _Yeah_."

“And?”

 _"Don't worry, Takaba Akihito is still in one piece_."

Tanimura couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh. Even though the target of that hit had apparently been Asami Ryuichi and not the photographer, he would never forgive himself if he had inadvertently put Akihito in harm’s way by asking him to help in his investigation.

The moment of silence, however, didn’t seem to sit well with the man on the other side of the line.

_"That's all. Bye."_

"Mine, wait. Wa--"

It was too late.

Mine had already hung up.

“Fucking hell,” Tanimura cursed under his breath, before walking back to the car with a frown so deep that the broken-nosed boy sank down on his seat in fear.

++++

Their return to Tokyo was a convoluted blur.

Asami's phone wouldn't stop ringing - Kirishima, Suoh, Prosecutor Kuroda... Akihito could swear he had even heard Mine's name come up at some point. There was far too much information circulating around him, and maybe because of that, he could make very little sense of it.

Apparently, no one knew much about the hit, except that the men involved in it were not cops and the vehicle they had used had been stolen from a police station in Natori.

Before he knew, Akihito was being urged into one of Asami’s jets as soon as they had driven into Fukushima, and the flight back to Tokyo was filled with moments of concerned silence that continued when he entered the limousine a little more than an hour later.

When he finally stepped out of the car, there were so many men in suits guarding the entrance of the building he was about to go in that he barely realised they had arrived at the penthouse.

Once inside, he dropped his camera bag on the couch and listened as Kirishima talked to his boss in a low, hurried tone. He could tell they were talking about him, and he also knew that if he tried hard enough, he would be able to figure out every word they were saying. He was way too tired for that, though, so instead he leaned against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed against his chest and head tilted to the side as he waited for Asami to show up.

"Akihito."

Just in time, the man appeared in front of him in his usual business attire, his tie still hanging loosely around his neck.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah..." he replied, although he still felt slightly nauseated.

Now that things were settling down and he no longer could count on the rush of adrenaline, he was finally realising how close they both had come to dying.

 _Again_.

As if noticing his distress, Asami pulled him into his arms, and he let the familiar scent of his cologne soothe his nerves.

"We will need to call the venue of your event," he said quietly. "You can't have an exhibit now, it is too dangerous."

"I can, actually, you just don't want me to," Akihito replied with a frown.

"This is not the right time," he heard the other man respond, his voice more stern than before. "You can't assume luck will always be in our side just because we managed to escape today."

"'Luck'?" Akihito asked with an incredulous scoff.

"I didn't mean it like that," Asami replied. "You did a great job, but we were outnumbered, I was running out of ammo, and those men were dumb enough to shoot only one of our tires," he explained. "I've seen far too many great fighters go down because of details, so yes, we were lucky."

It was in times like those that Akihito was reminded of how much experience Asami probably had when it came to that kind of situation. He wondered how many people had tried to kill him even before the two of them met, and how close they had come to succeeding every time.

The mere thought made his heart race, and he found himself wrapping his arms around the man's waist much tighter than usual, as if to shield him from any harm.

"Fine," he whispered, a deep frown still wrinkling his forehead. "But I will call them, not you or Kirishima. I will try to reschedule to a month from now or something."

"Asami-sama."

Speaking of the devil, the secretary had silently entered the room.

"We should go."

He closed his eyes when Asami pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and opened them in time to see the man wearing his suit jacket shortly after and walking past the door with Kirishima and his entourage.

His moment of peace and quiet inside the penthouse didn't last long, though.

A glance at his phone showed at least twenty different notifications, voicemail from two different numbers and a long list of missed calls.

The last six of them had come from the same number.

"Li Jiao..." he muttered to himself. "It's been a while, I wonder if everything is okay?"

When he tapped his phone screen to hear the woman's voice message, he found no answer to his question. Instead, Majima Makoto's first assistant had simply asked him to meet her at the Hilton, because she had a gift to give him and it wouldn't be long until she returned to Tsumino.

"I thought she had moved in with Suoh?" he said quietly, before slumping onto the couch.

Of all days for the woman to invite him over, Akihito complained mentally, eyes closed as he let his head fall onto a cushion. But it would be incredibly rude to turn down the invitation, even though he had no interest in the gift itself, and just really wanted to check on how her and the baby were doing.

It took less than ten minutes for him and Shinada to reach the hotel.

As he would soon discover, Li Jiao was staying in one of the places' largest suites, one with so many rooms and doors that there were actually three elevators he could take to get to it.

 _'She probably has a team of people taking care of her_ ,' Akihito mentally remarked. ' _Suoh_ _can be a bit over the top sometimes_...'

Much to his surprise, however, the woman seemed to be alone by the time he knocked on her door.

"Akihito!" she exclaimed, although her voice was strangely strained. "I'm so glad you're here..."

"That's ok," he replied with a faint smile. "It's been a while, how are you doing?"

He couldn't help but notice that the bodyguard seemed extremely pale, droplets of sweat forming on tip of her upper lip.

_There was something wrong._

"I'm fine," she said, waving a hand dismissively as the other rested on her lower back. "And you? Busy with the..." Akihito raised an eyebrow when she winced mid-sentence. "....wedding preparations?"

The question made his throat feel constricted.

"I should be busier...." he whispered, memories of his argument with Asami earlier that morning filling his mind.

He desperately needed to change the topic.

"I thought you had moved in with Suoh?" he asked.

"Well... relationships are complicated..." she answered, and Akihito nodded in solidarity.

Yes, relationships could be very complicated.

"When are you due?" he asked, after taking a seat by the table as she poured him some tea, or at least tried to.

Her hands were shaking so much that most of the hot drink was spilled all over the table instead.

"Any minute now," she replied, her voice low and even more strained than before. "Like... _any minute_."

And then, he finally understood.

"Shit."

"Akihito..."

"Shit!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet as if his seat was on fire. "Are you... are you in labor?"

“Yes. My water broke some ten minutes ago,” the woman panted in response. “I didn't think you'd get here so fast.”

Her answer made the ground beneath his feet disappear, his own breath stuck in his throat.

“I'm gonna call Suoh,” he muttered, trembling fingers reaching for the phone in his pocket.

“I already did,” Li Jiao replied, her face contorted in pain. “He's not picking it up.”

“Then I'll try again.”

“There is no time.”

“There has to be,” Akihito whispered back, raking his fingers through his hair as he paced the room. “I'm not... I can't…”

“It's ok, you won't have to do anything.”

The loud thumping of his own heart was making his ears throb.

“I helped deliver a lot of babies back in the day,” the woman explained, slowly lowering her body until she was kneeling on the ground, which Akihito now realized was already covered with many layers of towels. “And it's not my first... time.”

When the phone rang for the fifth time, Akihito ended the call, a wave of panic making his entire body feel strangely light.

“Akihito.”

“I'll call an ambulance.”

“ _No_.”

Her voice was loud and strained, and her pained expression made Akihito put the phone down.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly.

“Please, just... Just hold my hand, I'll do the rest.”

Because she was facing a wall, Akihito had no choice but to slide into the small gap separating her body and the bed, lacing one of his hands with hers as she rested her back against his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” Akihito heard her whisper, her voice shaky and weak.

“It’s ok.”

“No,” she sobbed quietly. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“It’s--”

He was about to reassure her once again, but at that point she was crushing his fingers with so much gusto that he couldn’t help but grimace in silence.

With his other hand, he reached for the phone again, praying that this time the man on the other side of the line would answer.

_“Takaba-san.”_

“Suoh,” he whispered. “Suoh!”

_“What happened?”_

“You need to come to the Hilton, Li is in labor.”

_“Why didn't she call me?”_

“She said she did,” Akihito replied, his sweaty forehead wrinkled with confusion and worry.

_“I'm calling the doctor.”_

“Come quick, I don't know--”

Before he could finish his sentence, the distinct sound of a baby crying caught his ears.

“Oh,” Akihito gasped, smiling when the cries became even louder and clearer. “She's here.”

When his eyes drifted back to Li Jiao, he noticed her shoulders were shaking as she put down a pair of strange-looking, curved scissors, her own hands covered in blood.

“Suoh?” he mindlessly said as a small hand stuck out in his direction. “Did you hear it? It's the baby--”

A beep on the other side of the line was the man’s only response.

“I think he’s on his way,” he said, his eyes moist with tears when he was finally able to see a small child move in her mother’s arms.

“I need you... to wash her,” Li whispered, still trying to catch her breath as tears streamed down her face.

“Eh?”

“There is... a small... bathtub…” the woman explained, unceremoniously placing the warm bundle on his arms. “Give her… a sponge bath...”

For a moment, Akihito was unable to move. He had taken care of baby Hiroto, yes, but that was when he was already old enough to leave home, and not a newborn.

Certainly not a newborn that still had an umbilical cord stump, for crying out loud!

“Wash her,” Li Jiao replied, and at that point Akihito felt like he had no choice but to comply.

“O-Ok.”

His entire body was shaking as he headed to the bathroom, his feet heavy as if they were made of concrete. Little Sayuri wouldn’t stop crying - maybe she needed to be fed first?

What did he know, anyway.

His eyes brimming with panic, he shifted the child on his arms so that he could turn on the shower with one hand, rocking the small bundle as he tested the temperature of the water and waited for the small bathtub inside to fill.

“Just a little,” he mumbled to himself. “A sponge bath, she said.”

After turning off the shower and unfolding the towels wrapped around the baby, Akihito felt droplets of cold sweat run down his temple.

“Feet first, I guess?” he whispered, his throat going dry when the baby whimpered and resumed crying as soon as her small legs touched the water. “I don't know what I'm doing, I'm sorry.”

She had said sponge bath, but _where the fuck_ were the washcloths?

He checked the temperature of the water one more time before splashing some of it on the baby’s belly, trying to find the right angle to lie her down without tilting her neck too much. When he finally found the right position, the whimpering subsided, and he ended up using one of the towels on his lap to wash her clean.

“I don't know if I'm doing this right,” he muttered to himself. “Li, should I use soap?”

His eyes darted around the small bottles that seemed to have been strategically placed next to the tub, but he could not read the labels very well and it was better to be safe than sorry.

Only then did he realize there was a small pile of washcloths next to the tub as well.

“Li?” he called out again, but once again there was no response.

After wrapping the semi-clean girl in a fresh, fluffy towel, Akihito stepped out of the bathroom, just to find out that the door leading to the bedroom where Li was had been locked from inside.

“Shit… Li?”

His battered heart started racing again, but for the time being he would not let his mind slip into panic.

“ _Li_?”

The fancy unit looked like a maze, its corridors leading to rooms he didn’t remember seeing when he had first arrived. In his arms, the baby had started crying again, and he had to use all of his willpower not to do the same thing.

When he finally managed to get back to the bedroom through a secondary door, he had to blink several times to make sure he was not seeing things.

The towels on the floor next to the bed were gone and the bed covers did not have a single wrinkle on them. Were it not for the baby whimpering in his arms, he would have never guessed someone had just given birth in that room.

His eyes then fell to a line of items placed neatly at the foot of the bed: a onesie, a diaper, a blanket and a small bottle filled with milk.

At that point, he should have understood what had happened, but his foggy brain did not make the connection.

It was the sound of hurried footsteps that brought him back to reality, his eyes darting to one of the doors as he brought the baby closer to his chest.

He let out a relieved sigh when Shinada entered the room, followed closely by Asami’s Head of Security.

“Takaba-san,” he vaguely heard Suoh say. “Where's Li?”

“She's gone.”

“Gone?”

He shook his head slowly, passing him the baby as he tried to reorganize his own thoughts.

“She was alive and she told me to- to wash the baby and, I did--but,” he tried to explain. “I'm sorry, I tried calling you--”

“You did nothing wrong,” Suoh replied, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Shinada, you were guarding the front entrance, did you see her leave?”

“No, sir. But I called the front desk and asked for a surveillance report.”

From the corner of his eye, Akihito could see Shinada open the minibar after whispering something he could not understand.

“The minibar is filled with baby bottles,” his bodyguard then said, his voice louder as he inspected the rest of the room. “Takaba-san, did she tell you anything?”

Instead of replying, Akihito let his tired eyes drift to the baby stirring quietly on Suoh’s arms as he fed her.

Now he understood.

“She said she was sorry,” he whispered.

++++

" _Ha-ru-chaaan.._.!" Mine heard one of the girls at the salon chant when he showed up at their door.

It took him a while for him to realize the young woman was talking to him, her fingers laced together as she stood on the tip of her toes at the window, blushing bashfully when he turned his head to look at her.

Even after almost half a year working undercover, he still hadn't gotten used to being addressed by a different name.

"Ichika-chan," he replied, making the girl blush an ever fiercer shade of pink. "Hi."

"Hi!" she exclaimed back, her pitch impossibly high. "Are you here for a haircut?"

Obviously, he was not. Usually he would meet with Maya later at night, when the village was already submerse in sleepy, eerie silence. Give the events of that day, though, they would have to meet sooner than usual, and the fact that the sun had barely set meant many eyes were still on them.

He had to be careful.

"Do you think I need one?" he said, a faint smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he raked his fingers through his slick, jet-black hair.

"Your hair is very pretty," the girl named Ichika replied, eyes downcast as she spoke. "But Hana-san has taught me how to do shaved sides, I think you would look even more handsome."

"Shaved sides, huh?" he said, scratching his chin as the girl nodded. "Sure, why not."

Mine let his eyes explore as he was welcomed into the small parlour, a multitude of old chairs, towels and shampoo bottles cluttering one corner of the room as a group of young women congregated around Maya on the other.

"Be careful when you spray the serum, make sure to cover the client's eyes with a cloth, like this..."

The level of enthusiasm of each participant was more or less the same, but Mine couldn't help but notice that some of the brown eyes following Maya's every movement were glassy and sad, as if they were miles away from there.

They tended to belong to the young women who had spent the longest at the brothel, their dreams shattered at a very early point of their lives.

"Hana-san!" he heard the girl behind him exclaim. "Look who's here!"

When Maya turned her head to look at him, Mine bowed respectfully.

"If it isn't our favourite sushi man..." she said, a wave of giggles and whispers sweeping the small room following her words.

"He let me do shaved sides," the girl announced proudly, already covering his shoulders with a towel.

"Oh, did he?" he heard Maya ask, her voice carrying a very slight hint of concern. "Good... very good."

When their eyes met, the girl pursed her lips, as if silently sending him her condolences.

Well, what could he do. Hair grew back, after all. It was not that big of a deal.

"Am I keeping the bun or you are chopping it off as well?" he asked, just as his assigned apprentice prepared to give his hair the first snip.

"Do you want to keep it?"

"What is the expert's opinion?" Mine asked, looking at Maya's reflection on the mirror.

"Yeah, you should keep it," she replied.

Not half an hour later, he was walking out of the salon with three quarters of his hair almost entirely gone.

"I am so, so sorry," he heard Maya whisper as soon as they exited through the back door. "Ichika got carried away, must have been because she has this giant crush on you."

"It's fine," he responded with a shrug. "Plus I like the way you fixed it. What is it called again, "top knot with fade"?

"Yeah..."

"I'll get used to it," Mine went on, patting the minuscule man bun at the top of his head, the sides of his head almost completely bald.

"You still look good, I'm just saying," the girl chuckled, sitting under the shade of a tree near the riverside, where they would be hidden from curious eyes as they waited for Tanimura's call.

And then they were silent for very long minutes, Maya's tired eyes drifting to a young woman and a toddler on the other side of the river, at the far end of an alley.

It was in times like those he suspected there was something wrong with her, more than the constant fatigue, the lack of appetite, the overall gloomy demeanour.

He had to ask, even if the question was far too personal.

"Are you pregnant?"

The girl's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

" _Eeeehhh?!?_ "

"Every time you see a baby, your eyes fill with longing," he explained. "Plus you haven't been eating."

"No. Geez, Mine! No," she replied, shaking her head with her eyes still wide. "No, I'm not pregnant, that is not... a possibility, not even remotely."

She let out a quiet scoff, still shaking her head.

"You're very observant, though."

"I have to be."

"You're not entirely off the mark, you know," she whispered, her eyes averted to the phone in her hands as she spoke. "You just came to the wrong conclusion."

"I don't understand what that means."

Maya had just opened her mouth to speak again when the phone in her hands started buzzing.

"Hey, Masa," she said, holding the phone close to her lips and then to the side of their heads, so that the two of them could her the cop's response.

_"Hey. How are you doing?"_

"Tired. You?"

_"Getting by."_

Mine averted his eyes to the river when the girl started reporting new cases of physical and verbal abuse at the brothel, and underage boys and girls being accosted at the restaurant Mine was working in.

"...described his business? Compensated dating," he heard Maya say at some point. "Except that what happens in this place is no fucking dating."

" _It never is. Just like soaplands have very little to do with baths, and health delivery is not_ _exactly about health_ ," he heard Tanimura reply, his heart beating slightly faster in response to the man's voice. _"The desire to avoid legal issues makes people very creative_."

There was a moment of silence, and then the cop spoke again.

_"Is Mine with you?"_

The sudden question made Mine's eyes go wide, one of his hands covering his chest in an irrational attempt to muffle the sound of his heartbeat, just in case Tanimura could hear it on the other side of the line.

"Yes," the girl replied, but judging by the angry frown clouding her face, she had no intentions whatsoever of passing him the phone. "And yet everybody knows. You are in the force, you know what happens," she went on, her voice still low but much more bitter. "But no one does anything."

_"Maya..."_

"Is there even a point?"

 _"There is_ ," he heard Tanimura reply. _"There is a point, and if those guys get creative then_ _we need to get creative too, twice as much_ ," the cop went on. " _If we can't pin prostitution_ _on them, we'll find something else, even if we have to... pull an Al Capone_."

"A what?"

"Go for tax evasion," Mine explained. "That's what Al Capone went to prison for, since the FBI could not gather evidence linking him to other crimes."

"Oh," Maya whispered in response. "Ok."

" _Maya_?"

They both heard the detective inhale deeply before continuing.

 _"Listen to me, I think things are getting too dangerous_."

"I can't stop now," Maya replied. "The salon is just taking off, the girls are learning. If I quit now they will go back to prostitution even after we shut down the brothel, they need another way to make a living. I can't leave now."

" _You can_ ," Tanimura said quietly. _"Live today, fight tomorrow. Have you even been eating_?"

Mine saw when Maya rolled her eyes, before glaring daggers at him.

So yes, he had told Tanimura she was going too hard on herself, so what?

On that note, if things kept going downhill, he was also more than ready to report to Asami Ryuichi himself. His loyalty meant he would not watch Maya crash and burn without trying his best to stop that from happening.

"How did Mikhail find me?" she asked, opting to ignore the cop's question.

" _He traced our calls. Or the hackers working for him did_ ," Tanimura replied. " _But I already_ _rewired the cyber security here at the unit, and got some new software to mess up the bots_ _that try to track us again_."

"Good."

_"What did Mikhail want?"_

"To be an asshole," the girl answered simply. "Whatever, it's not important."

_"Can I talk to Mine for a minute?"_

Still pursing her lips, Maya finally passed him the phone after he had wiped his clammy palms on his pants.

_"Mine?"_

"Yes."

" _Has she been eating_?" the cop asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.

"Not much, no," Mine replied, standing up and walking away to ensure Maya would not hear whatever it was Tanimura wanted to say.

 _"What should we do_?" the cop asked. _"I'm not sure she should go on_."

"We should let her stay. It's her journey, it's not up to us to decide."

_"Have you been in touch with her father?"_

"Not directly," Mine replied. "Not yet, at least."

_"Does he already know who was responsible for today's attack?"_

"Not that I know of. You?"

" _Nothing_."

He brought the phone closer to his ear when Tanimura inhaled again, the sound of his lips parting bringing back memories he would rather forget.

_Or not._

"Mine..."

He knew what came next.

Once again, Tanimura would probably try to apologise for their disastrous night at the club.

_"Listen, about what happened that other n--"_

"It's fine," Mine interrupted, just like he did every single time. "Water under the bridge."

_"No, listen, I--"_

"I'm giving the phone back to Maya."

With the palms of his hands sweating even more profusely, Mine returned the phone to the girl, who wasted no time in giving him another piercing glare.

"Masa, I should get going, it's late," she said. "I'll fill you in if anything new comes up... Ok... Bye."

In silence, Mine fished a packet of Pall Malls from his pocket and lit up a cigarette.

He had made a mistake that night, by exposing his feelings and desires to a man who clearly could not reciprocate them. He could tell Tanimura still wanted someone else, not him, but to hear the man say it aloud amidst a sea of feeble apologies would just make it all worse.

As it was, he could at least trick himself into believing he might be wrong, somehow.

"I thought that being here would make me feel closer to my mother," Maya whispered, her low voice making him successfully file away those thoughts for another day. "I miss her. I miss her a lot," she went on, her usually fiery, intense eyes now vacant and dull. "I thought I could make things better, but now that I think about it... I'm exactly where she never wanted me to be."

"She would understand," he replied, not to make her feel better about herself, but because the little he knew about Hayashi Mirai led him to believe she was the type of person who would wholeheartedly support her daughter's decision.

"Mine..."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I’m just running away?" she asked quietly, her eyes fixated on the river.

He took one final, long drag off his cigarette, and smashed what was left of it on a rock before replying.

"Aren’t we all?"

++++

After patting his hair dry as he walked out of the bathroom, Asami looked at his phone just to find out it was almost dinner time, but Akihito still hadn't come back home.

With a slight frown, he put away the towel, pulled a clean robe out of the closet and walked into the living room, where all kinds of notifications were popping on the screen of his laptop computer.

It was going to be a long night, for him and his entire security team.

" _Asami-sama_ ," he heard his secretary say, as soon as he opened the video chat window he had temporarily minimised.

"Any news?"

" _Not yet. But we can now confirm the gun we sent for forensics did not enter the country_ _through any of our shipments_ ," Kirishima explained.

"Where did it come from, then?"

_"We are still working on it."_

"What did Mine say about Maya?"

_"That he is monitoring her closely. If necessary, he will get in touch."_

Of all calls that had taken place that day, Mine’s had been the ones that seemed to have stuck in his head.

It had been the first time he had gotten touch in almost half a year, and although he had been evasive about how and why he was even aware of the hit, the relief of finding out Maya was well despite the troubling circumstances trumped his suspicions.

Sooner or later, he would end up finding out what the girl was up to. For now, knowing she was being taken care of was good enough.

His musings were briefly interrupted by the sound of muffled squealing coming from somewhere above Kirishima's left shoulder.

"Is Suoh with you?" Asami asked, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.

 _"Uh, yes_..." the secretary replied, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. " _So is the baby_."

"I told him to take the rest of the day off."

 _"Yes. But he didn't_ ," Kirishima went on, his voice void of any humor. _"He brought a nurse_ _with him_."

The answer made Asami's eyes go wide for the fraction of a second.

"To our operation desk?" he asked.

" _No, no. She's waiting outside. We... uh... improvised a nursery in my office_ ," the secretary mumbled in response.

Now _that_ explained why the man sounded so miserable.

Asami felt the corners of his mouth curl into a smirk, but he had no time to jab his first assistant about the circumstances.

A click coming from the front door announced Akihito had just gotten home.

"Good luck."

_"Thanks, sir."_

With that, Asami snapped the laptop closed and waited for the photographer to walk into the room, his silhouette already visible from the genkhan.

"You were gone all afternoon," he said, letting his eyes drop to the grey sweatpants and then slowly make their way up to the white muscle tee partially stained with sweat.

"Yeah. I went for a run in the park," Akihito replied, his cheeks flushed, moist strands of hair sticking to his temples. "I sent you a message."

"I know. I saw it."

' _And assigned Shinada to follow you like a shadow_ ,' Asami mentally added.

"Did anyone find Li?" the photographer asked, sounding extremely depressed. "No. Not yet,” Asami replied. “Shen helped her leave the hotel unnoticed ang go to Little Asia, but then she apparently ran from him as well.”

"How is the baby?"

"Fine. You did a great job."

Not even the compliment made him brighten up.

"I didn't do anything special,” he whispered, barely lifting his gaze from the ground. "She had everything planned, anyway."

Knowing Akihito, Asami knew his sadness had probably less to do with the fact he had been tricked into assisting Li Jiao in her plan and more to do with the fact the child had been abandoned by her own mother.

Despite his obvious tiredness, the photographer had refused to leave the Hilton until a team of nurses and a still startled Suoh had taken control of the situation.

_Talk about a tough day._

After scratching the back of his neck and clearing his throat, Akihito sat next to him, his back unnaturally straight against the back of the couch, shoulders tense.

"Listen... can we talk?" he whispered, eyes downcast.

Asami crossed his legs, an eyebrow slightly raised as he nodded. In all honesty, he would rather leave serious conversations for another day. His mind was already bubbling with enough concerns as it was, but even so, it was physically impossible for him to say no to Takaba Akihito when the hazel eyes looked so anguished and anxious.

"Tanimura left a voice message earlier today," Asami heard him say, still avoiding his eyes. "He had been trying to warn us about the hit."

The muscles in his jaw clenched involuntarily, but he forced himself to remain silent.

"He... he had asked me to help with an investigation but I thought I should check with you first," Akihito went on, peeling himself away from the back of the couch and resting his elbows on top of his knees. "It involves the Baishe, so--"

"Stay out of it," Asami interrupted, his voice making it clear that decision was not open to debate. "At least until we find out who's behind today's hit, I don't want you to take any unnecessary risks."

"Ok."

He frowned at the very little resistance Akihito offered to his words.

On any other day, he would have expected at least a bitter complaint of some sort, but maybe the other man's unusual quietness was understandable, given how hectic the day had been.

He noticed, however, that the photographer was now clasping his hands together, his restless legs making the couch vibrate slightly as he stared at the ground.

Apparently, he was not done.

"As to the wedding, I..." he heard Akihito whisper, not much later. "Shit, after everything that's happened today, this will sound so dumb," he muttered, letting out a nervous chuckle before turning his head to look at him. "Guess this is what I get for waiting so long to tell you..."

Asami Ryuichi did not like suspenseful pauses.

He particularly disliked them when they were somehow related to their wedding, and followed by a very guilty expression.

_Tell him what?_

The most catastrophic scenarios were already unfolding inside his head when the photographer spoke again.

"I haven't told my parents yet," Akihito whispered, his voice slightly shaky as his gaze once again dropped to his own feet. "About you, about us... about the wedding. They don't know anything."

Only then did Asami realize his eyes had probably gone wide.

Akihito hadn't told his parents, _that_ was the reason for all that drama?

He suddenly felt like laughing, but bit the inside of his lip to stop himself, even when Akihito himself let out a faint chuckle.

"You know, I have cousins. Quite a few, actually," the photographer explained. "Most of them are older than me, so I went to a handful of weddings. And my mother would always tell me how that the day I got married, she would this and that and... I'm an only child, so..."

When Akihito paused again, his eyes filling with tears, Asami looked at him with the confused frown of someone trying to solve an algebra equation.

"And now I am getting married, and she doesn't even know," Akihito explained, swiftly wiping away a tear with the hem of his tank top as he spoke. "I don't... I don't want to disappoint her, or my father," he said, after another nervous chuckle. "My father, he's so... dramatic. And I know it's stupid, and it's embarrassing for me to tell you, because there's so much more stuff going on, stuff that is much more serious..."

"Does it matter that much?"

His question made the photographer let out a startled gasp.

"What?"

"What your parents will think of you when you tell them?"

Instead of answering, Akihito lowered his head, lips strained in a smile that soon disappeared from his face when his shoulders started shaking.

The unexpected crying fit left Asami at a loss for words.

Although Akihito had always been reluctant in sharing any details about his family, he had done his homework. Still in the very early days of their relationship, he had found out the photographer was the only child of an internationally-awarded photographer and a former high school teacher who had agreed to travel the world with her husband. To imagine that either of them would shun Akihito for being in a relationship with a man seemed to be an exaggeration at best, but what did he know?

Unlike Akihito, he had not grown in a nourishing home, surrounded by parental love and all the expectations that came with it. He had never had to carry anyone's dreams on his shoulders but his own, he had never had to worry about being rejected because of his sexuality essentially because he had never bothered to care that much about anyone's opinion, anyway.

So it was with surprise and wonder that he watched his fiancé cry his eyes out, his mind probably filled with other aggravating thoughts that he didn't seem inclined to share.

Asami would not force him to. Instead, he waited until the photographer calmed down, fished a packet of tissues from his pocket, and blew his nose loud enough to wake the dead.

"Akihito..." he said. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

"Because I don't want you to think of me as a child," Akihito replied angrily. "I'm _not_ a child."

His nasal voice, combined with his puffy eyes and the deep frown he was now sporting, made the corners of Asami's mouth curl into an affectionate smirk.

"Stop laughing, it's not funny!" the photographer snarled.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"Go where?"

"Tell your parents."

"No. No," Akihito replied, shaking his head with another resolute frown. "We are not going anywhere."

"So what's the plan?"

"I've decided to send them a letter."

Asami held back a gasp when the younger man tilted his chin upwards, as if proud of his decision or just far too stubborn to recognise it was probably not a very good one.

He imagined that kind of situation required a more personal approach, such as a face to face conversation, but again - what did he know?

"A letter?" he asked quietly. "Are you sure--"

"Yes."

"OK."

The tension that had been hanging above their heads like a dark cloud only moments prior finally dissolved into peaceful silence when Akihito let his body fall back onto the couch, his head resting on a pillow as he stretched his legs over Asami's lap.

"What's your mother's name?" Asami asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Noriko."

"Should I write a side letter asking her to help us plan our wedding?"

Akihito scoffed in response, shaking his head as if he had just heard the most absurd thing in the world.

"Idiot..."

Despite the very little credit he was being given, Asami smirked.

He had not meant the question as a joke, but for now, it was good enough to see the photographer smiling again.

"Quite the big day for you, huh?" he said, his thumbs applying pressure to the top of the photographer's feet and then to their sides. "Saving our lives, helping deliver a baby, coming out to your parents..."

After folding an arm in front of his face, Akihito chuckled again.

"I should say," Asami went on, taking the chance to slide one of his hands under Akihito's sweatpants and give his calf a gentle squeeze. "When you took those men down and started running with a gun in your hands, I think I got an instant erection."

"Heh..." Akihito replied, offering no resistance when he pulled down his pants in one swift motion. "You can't get your mind off the gutter, can you?"

"No."

"I'm all sweaty, let me take a shower first."

"What for?" Asami whispered into his ear, shifting positions so that he was covering the photographer's slender body with his. "You're going to sweat even more really soon..."

As the coaxed one of Akihito's earlobes into his mouth, he felt warm fingers untying his robe and gliding over his chest.

Much as he regretted the fact the photographer still struggled with his eyesight, the fact he kept exploring other forms of appreciating the world - and on that particular situation, his body - was something he was incredibly grateful for.

"I've been waiting all day for this..." he said, inhaling deeply as Akihito's fingertips traced patterns on every inch of skin they could find, the moist, warm lips following suit.

"Me too," he heard the photographer whisper back.

He could tell, judging by how eager the slender hips were grinding against him.

When there were no more clothes between them, his kisses turned into licks that turned into bites, moans of pain and pleasure mixing around and below him. He would reward Akihito's bravery and passion by teasing him mercilessly, slowly, as many times as they both could take, until the hazel eyes were tired, sated, happy.

_Everything else could wait._

 


	69. Blurred lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> I'm back! Thanks so much for your patience and support, you are all awesome people. To keep this author’s note short, I wrote about my personal misadventures on my Tumblr account instead, so you all are more than welcome to read it [here](http://komakitigerdrop.tumblr.com/post/166374037739/a-note-to-the-readers-of-grace-period-is) if you want.
> 
> Now, Asami and Akihito’s scene in this chapter might look like pure fanservice, but there is actually a purpose to it. (And well, it IS fan fiction, so the fanservice will come out every now and then, hehe). Fei Long was supposed to have a scene here as well but that would make the chapter too long, so we will be seeing him on Chapter 70 instead (as well as a certain someone knocking at the penthouse door... =O). And finally: pretty long scene with Tanimura and Mine, mainly because from this point on they are big players in the greater scheme of things and it is important to understand where they are coming from.
> 
>  

Tanimura Masayoshi took pride in the fact that very few things could surprise him those days. After nearly ten years in and out of the Keishicho, he had seen and done enough to make him quick on his feet and always ready for the worst.

Every now and then, however, he was made to deal with the occasional curve ball, like, for example, Prosecutor Kuroda demanding his immediate return to Japan, even though he still had at least another fours months of assigned work in Thailand.

He had _just_ bought a new microwave oven!

It was with that thought and an annoyed frown that he finished packing his bags - or, as it was, bag - after casting a morose glance at the brand new appliance he wouldn't even have time to return to the store.

_Bummer._

Then again, he should probably be less concerned with furniture and the likes, and more worried about what and _who_ was behind the order from Tokyo...

With a shrug, he flung his backpack over his shoulder, picked up the suit bag from the couch and carefully folded it over his arm.

He would sooner or later find out what was going on, anyway... no point stressing about it ahead of time.

"E-excuse me."

The weak, shaky voice of a stranger brought him back to reality. His feet had already dragged him to the entrance of the Phayathai train station; despite the late start he would be able to catch the last train to the airport if he didn't have any setbacks.

Which, from the looks of it, was not bound to happen.

"What is it?" Tanimura asked, letting his eyes shift from the woman's face to the immobile body behind him.

"I think this man is dead."

It was hard to tell at first, what with said man facing a wall while covered by a tattered blanket that reeked of alcohol, sweat and urine. The inexistent pulse on his neck and on his wrist only confirmed the woman’s suspicions, eliciting a dismayed gasp that made her grow even paler.

He reached for the radio on his shoulder, just to remember he was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants instead of his usual uniform. After holding out his credentials and dismissing the distraught lady, he rang the nearest station and waited for someone to come collect the body, his eyes silently following the feminine silhouette walking away from him, shoulders slumped, shaking slightly with the occasional sob.

He had to wonder if that was the first time the woman had seen a dead person, and what kind of connection those two strangers had, if any.

And then, his own memories made him lose track of time for a while, as he recalled the first time he had been called to remove a corpse from the street.

It was winter, and unsurprisingly, the victim was also homeless.

He remembered that in the following nights, he had been unable to sleep, haunted by the realisation that life was extremely fragile, especially for those crushed by poverty and loneliness. Years had gone by, but his mind had never been able to completely overcome the grim thought that one day, he too would end up on the streets, wrapped in a dirty blanket, alone, _unnamed_.

Many minutes had gone by when a police car parked on the other side of the street, and by the time he was done signing forms, it was way past midnight, which meant he had missed the last train to the airport and would now have to catch a taxi in front of a pretty much deserted station.

Talk about bad luck.

For once, though, reading things in a hurry worked in his favor: instead of 3 am, his flight was actually at five, which meant he still have at least some time to spare when he got to the boarding gate.

Two flights and one very long layover in Guangzhou later, Tanimura let out a sigh of relief. He had finally arrived at Kansai International, and now all he had to do was find his designated escort, who was supposed to be waiting for him in front of the Family Mart on level 4.

It only took him seconds to spot the man in the small crowd going in and out of the convenience store.

Leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, Mine was staring at him with the usual cold, disinterested expression on his face.

It made shivers go up and down his spine.

If only he had not seen those dark, dangerous eyes burn with passion on that damn night, if only he did not remember the taste of that indifferent mouth…

He doubted he would ever be able to look at Mine the same way again.

 _And that was not necessarily bad,_ he mentally told himself, noticing that the man’s Adam's apple had bobbed up and down as soon as he took a step closer, betraying his expressionless facade.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did you bring any other bags?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head when Mine offered to carry his suit bag. “No, it's just that and the backpack.”

After a quiet nod, the man turned on his heels, and soon enough they were both walking towards the coin lockers, where Tanimura would be able to store most of his belongings until the day of his flight back to Tokyo.

“How many days did Kuroda give you until you have to be back in Tokyo?”

“Five,” the detective replied. “He doesn't know I am in Osaka, I thought I might as well keep our operation a secret.”

“I got the feeling he already knows, anyway…”

“How much does he know?” Tanimura asked, an eyebrow going up as he watched Mine tap the screen. “Who told him? You or your former boss?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” the bodyguard answered, his usual monotone showing no irritation despite the choice of words. “My access to information is very limited at the moment.”

With a resigned scoff, the detective scratched the back of his neck when they headed out to take the Haruka express, the cool nightly breeze reminding him he should have probably made a stop at the restroom to refresh himself.

Unlike the man by his side, who smelled and looked great although they were both wearing pretty much the same unpretentious outfit, Tanimura was sweaty, tired and probably looked like shit after almost twenty hours of travel.

“How long until we get to Chayama?” he asked quietly, as soon as the two of them reached the platform.

“Three hours and a half.”

“Ok.”

Tanimura thought of making small talk as they took their seats, but there was no opening of any kind. Keeping his eyes fixated on the window even though he seemed to be barely noticing what was on its other side, Mine had a very solid set of invisible walls around him, and he was far too tired to even try to go around them.

Soon enough, he too was staring out of the window, mindlessly letting his eyes slip from rooftops to shops and dark, deserted streets. His eyelids grew heavy, and drowsiness was quick to follow as his body rocked gently with the movement of the train.

“Tanimura,” he heard a second later.

“Hmm?” the detective grunted in response, forcing one of his eyes open.

The first thing he noticed was that the bodyguard had woken him up by gently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, and the warmth of his fingers against his skin felt incredibly good.

The second thing he noticed was that he had apparently fallen asleep over Mine’s shoulder, and a string of drool was seeping onto the fabric of the other man’s T-shirt.

“S-Sorry,” he stuttered, after squaring his shoulders and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Where are we?”

“Kyoto Station,” Mine replied, his eyes showing some uncharacteristic softness as he spoke. “Now we walk.”

“For how long?”

“Forty minutes, give and take.”

Again, he nearly cringed upon the realization he reeked of sweat, especially now that he had leant against the other man for almost three hours.

On the opposite side of the curve, Mine couldn't possibly smell better, the light scent of sandalwood and fig filling his mind with relaxed, comforting thoughts, like stretching under the shade of a palm tree on a sunny day.

“What?” he asked, noticing that the bodyguard continued to look at him without showing any intention to move.

“I'm waiting for you to get up.”

“Oh.”

_Of course._

As it was, until he got his sorry ass off his seat, Mine had no choice but to remain seated himself.

The walk that followed would be far too long for him to remain quiet all the way, so Tanimura asked the question he had been meaning to ask ever since he had gotten his hands on Mine’s police records.

“How come you ended up working for Asami Ryuichi?”

The only response he got, though, was a suspicious sideways glance.

“I'm a detective, Mine,” he went on. “You were studying to become a judge. Then you became an intern in the Prosecutor's Office, and everything was going according to plan until--”

“Don't.

“What happened?” Tanimura pressed on. “After you... what happened after your stepfather died, there are no records anywhere.”

“What happened to you before you joined the force?”

The question, which came shortly after the man by his side suddenly stopped on his tracks, made Tanimura trip over his own feet.

“Prison for two years at age 18?” he heard Mine ask.

Apparently, he had done his research as well.

“Why?”

“Attempted murder,” Tanimura replied without much enthusiasm, hoping that his concise answer would bring the conversation to a close.

“What happened?”

Obviously, it didn't.

The detective reached for the crumpled pack of Mevius inside the pocket of his sweatpants, a bitter smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he led a cigarette to his lips.

“I didn't try hard enough,” he said.

“Don't try to act mysterious now, Tanimura, it's not your style.”

“But it's _yours_ , isn't it?” Tanimura replied. “Acting mysterious is the one thing you don't seem to get tired of…” he muttered, pulling out his lighter and cupping the cigarette away from the wind.

After taking a long, silent drag, he spoke again, his voice slightly louder than before.

“Maybe one day, when you feel like talking about your past, I will talk about mine,” he said. “How about that?”

The lifeless stare he got in return made the air around them grow strangely cold.

“Why would I tell you anything?” Mine asked, before reaching for his cigarettes as well and taking a seat on a nearby bench.

And there it was, again, the same thick, impenetrable silence that had hovered over their heads from the very get go. It hung in the air for far too long, stretching its limbs, taking off its shoes and making itself comfortable in the small space between the two of them, and Tanimura knew exactly why things had gotten that weird.

“Mine.”

“What?”

“About that night, I--”

“We're good,” Tanimura heard the other man interrupt, his already pale face growing even paler for the fraction of a second.

“No, we're not,” he insisted.

“Whatever, it's not important.”

“I'm sorry about what happened.”

The sun had not yet risen, and every time Mine took a drag off his cigarette, the embers lit the angles of his face, his downcast eyes hidden from view by strands of black hair and long eyelashes.

Tanimura knew he was staring, but what could he do...

Looking away was not as option.

“I was drunk,” he went on, feeling the palms of his hands grow clammy as he spoke. “It was irresponsible of me to let things get that out of hand.”

And stupid. And a waste. They had done it all wrong. In a bathroom stall, really? At the very least, he should have asked Mine out. But would he even have thought of that if he hadn't gotten drunk that night, for starters?

“Why are you making such a fuss?”

When the bodyguard finally lifted his gaze to his face, his eyes were just as lifeless and cold as before, but this time, there was something else in then, something that made his words sound even more bitter.

“If I had known a blowjob in a bathroom stall would have gotten you this worked up, I would have picked someone else,” he went on, the corners of his mouth curling up in a disdainful smirk.

“But--”

“There is no but, Tanimura,” Mine replied. “It was just sex, anyone would have done. Don't think you're that special.”

With that, he took a final drag off his cigarette, and threw what was left of it inside his _haizara_.

“You're not.”

Perhaps it was because he was tired, perhaps it was because he had not envisioned that conversation would go south that fast, but his temples throbbed painfully after the sudden diss.

Well, at the very least he had learnt one more thing about Mine Kyohei…

He was not the 'let him down gently' kind of guy.

“Where are you going?” Tanimura heard him ask when he picked up his backpack and started walking towards a dimly-lit alley. “The hotel is this way.”

“You can go back to your place now, I'm fine on my own.”

“Don't draw--”

“--attention to myself. Yeah, I know,” the detective mumbled in response. “Night.”

A half of him wanted nothing but a shower and a bed, but the other half - the louder, more restless, and at that point, the stronger half of himself - was in desperate need of a reward.

 _Any kind_ of reward, really.

That was how he found himself in a noisy pachinko joint, gambling away his money way into the early hours of the day, filling winnings boxes that would most likely translate into some mediocre prize on his way out.

“Hey,” he asked the middle-aged man sitting at the machine next to his. “You know where I can bet money?”

“Like, horse racing?”

“Hah, no,” Tanimura scoffed in response.

None of that legal bullshit for him, not that night.

“Like Cho-han, like… Oicho-kabu,” he explained, his voice low as he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I see, I see…”

After looking over his shoulder to make sure there was no one else around, the man spoke again.

“There is a place, but you can only get in by indication,” he whispered.

“Is it far from here?”

“No,” the man replied. “It shares an entrance with a nightclub so that people don't get suspicious.”

Tanimura narrowed his eyes at the mention of a nightclub.

Last time he checked, he was really not that far from the place where Maya was staying, so he had to wonder...

“How do I get an indication?” he asked, filing those thoughts away for another time.

“You need to win the pachinko top prize first,” the man explained. “Then tell the bartender, ‘Christmas lights, no gin’.”

“Christmas lights, no gin.”

“Yeah.”

With a nod, Tanimura thanked for the info and resumed playing as if none of that was a big deal.

His gut, however, was telling him he had just hit the jackpot.

++++

_Meanwhile, in Tokyo..._

The doctors had told him to avoid places that were too loud, too dark and too crowded - the strain it would put on his senses was likely to make his mind tired, and as a result his vision would suffer.

It was way past midnight, and as he danced the night away, Takaba Akihito finally had to concede they were right. He could barely see a thing in front of him, and the not-so-gentle throb on his temples was a very obvious call for mercy.

Perhaps he should wait just another hour…

He checked his phone for new notifications, and found none. It had really been wildly imaginative of him to expect that Asami would join him and mingle with a crowd of ordinary salarymen, in a club that didn't even belong to him and that clearly lacked the sophistication the man was used to.

It was worth a try, he mentally told himself, as he wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead.

The loud music was pumping him up, true, but what was truly making his pulse race was the thought of Asami’s body pressing against his in the middle of the raving crowd...

“Oi, Akihito!” he heard Takato yell by his side, his tall glass of Highball swaying dangerously in one of his hands. “How come you're the only one not wearing a tie?”

With a dismissive chuckle, the photographer averted his eyes to the diffuse shape of his other friend sitting on a nearby booth, his arm around a smiling young woman.

“Ties are for fools,” he yelled back, sticking his tongue out at Kou when he booed. “And for being tied to a bed…” he then whispered.

His eyes went wide when he realised he had said that part aloud, but luckily for him, neither Kou nor Takato seemed to have heard any of it.

Kou’s girlfriend, however, apparently had a very sharp sense of hearing.

“What was that?” she asked, after tilting her head to the side.

“Uhh… Nothing,” he replied, trying not to blush a fierce shade of purple. “I’ll… I’ll go get more drinks, be right back.”

“I'll go with you.”

Akihito was beginning to suspect he had underestimated the short-haired girl in the pastel pink skirt suit now walking towards him. An understandable mistake, since Emi was as unassuming as they come, her overly polite manners and unadventurous lifestyle a stark contrast to Kou’s previous love interest.

 _‘The Asamis certainly add some dangerous spice to everything,’_ he thought as the two of them walked to the bar, Emi’s hand on his lower back gently guiding him through the crowd even though he had not actually asked for help.

It was in moments like those that Akihito realised she might not be as fierce as Maya, but credit where it was due - the junior accountant at Takato’s office was incredibly observant.

 _‘Throw in a pair of glasses, and she is a younger, female version of Kirishima,’_ he mentally remarked.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing, it's just…” he said, his voice coming out weak after hours of screaming to make himself heard. “You remind me of someone.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

“Hopefully someone you like.”

Her words made the photographer chuckle, an eyebrow going up as he thought of the countless misadventures involving Asami’s first assistant.

“Yeah…” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “He's kinda like family at this point.”

And then, as if pondering how smug Kirishima would probably act if he ever heard he had been called ‘family’, Akihito frowned.

“Not like close family, though,” he explained. “More like an… annoying third-degree cousin or something.”

“Oh.”

The realisation of what he had just said made the photographer gasp.

“Uh, that's not-- that's not what I meant!”

“It's ok.”

He had already opened his mouth to apologise when the girl spoke again.

“You're a very good dancer,” she said. “Did you learn on your own?”

Her tone was amiable and casual, but the sudden determination to change the topic seemed to confirm his _faux pas_ had probably made her uncomfortable.

“Uh… Thanks,” Akihito replied, grabbing four bottles of beer and stepping away from the bar, with the girl following closely behind. “I take classes every now and then...”

If she had made any comment about it, Akihito was not able to hear it, partially because of the noise around him, partially because he was lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

It was not the first time he had said something stupid to Kou’s girlfriend.

He usually had no problems bonding with people, but with her… for some reason…

Halfway through that thought, the photographer felt a rather large hand giving his butt a squeeze, and not long after that, a loud thud somewhere behind his neck.

Apparently, Emi had just hit a tall, hooded man with her purse, making him stumble backwards and take both hands to his nose.

“Hands off, pervert,” Akihito heard her snarl. “He is _taken_.”

As if to prove a point, the girl lifted his right hand up in the air, so that the very visible ring on his finger glinted under the club's bouncing lights.

He had obviously underestimated her.

“T-Thanks.”

Instead of responding, she bowed politely, and took her seat next to Kou when they got back to the booth.

“ _Kanpai!_ ” they all said in unison, sipping their drinks in silence before the chatting and laughing restarted.

“Takato-san, how come your wife didn't come?” the photographer heard Emi ask.

“She stayed home to look after Hiroto.”

“Ehh? How is that fair?”

“Oi! It's not as if I forced her or anything…”

_Baby Hiroto._

He still remembered the few times Takato had asked him to babysit the kid…

He remembered them very well, especially what happened after Hiroto’s parents took him back home...

The almighty Asami Ryuichi, fucking him senseless surrounded by plushies, figurines and other silly toys…

After shifting on his seat, Akihito took one more swig from his bottle, his slightly inebriated state making him extra horny as he closed his eyes and imagined a very naked Asami Ryuichi giving him a lap dance.

_In public._

_For the world to see he was no longer on the market._

_His._

_**Only** his._

“Kou-chan, when we have kids, we will share parenting duties so that both can go out, hai?”

“Hai.”

“Now, now, who says my wife and I don't share parenting duties?”

“Do you, now? Because you seem to go out an awful lot.”

Next to him, Kou, Emi and Takato continued to talk, but he was not really paying that much attention.

“Neh... Kou, tell your fiancée that I'm telling the--”

And then, there was silence.

Lots of it.

With a confused frown, the photographer let his gaze shift from one man to another, his sluggish brain finally putting two and two together.

“Takato!” Kou exclaimed, a faint note of exasperation evident in his voice.

“Fiancée?” Akihito whispered, with a slight frown.

When no one replied, he raised both eyebrows and said the only thing that came to his mind.

“I need to pee,” he announced, forcing himself to stand up and walk in a straight line.

How he had successfully gotten to the toilet despite having drunk more than he should and seeing basically nothing along the way, he honestly did not know.

By the time Kou joined him in the urinals, though, his mind had cleared enough for him to start the conversation.

“So...you're engaged?” he asked, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. “Were you planning to tell me or...?”

“I was. Of course I was, it's just…” the designer replied, staring at the wall as well. “It was just like, two days ago.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you happy?” Akihito asked quietly. “Is that what you really want?”

“Yes, that's what I really want.”

The response sounded far too rushed to be true. Granted, it was awkward to have that kind of conversation as they both took a leak, so it was not as if he was expecting a grand speech or anything… Still, Kou was his best friend. And now he was getting married? And not to the woman that Akihito knew he still wanted with all his heart?

“Ok…” he replied, turning his head to look at the designer. “Now can you say all that looking at my face?”

He could barely make out the expression on the other man’s face, but the sharp intake of air that followed transpired sadness and resignation.

“Fine, so what if I still think about her? If I still miss her?” Kou asked, his voice far from steady. “Maya is gone, Akihito, it's been almost one year.”

When he paused, Akihito knew it was his turn to speak, but he really couldn't find anything to say.

He hadn't heard from Maya either, and even though his gut kept telling him the story between her and his friend was not over, he had no way to be sure.

“One year, and nothing,” Kou went on, resting both hands on the sink behind them, his eyes downcast as he spoke. “Not an email, not a phone call. She clearly moved on from me, it's time for me to do the same.”

After a quiet cough, which Akihito suspected was merely covering up something else, Kou looked up again.

“Emi is a great girl.”

“Do you love her?” the photographer asked, eliciting a bitter scoff in response.

“Do you think your parents loved each other when they got married?” the designer replied. “That mine did?”

“Well, your parents had an arranged marriage.”

“And yet they are happy. They love each other now, right?”

“I guess…” Akihito shrugged.

“There you go.”

“So you don't love her, but you think that in the future you will.”

“Yes...”

It was the most miserable 'yes' he had ever heard.

“That's what adult life is all about, yeah,” Kou continued. “You just have to... value what you have, instead of pining for the things you don't.”

Akihito wanted to say that perhaps there was more to ‘adult life’ than settling for a marriage without love, but to dissuade his friend from moving on with his life after all the pain he had endured after Maya’s sudden departure didn't feel entirely right either.

And so, he said nothing.

It was not his decision to make, after all.

“Come on,” Kou said at last, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder after they had both washed their hands. “Let's have another beer.”

++++

She was not sure what had gotten into Mine, but ever since picking Masa at the airport, the bodyguard had been even more silent than usual, his dark eyes fixated on the river in front of them, his expression melancholic and distant.

His unexplained despondency was beginning to crawl under her skin, making her feel miserable as well, her shoulders slumped, the cool, otherwise pleasant nightly breeze cutting into her skin as they waited.

She was tired. Maybe he was too.

 _Maybe it was time to go home,_ even if their mission had failed spectacularly.

"Maya..."

"Masa!"

They both jumped to their feet when the cop appeared behind them. Under the faint, rose-pink light of dawn, Masa looked pale and exhausted, the dark bags under his eyes making him look several years older.

"You look exhausted," she said.

"We got them," he replied, after casting an uncertain look towards Mine.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

The light brown eyes finally shone with his usual determination, and she found herself breathing in relief even though she was still not convinced there was anything to look forward to.

"They are running an illegal gambling den," the detective explained. "The guys managing the brothel. We can't arrest them for prostitution but I can get an arrest warrant for breach of criminal code chapter 23."

"An illegal gambling den?" Mine asked, taking a step forward. "Where?"

"One of the rooms in the nightclub has a hidden passage to a basement."

The explanation made Maya and her bodyguard exchange a confused look.

_How had she let that go unnoticed?_

"How come I never found out about it?" she whispered.

"You probably didn't pay much attention to it, they covered it up with an arcade," Masa continued to explain. "Gaining access is complicated, I had to spend hours at a pachinko parlor to get a prize, and then talk to a bartender, yadda yadda. So... yeah."

"The arcade room..."

In hindsight, she should have realised that stupid arcade was always way too busy, but no girls were allowed in and she hadn't even bothered to check, anyway.

"Yeah."

"So we got them?" she asked, eyes finally shining when the consequences began to sink in.

"We got them."

"They're going to jail."

"Yes."

Before long, she had her arms wrapped around the detective's neck, laughter rattling loudly inside her chest. From the corner of her eye, she could see Mine let out a faint little smile, and when their eyes met, she knew he was probably thinking the same thing.

 _All those months had not been in vain_ , after all.

Even if at the end of the day it had been Masa and Masa alone the one to singlehandedly crack the case, at least she and Mine had been able to give something to those kids, to those women, something that they could hold on to once they were no longer hostages of a disgusting prostitution scheme.

It had not been in vain.

"You little whore."

The creepy voice of one of the brothel's managers made her whip her head around.

"I knew you were up to something," the man said, a dagger firmly secured in one of his hands as he walked towards her with four other goons following close behind.

" _Police!_ "

To her left, she could see Masa had just retrieved his badge from a pocket, his other hand moving to the grip of the gun tucked under the waistband of his sweatpants.

The only problem was, one of the men behind the manager had also reached for a pistol, and was already aiming it at the detective's chest when he spoke again.

"Drop your w--"

" _Masa!_ "

When the sound of a gunshot rang in her ears, she could not tell who had shot first, because Mine was also holding his gun, his body covering Masa's on the ground.

The realisation that the two men were covered in blood made her heart stop for a second, and that moment of hesitation was all the manager needed to grab her by the hair and shove her against the trunk of a tree.

"You know what happens to sluts that like ratting out?" he hissed. "We cut off her limbs, one by one, and throw them in the river."

She winced when his two fat thumbs squeezed her neck, her arms far too busy trying to escape from his clutch to hit him properly.

"But first..." he whispered into her ear. "I'm gonna play with you a little, _and so will my boys_."

His lewd tone made her eyes snap open.

All of a sudden, there was no pain, no rush, no fear that her trachea would be crushed under the man's grubby fingers.

She hadn't come that far just to end like that.

"You wish," she spluttered, before gathering all the strength she had to headbutt her attacker.

When the man stumbled backwards, she dodged a punch coming from her right, but by doing so her face collided with what appeared to be another man's knee, and her jaw snapped.

Unable to cope with the sharp pain, she fell on her knees, her blurred sight trying to make sense of the fight unfolding in front of her.

"Maya!"

When Mine rushed towards her, she tried to warn him there was someone behind him, but Masa had already taken care of that, twisting the man's arm and knocking him into submission with a headlock.

She couldn't possibly tell when or how, but the other side was short of two men, and the other three were unconscious, their limbs folded in strange angles on the patch of land by the riverside.

"Why... y-you... bleeding," she stuttered, the pain on her jaw making her see stars.

"The bullet just grazed my shoulder," she heard Mine explain, just to be followed by the detective.

"It's Mine's blood on my T-shirt, but we are both fine."

She forced herself to stand up despite the violent throb on her temples, and somewhere around her someone uttered the word _hospital_.

In silence, she nodded her agreement, mindlessly leading one of her hands to her chest just to find out the chain the word around her neck was gone.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with panic. "M-my... my ring..."

"What ring?" the detective asked.

"My ring..."

She once again let her knees sink onto the ground as her fingers desperately slid over grass, soil and rocks, her stomach sinking when they brushed against the cold metal of the chain just to realize it was not carrying its usual pendant.

"Maybe it fell on the river...?" Mine whispered, and she had to bite her lower lip not to sob.

Her eyes now fixated on the dark waters ahead, she showed no resistance when the two men helped her up many minutes later, her heart crushed as she let the chain slid to the ground, her chest constricted by an indescribable type of pain.

++++

When his limousine finally came to a halt, Asami Ryuichi cast a dismissive look towards the building on his left.

_Club Deborah._

“Heh…”

He owned the best nightclubs in Tokyo, yet Akihito’s favourite hangout place seemed to be one of the very few he had never bothered to acquire. Tacky, serving the kind of cheap booze that made Family Mart sake sound like a good idea, and crawling with far too many salarymen with their ties wrapped around their heads, Deborah had never featured in his list of potential investments.

 _Until that moment_ , that is.

He raised an eyebrow when his phone buzzed for the eleventh time, and he had to wonder if the photographer was still nourishing hopes that he would join him in that hellhole.

 

**Where u at? I'm tired**

 

 _‘I'm outside,’_ he typed in response, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth as his eyes darted to the previous messages.

Akihito really liked that place, apparently.

“Kirishima…”

“Yes, sir,” the man on the passenger seat replied.

“Contact the management of Club Deborah and check what their selling price is.”

“Certainly.”

“Bring it down to a reasonable amount, then send them the papers,” Asami said calmly. “I want it transferred into Akihito’s name by Sunday.”

“ _Hai._ ”

Although Kirishima did not exactly approve of his habit of forking out millions of yen every time he felt like surprising the photographer, by now he had probably gotten used to it. Besides, it was Akihito’s birthday…

The occasion called for something a little extra.

His phone buzzed again at the precise moment the doors to the club swung open so that a very tipsy Takaba Akihito could step outside.

“Hai,” he muttered, a frown wrinkling his forehead when the photographer finally approached the car.

 _“Can you talk?”_ Prosecutor Kuroda asked on the other side of the line.

“Yes, if it's fast.”

_“We need to meet, there have been developments in Chayama.”_

“What kind of developments?”

He was still frowning when Akihito clumsily climbed onto the backseat, trying to keep his balance when Suoh made the car move again.

_“I'd rather discuss that in person. Tomorrow morning, at nine?”_

“I will be flying into Macao tomorrow at 8…”

“Macao?” the photographer asked, raking his fingers through his hair. “Are you meeting with Fei Long?”

Instead of replying, Asami let his eyes explore the other man’s body for another long moment. As if Akihito’s toned arms didn't draw enough attention thanks to the sleeveless black hoodie he was wearing, the thing still had patches of see-through fabric that made his obliques and part of his chest visible as well. Combined with the low cut faded jeans, the leather bracelets on his wrist and the the chains under his belt, Takaba Akihito was a sight to behold.

_And was he wearing lip gloss?_

_“Sunday I will be out of town. Monday, then?”_

By then, he was barely listening to Kuroda anymore.

His mind was busy with a different kind of thought.

“Monday sounds fine,” he muttered quietly.

“I want to go too,” Akihito piped in.

_“I will call you then. Goodbye.”_

His eyes were still feasting on the photographer’s figure when he ended the call, and it took him a while to realize the other man was staring back, as if expecting some kind of response.

“No,” he finally replied. “Now’s not a good time for a visit.”

Clearly, though, by the time he answered, Akihito was no longer thinking about Macao, or Fei Long, or any other boring affair.

He had leaned back on his seat, one of his hands moving to the back of his head as he parted his legs, his other hand lazily scratching one of his denim-clad thighs.

“What?” he purred, probably noticing his stare.

“I can't believe you had the nerve to go out like this…” Asami responded.

“You like it?”

“No.”

The word had barely left his lips when Akihito changed positions and swung one of his legs over his lap to straddle him.

“ _Liar_ ,” he heard the photographer whisper into his ear. “It turns you on.”

Even if he wanted to deny it, which he didn't, the fact Akihito was now grinding down on what was very obviously a solid erection would make his argument lose credibility.

“It certainly turns other people on too,” he said instead.

“You jealous?”

“ _Tch…_ ”

There was something strangely arousing and worrisome in the way Akihito gained confidence after a few beers. It was even _more_ worrisome to realize that he didn't even seem to be _that_ drunk that time, and still his moves showed no hesitation, his words filled with malice and control as he pinned his wrists to the sides of his body, trying to prevent him from moving.

 _‘One of these days,’_ said a voice inside his head, _‘it will be_ him _fucking_ you _instead.’_

Perhaps.

Not that night, though.

“You need to learn to act your age,” he whispered back, giving Akihito’s neck a gentle bite before yanking his wrists free from the other man’s grip. “You're not a teenager anymore.”

“You're jealous.”

“And you're drunk.”

“Asami…”

The way his name slowly rolled off the photographer’s tongue made even more blood rush towards the lower portion of his body, and the resulting throb made Akihito’s fingers hurriedly move to his chest.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the sound of two or three buttons popping from the fabric of his shirt and flying across the car.

His shirts were not made of cheap stuff, so he really had to wonder how much strength the photographer was putting into his motions.

“I don't know,” Akihito whispered back, before letting out a mischievous chuckle. “I mean, I know what _hasn't_ gotten into me, yet.”

“Are you on speed?”

“No.”

Just to double check, Asami tilted his chin up to look at his eyes, the racing pulse on his neck making him even more suspicious.

“I'm not on drugs, goddammit,” the photographer complained, after pushing his hand away. “I'm just--”

He watched as Akihito bit his lower lip, his eyes averted to one of the car windows.

Of course, with the two of them being apart for almost ten days due to clashing work schedules, he was fully aware of the reason behind so much eagerness.

His fiancé was just _horny_.

 _Very_ horny, if the bulge tenting his pants was anything to go by, and it was only fair that he took responsibility for it.

“You're just what?”

“Doesn't matter,” the photographer muttered. “Why didn't you come to the club?”

“I was working.”

“But it's my birthday…”

“Your birthday is two days away,” Asami replied, letting go of Akihito’s smooth, round backside for a moment so that he could unbuckle the man’s belt. “Besides, that club is a disgrace.”

“Well, I--”

Before the photographer could argue otherwise, he cupped the back of his head and brought their mouths together, tongues intertwining and fighting for dominance while he pulled Akihito’s jeans down with his other hand.

When his fingertips connected with warm skin instead of the usual cotton surface of the photographer’s underwear, he broke the kiss to look down.

“What is this?” he asked, wondering if Akihito had been bold enough to go commando.

“Open back boxer briefs,” the photographer panted in response, his husky voice carrying a note of distinct pride. “You know…” he went on, his lips moving to trace light kisses along his jawline, “I was thinking you could... maybe... go incognito again… And then you would... you would…”

He was so enticed by Akihito’s feverish expression that he barely noticed his belt had been unbuckled and his pants unzipped as well, the other man’s fingers already sneaking past the elastic band of his boxers to claim his prize.

“... dance with me…” Akihito went on, sliding from his lap to kneel on the ground, his eyes never leaving his face as he gave his cock a first timid lick. “But I bet you don't even know how to dance, do you?”

“With all the clubs I own, you really think I can't dance?” Asami whispered back, watching as the photographer gave a dismissive shrug, smirking as his hand moved up and down his shaft.

“Anyway… we would dance… and then we would kiss...” Akihito continued, his voice so low that his words seemed to have gotten lost in a long, deep moan as he alternated kisses and licks with fragments of sentences, teasing him to no end.

 _‘He's getting way too good at this,’_ Asami had time to mentally tell himself, before the tip of his engorged sex leaked a thick drop of precum onto Akihito’s waiting lips.

“...and make out…”

“In front of everyone?” Asami asked, knowing that very soon he would no longer be able - or willing - to come up with another coherent sentence of any kind.

“In front of everyone,” the photographer replied, and that time he was beginning to suck him in the earnest, just to withdraw his mouth when things were about to get serious. “So that they knew... that you belong... to _me_.”

The hazel eyes were serious and sober, and made the muscles of his lower stomach coil in anticipation.

To think that he had misused that line so many times in the past… yet now, coming out of those perfect, strawberry-scented lips, the words seemed to have gained a much better meaning, filling his chest with a new kind of comforting warmth.

“I should record the things you say when you're drunk, you know,” he said, if only for the joy of teasing the photographer, even if just a little.

“Neh, you're no fun,” Akihito then replied, threatening to move away just to have his attempt thwarted when Asami lifted his body and laid him on the seat.

“Come here,” he hissed, before helping his willing prey - and hunter - get rid of what was left of his clothes.

++++ 

_“Ah...Asami…”_

_“Kimochii?”_

_“Ah...Aahh…!”_

Over the years, _kimochii_ and its variations had become code for Kirishima Kei to switch his ears off, but that was easier said than done.

Even with two independent sound systems in the limousine, Takaba Akihito’s voice made the thick, soundproof divider between driver and passengers look like it was made of paper, his moans and high-pitched screams capable of travelling miles regardless of what stood between him and the rest of the world.

“I'm going to put earbuds on,” Suoh quickly said when things started to get more… _intense._ “I need to focus on what my team is saying.”

With a resigned sigh, the secretary looked out of the window. Of course, one of them had to finalise the details of their incoming trip to Macao, and the other…

Well, the other had to keep track of what was going on around them, for security reasons.

_“More… More…!”_

Even when what was going on was _that._

A bang on the divider right behind his head made his shoulders go up in a startled reflex. Generally speaking, his boss tended to use the intercom for requests, and he was still trying to decide whether or not to press the intercom button himself when another loud thud followed, and another one after that.

The rhythmic repetition and the obscene screams that followed left very room for imagination, but at that point he was more puzzled than shocked.

It was a limousine, those two had all the space they wanted and yet… they had managed to position themselves against the divider, _right behind his head_?

He was willing to bet the whole thing had been Takaba’s idea, just to torment him.

“As if he hadn't already given me a lifetime worth of torment, the little plague…” he complained under his breath.

_“Akihito…”_

_“Don't… Don't pull out…”_

_“Hmmm…!”_

_“Ahhhh…”_

All things considered, he should probably call the manufacturer anyway. There _had_ to be something wrong with that divider. Muffled cries and thuds had now become a high quality concert of moans, grunts and other _sounds_ that he wouldn't normally be able to hear with that level of clarity.

A quick sideways glance over his shoulder, however, provided an easy explanation to that _defect_.

“ _Nani!_ ” the secretary gasped, eyes going impossibly wide.

The divider had been lowered, apparently because the photographer - who was unashamedly all on fours with his forehead glued to the window - had rested one of his elbows on the panel of commands as his boss, the unfathomable Asami Ryuichi, with sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes, shirt opened and pants down his knees, pounded him into oblivion.

“A-Asa-Asami… I'm gonna… I'm--ahhhh... _ahhhh!!_ ”

“Oh, for crying out loud…” Kirishima hissed under his breath, quickly pressing the button next to him to bring the thing back up.

The things he had to endure in his line of work...

“Do you think they're done?” the bodyguard asked, after taking off one of his earbuds.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You're the one listening to it.”

“ _Oi!_ ” Kirishima interjected, his face glowing a bright shade of red. “As if I had a choice!”

“But are they done or not? We're one minute away from the penthouse.”

The noises behind them were enough of an answer, but he didn't blame the bodyguard for wanting to double check. After all, he would be the one getting out of the car and opening the door to the two men on the backseat, and wrong timing in that particular situation was guaranteed to be embarrassing for all parties involved.

“No, Suoh, they are not done…” the secretary replied, after taking off his glasses and letting out a disheartened sigh. “Go around the block a couple of times.”

Silence, however, only came after they had driven around for another twenty-eight minutes.

“It's silent,” the bodyguard whispered then. “I think it is safe to stop now.”

“One can only hope…”

And then, as a door opened and closed behind him, the night of mischief came to an end. From his side mirror, he watched as his boss carried a very naked and completely unconscious Takaba Akihito over his shoulder and into the building, the image of his jacket covering the photographer's immobile body bringing back memories of their early encounters.

 _‘Some things never change, I guess…’_ he thought to himself, a second before Suoh got back into the car.

“Did you tell him about Hayashi-kun?” the bodyguard asked.

“That she got her jaw dislocated in a brawl on the same day Tanimura got to Chayama?” Kirishima asked, with a concerned frown. “No, not yet.”

“At least they cracked the case they were working on.”

“Well… yes,’ the secretary conceded.

Much as he did not like Tanimura Masayoshi in the slightest, he had to admit the man had been gaining a lot of street cred as of lately.

“Mine will be in trouble.”

“Mine is always in trouble. But from what he said, none of them got seriously injured and they expect to be back in Tokyo soon.”

The serious expression on the bodyguard’s face made his frown intensify.

“What did the security team say about our trip tomorrow?”

“Nothing good, as usual,” the man went on, and in a matter of minutes they had parked on the basement at Sion. “But we should be careful in Macao. From the looks of it, the triads in Hong Kong have been acting weird, so they might be getting ready to make a move.”

“Right…”

After a mindless nod, Kirishima let his eyes drift to the concrete wall ahead.

_Make a move against whom, exactly?_

It would not be the first time his boss would get involved with Chinese organisations and their predicaments, but for once the battle lines were strangely blurred.

 

 

 


	70. Catching fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up in Macao as Fei Long struggles to keep his organisation from falling apart, and in Tokyo, Akihito tries to save face when his mother decides to pay him a surprise visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief explanation: when Fei Long tells Yoh, 'I'm glad you came back', he is referring indirectly to the events of Finder no Rakuin, in which he went to Taipei to ask Yoh for a favor, they spent the night together and parted ways the next day. I do not go into much detail here because, well, I have other plans for these two characters to give them the space they deserve! ^_^

Yoh took a long drag off his cigarette when another scream echoed inside the small room behind him. The sound didn't faze him; on any given day, it would be him with the knife and the pliers, but as of lately Fei Long had assigned him more tedious tasks, like watching over Tao and making sure the boy didn't get anywhere near the basement, or as it was, that particular door.

Babysitting was not his favorite thing, but he was not one to complain, especially not under those circumstances.

He let out a sigh when the unmistakable sound of chains tearing through flesh filled the air, the subsequent gurgling noise of a man drowning in his own blood signaling they had perhaps reached the end of that session.

The absolute silence that followed only confirmed his thoughts, and he stepped away from the door when footsteps approached.

Within seconds, Fei Long was standing in front of him, wiping his hands on a white towel now tainted with bright red spots, just like the man's otherwise pristine shirt.

"Nothing," he whispered, throwing the towel back into the room, where it landed at the feet of the now immobile - and unrecognisable - body of a Korean operative.

"Is he dead?"

"Yes."

It was easy to see that the constant challenges of the past months were finally catching up with the leader of the Baishe. Liu Fei Long had lost weight, which made the angles of his face more evident, and those, in combination with the man's pale lips, were obvious signs of many skipped meals and nights of little to no sleep.

Yoh had seen him like that before, but in a very distant past, in a very different place, and those were memories he was not willing to revisit.

"Every corpse I drag out of this basement is a strike against me," Fei Long continued, after his other subordinates had exited the area and left the two of them alone. "The Baishe is already falling apart. My men won't respect a leader who can't get the enemy to talk."

"This has nothing to do with your skill," Yoh was quick to respond. "Jingweon agents get brainwashed as part of their training, that is why torture tends to be ineffective. You're doing what you can."

When their eyes finally met, he had to suppress the urge to surrender to the pull of the dark orbs staring right back at him. He could tell Fei Long was silently asking for comfort, the kind of comfort he had only once provided but that still burnt brightly in his memory, but he knew he couldn't, he knew _they shouldn't._

And so, he stayed still.

"I'm glad you came back," the leader of the Baishe then whispered. "But your unwavering faith in me is deceitful."

"You're saying I can't be impartial?"

"No," Fei Long replied, with a faint smile. "I know you can. I wouldn't have made you my advisor if you couldn't."

That, in essence, was a lie.

He knew he had not been called back to Hong Kong because he was _impartial_ , even though his technical skills were certainly appreciated.

"But sometimes I wish we had not agreed to keep our relationship strictly professional," Yoh heard the other man confess.

 _The root of all suffering_ , he pondered, _was desire,_ and that was why they both would have to bury those feelings within themselves. Taking back a traitor like him had already cost Fei Long too much - to go any further might as well seal his demise as the leader of the Baishe.

"We can have a drink, if you want," Yoh suggested, relying on his ability to get closer to the edge but pull back before the abyss ahead claimed him.

The quiet buzzing of the other man's phone, however, made for a timely interruption.

"I'll take a rain check, if you don't mind," Fei Long replied, already walking towards the staircase. "I need to answer this."

++++

The sound of water running made Akihito open his eyes, or at least try to.

As expected after a night of fun, his mouth was dry and the bitter taste at the back of his throat made him slightly nauseated, but he had counted his beers and stopped before he was too far gone.

On second thought, though, perhaps he _had_ drunk more than he should, if the memories flashing before his eyes were anything to go by.

No wonder his entire body was sore. Asami had really pulled one on him the night before.

"Heh..." Akihito smirked contently, only to realize the shower had been turned off, and that the man was already getting ready to leave.

"And one day before my birthday..." he complained, trying to sit up. "Ugh..."

After stretching as far as his aching limbs allowed him to, the photographer climbed out of bed and ignored the semi-naked blur walking towards him.

"Teeth," he said simply, when a warm hand wrapped around his arm. "Wait."

His morning rituals were sacred, after all.

After a long, satisfied yawn, Akihito mentally revisited the to-do list for the day. Eat breakfast. Not worry about Asami. Call Mitarai. Leave for photo shoot at Shibuya. Not worry about Asami.

_It's just a routine visit to Macao._

Right? _Right._

After a quiet nod, the photographer finished brushing his hair and walked back into the bedroom.

The other man, however, had already gotten dressed and locked himself in the balcony to answer a phone call.

Nothing to worry about.

_Hopefully._

Right?

_Right._

Asami was still outside when Akihito turned on the TV, walking back to the kitchen to start breakfast. Bacon in the oven, eggs in a bowl on the counter, coffee ready to go. All according to plan.

_"...explosion in a boutique hotel in Macao left more than twenty dead..."_

One of the eggs slipped from Akihito's hand to the floor, and he rushed to the living room to turn the volume up.

_"...authorities believe the incident might have targeted the leader of one of Hong Kong's biggest triads..."_

"Shit..." the photographer muttered, eyes temporarily shifting to the balcony before his own plans for the day flew off the window.

After stubbing his toe on the couch, tripping and cursing loudly, Akihito finally located his laptop computer under one of the cushions, and wasted no time clicking on an icon at the very centre of the screen.

_"Akihito?"_

Fei Long had answered his call so quickly he had barely had time to hear the ringtone.

"Oh, hi."

 _"Hi,"_ the man replied. _"Should I understand that the ban on our communications has therefore been lifted?"_

"Yes, it has," the photographer responded, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, I've been meaning to contact you for quite a while."

_"You sound like you're doing well, although your voice is different. Are you catching a cold or something?"_

Of course, and then there was that, the hoarse voice. Apparently, he had done his fair share of screaming the night before - a great deal of it _after_ he had left the nightclub.

"Uhhh... _or something_."

He could almost hear Fei Long's smirk on the other side of the line.

 _"Ah..."_ he replied. _"I see."_

"You don't sound half bad yourself," Akihito was quick to say, before things had the chance to get even more embarrassing for him.

_"Really? Maybe that's because I just had breakfast."_

The photographer fidgeted with the hem of his T-shirt when silence settled between them.

Luckily for him, it wasn't long before Fei Long himself cut to the chase.

 _"At the risk of sounding rude, I will ask,"_ he said. " _You didn't call just to make small talk, did you?"_

"No. How are things in Macao?"

_"So you have heard the rumours."_

"They're not just rumours, though, are they?" Akihito asked. "I told Asami I wanted to come along but he said it was not the right time to pay you a visit."

He paused, his eyes once again shifting to glass door ahead and darting nervously back and forth as they tried to keep up with the man pacing the balcony.

"Are you in danger?" he whispered.

 _"I guess we all are, all the time,"_ Fei Long replied, his tone casual and calm although the pause that preceded his words had been rather foreboding. _"And you know Asami, he's a certified paranoid."_

Akihito forced himself to chuckle, even though at that point he could not see much humor in their current circumstances.

Asami was heading to a place where twenty people had been killed in an explosion... perhaps he _did_ have reasons to be paranoid, after all.

 _"But he is right,"_ Fei Long continued. _"I would rather have you here for a visit when things calmed down a little."_

"Something is burning."

Asami's thunderous voice made him jump on his seat.

"Fuck!" the photographer exclaimed, finally noticing the smoke coming out of the oven and detecting the smell of burnt bacon. "Uh, I gotta go."

After snapping his laptop closed, Akihito rushed back to the kitchen and tossed the fuming tray into the sink.

"Who were you talking to?" he heard Asami ask.

Instead of replying, the photographer rested both hands on the counter, and let his shoulders drop.

"I don't want you to go," he whispered, eyes downcast.

"What are you talking about?"

"Macao. It's not safe."

"It's never safe."

"Why go to where the trouble is, can't Fei Long come to Tokyo instead?" Akihito insisted, finally turning around to look at the man behind him. "Why take the ch--"

"He can't afford to leave his territory unguarded, that's why," Asami interrupted. "I am taking my best operatives with me, I'll be fine."

He knew there would be no point in arguing, just like there would be no point resisting when the man's slender fingers tilted his head up to cover his mouth with his.

For now, he would allow his senses to be lured by that sweet surrender, by that warmth, as the kiss intensified and they pressed their chests together.

A muffled curse escaped his throat when the doorbell rang.

"Gee, is Kirishima here, already?" he complained, frowning as they walked towards the door to open it. "Oi, do you even have a life?"

"I do, actually."

The voice that responded, though, was definitely not Asami's secretary's, and his heart stopped for a moment when he realised whom it belonged to.

_"Mom?!?"_

++++

Asami felt the corners of his mouth curl into a mischievous smirk.

True, he could have warned the photographer about his mother's arrival. After all, Kirishima was already downstairs and had witnessed the precise moment she announced herself at the reception while they talked on the phone, but why would he spoil the surprise?

Akihito's expression of pure shock was far too amusing.

" _O-Okaasan_ ," the blond man stuttered, finally remembering to bow and step out of the way so that his mother could walk in. "H-How... how did you even find this address?"

Before answering, though, the woman averted his gaze from the photographer to Asami's face, her dark brown eyes lingering on his.

"It was in the letter you sent me," she replied, eyes still fixated on the taller man in front of her. "You sent me a letter. Remember?"�

Her lips were thin and elegant, curving up in a semi-smile that was both amiable and suspicious. Just like her son, she did not seem to care that much for brands - her modest knee-length skirt, paired with a light blue sweater and a small Ace backpack made for a casual look that had probably been put together with a single 10 thousand yen bill.

Still, just like her son, she seemed to be the kind of person that owned every last bit of her attire, her presence filling the small space of the genkan as she stepped out of her sneakers to wear a particularly large pair of slippers.

" _Okaasan_ ," Asami finally said, bowing politely and trying not to laugh when the photographer wheezed by his side. "We finally meet."

"Ah, you must be Ryuichi," the woman replied, bowing back with the same fierce semi-glare that eventually slipped back to her son.

Asami felt he was witnessing some kind of silent scolding, interrupted only by Akihito mumbling something unintelligible. _Ryuichi..._ He wondered what exactly the photographer had written in the letter he had sent his parents. Had he by any chance kept his full name a secret? Had he mentioned his occupation, his age, their living arrangements...?

If not, Noriko-san was doing a great job hiding her surprise.

"My deepest apologies," Asami said at last, picking up his suitcase and bowing again. "I would be delighted to take you and your husband out for breakfast but I'm afraid I'm terribly pressed for time today," he explained. "Any chance I can book us a table at Yamadaya tomorrow for dinner?"

Akihito's mother seemed thoroughly surprised at the suggestion, but the photographer's mortified silence was even more entertaining.

"It's Akihito's birthday and I'm sure he would appreciate having us all celebrate together. Is _fugu_ a good call or would you fancy something else?"

"Asami!" Akihito hissed, his facial expression mixing surprise and the most absolute horror.

"Oh, _fugu_ is fine, it reminds me of my days in Osaka..." he heard the woman reply, her eyes finally showing some sort of clemency after piercing him relentlessly.

The days in Osaka, from what he could remember from Takaba Noriko's file, included some fond memories of her teenage years and many meals at the famous Zuboraya.

Given the woman's dreamlike expression, it paid of to have gathered info about his in-laws preferences, after all.

Akihito, as usual, was not aware of his research activities, but his narrowed eyes at the exchange suggested that at some point he would be in for a round of questions.

"My husband didn't come with me, though, he's in France," Akihito's mother explained, her eyes once again proud and serious. "Working."

"Table for three, then," Asami announced, walking out of the door before turning around to cast a final glance towards Akihito. "Are you planning on calling your friends?"

"I don't know, I'll think about it, bye."

And with that, the door was unceremoniously slammed on his face.

He chuckled, before turning on his heels and walking towards the elevator.

_'Ah, Akihito...'_

Always such a blissful distraction.

++++

"Sshhh, ssshhh..."

A few blocks from the penthouse, a flustered Suoh Kazumi tried to calm down his screaming two-month old daughter.

"You have the lungs of an opera singer, how lucky am I?" he whispered, still rocking the baby, who showed no intention of calming down.

One quick look at his wristwatch and the hard truth made him gulp.

He was running late, _again._ It was the third time that week, and that day it was even worse because international trips had very specific logistic arrangements that he was completely failing to follow.

"Shit..." he muttered, one of his hands moving to his waist.

Just then, the baby sniffled and whimpered, as if very interested in the word that had just left her father's mouth.

"You were not supposed to have heard that," he said, just for the child to start crying again, even louder than before.

He was already sweating when his doorbell rang, and unless he was very wrong, he would sweat even more pretty soon.

"Asami-sama, sir," he said, bowing to show respect but also to escape the scary glare he was getting.

"What is happening?" the other man asked.

"My apologies," Suoh replied, opening the door so that his boss and Kirishima could enter the apartment. "I had a minor setback."

He noticed when the piercing golden eyes dropped to the bundle of blankets in his arms.

"Quite literally..." his boss whispered in response, before slowly averting his gaze back to his face. "How many nurses have you hired?"

"Three."

"And how did you manage to find yourself unassisted with three nurses at your disposal?"

Suoh had little time to be embarrassed. He was still mentally preparing his answer when the man took the child from his hands, and cradled her on his arms with the proficiency and ease of a seventy year old grandmother.

"I... I mistakenly assigned the morning nurse an afternoon shift, and the night nurse left one hour ago," Suoh explained, his voice low and carrying a very noticeable note of confusion as he watched the baby snuggle against his boss's chest, whimpering quietly. "They have very similar names..."

"Why don't you just drop the child at daycare?"

He knew he was probably frowning. And so, within less than a minute, his little Sayuri had stopped bawling, her still watery eyes fixated on the face of the man holding her.

Whether because of fascination, curiosity or fear, he couldn't really tell.

"Suoh?"

"E-Excuse me?"

"Why don't you drop her at Sion's daycare?"

Once again, he let his eyes shift to Kirishima, who had raised both eyebrows, lips pursed and fingers laced over his lap as if he was already giving him the condolences for his response.

Unlike the secretary, his boss did not yet know that Suoh was committed to providing his heir with the kind of comfort the girl's mother had denied her, even if that meant making gigantic adjustments to his routine.

"I want to be an emotionally present parent," he then replied, staring blankly at the wall ahead.

As expected, when he averted his eyes back to his boss's face, the golden orbs were dangerously serious.

"Oh, do you?" the man replied, his voice just as menacing. "And do you want to be an _employed_ parent too?"

As if sensing the moment of tension, the baby whimpered louder, but one glare was all it took for Asami Ryuichi to send her back into a state of hypnotic silence.

"It's not a rhetorical question, Suoh."

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he heard his boss respond, calmly raising an eyebrow. "Then either hire a fourth nurse or start considering daycare. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, as the other man passed the child back to him.

"She needs a diaper change."

When his eyes shifted to Kirishima for the third time, the secretary finally spoke.

"Don't look at me, are you insane?"

"Get it over and done with, we need to get going."

"H-Hai," Suoh stuttered, his heart racing at the prospect of changing his daughter's diaper for the first time, alone, with his boss and Kirishima waiting for him.

But because fate found it fair to cut him some slack, he had just taken the first step towards the baby's room when the intercom rang to announce the arrival of the substitute nurse.

"I didn't know being a single parent would be this hard," Suoh whispered, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and deliberately avoiding thinking of how hard it was for parents who had no help at all, let alone a team of nurses. "What were the odds... I thought women were more attached to children than men?"

"Li Jiao will come to her senses, eventually," Kirishima responded, as soon as they entered the elevator.

"No, she won't."

His boss's tone was so full of certainty that both he and Kirishima frowned.

"She told me that one day she broke her son's arm, Hideki," the man then explained, eyes and voice showing very little interest in the story he was retelling. "She was angry, tired, he was being a nuisance, she snapped. She thinks that made her a failure as a mother, and she doesn't want to fail again."

Suoh felt one of his eyes twitch. Part of his job included understanding that Asami Ryuichi had access to information about everyone and everything, but the fact Li Jiao had chosen to share something so intimate with _him_ , and not with the father of her child, made the bodyguard extremely uncomfortable.

"She didn't want me to tell you but whatever, this has gone too far. You should go talk to her."

"I have tried to track the boxes she sends every week--"

"She sends boxes every week?" Kirishima asked.

"Yes..." Suoh replied quietly. "Baby clothes. Milk. Toys. She's using a courier service, I recognized the handwriting. But there is never sender info."

And to be honest, he didn't have time to play hide and seek, his life was already too chaotic without having to track down his baby's mother.

But now...

"Suoh..."

The three of them had just reached the black BMW parked outside when their boss spoke again.

"Just a brief reminder that I need my Head of Security to keep his head in the game," the man said, his imposing voice leaving no room for hesitation. "Now more than ever, who knows the state of things in Macao."�

"Yes, sir."

Although his personal life seemed to be taking a huge chunk of his energy as of lately, Suoh had no intention whatsoever of letting his boss down.

++++

"Getting word of your marriage through a letter, learning about your first big exhibit from a post on the Internet... The things I have to go through!"

When his mother started speaking again as soon as Asami left the penthouse, Akihito braced himself for the lecture of a lifetime.

Much to his surprise, however, the brief rant was the only thing that left the woman's mouth for the next ten minutes as she walked around the apartment, looking at the pictures on the wall, studying the furniture and occasionally humming her approval.

"Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" she finally asked.

"Sure, go ahead," Akihito replied, scratching his elbow as he pointed to a corridor to her left. "It's the second door on the right."

And then, not for the first time that morning, he felt his heart skip a beat.

" _No!_ " he screamed, rushing ahead and blocking his mother's access to the bathroom when she touched the doorknob. "No, just... just gimme a minute."

Dodging the woman's curious stare, he entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him, his eyes easily locating a studded vibrator by the sink, surrounded by small bottles of cleaning spray, lube, a ball gag and anal beads.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuuuuck_..." Akihito hissed, clumsily dropping one of the bottles as he tried to hide the items in one of the drawers. "Fuck, if she opens _any_ part of this cabinet I'm so fucking screwed..."

"Akihito?" the woman asked, after knocking on the door twice. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm great."

_Shit._

Who knew _what else_ was lying around in the other rooms. He and Asami tended to be very organised with their equipment but he knew for one that there were bottles of lube in every corner of the penthouse.

And, indeed, as soon as he walked out of the bathroom and spotted his mother by the kitchen counter, he quickly realised the woman was holding a tube with the kind of product that was not meant for culinary use.

"I will have that, if you don't mind," he said, snatching the container from his mother's hands.

"You shouldn't leave that next to the balsamic vinegar, you know," she replied quietly, raising an eyebrow as she looked at her own nails, the tone of her voice making it evident she had put two and two together a long time ago. "A moment of distraction and it might ruin your... _salad_."

_Great._

His mother had just found out that he and Asami had a habit of having sex on the kitchen counter, just _great_.

 _'What a classy way to come out to my parents,'_ he had time to lament.

"It's a nice kitchen."

"We don't usually receive guests here," Akihito replied, after clearing his throat to try and hide his embarrassment. "We almost never do, actually."

"Never? But you used to like cooking with your friends."

"Oh, I still do," he explained, trying to remember the very few times Kou or Takato had spent more than half an hour at the penthouse. "But now we meet at Kou's."

 _'Which is where I spent most of my time because Asami travels a lot to do business with international mafia leaders, among other things,'_ was what crossed his mind.

"His building has a swimming pool," he said instead.

Once again, he felt the tips of his ears burn. Lying to his mother, or hiding the truth in that case, always made him feel sick to his stomach, especially because he knew that just like Asami, she could see right through him every single time.

"How is your sight going?" she asked, after a long minute of silence.

"Why are you asking?"

"I read it in the page of your exhibit that you suffered an accident and became _visually impaired_."

"Ah, that..."

When her hand covered his and gave it a gentle squeeze, he felt his chest tighten.

So much had happened to him... But much as he had been blessed with caring parents, he didn't see the point of worrying them unnecessarily by going over the details of his misfortunes.

"Son, what have you been doing?" Akihito heard his mother ask, this time with much more sorrow and urgency in her voice. "Why didn't you call?"

"I-- It was work, I was-- I was investigating and, and..."

Eyes still downcast, he forced himself to inhale deeply before speaking again.

"I didn't want you to worry."

"Akihito..."

When the grip on his hand grew even tighter and the woman's shoulder shook after a quiet sob, Akihito rubbed the top of his mother's hand with his thumb in slow, comforting circles.

"Mom... Please don't cry," he whispered, receiving two energetic pats on the shoulder in response.

"Ok."

"I'm so much better now, it is not as bad as it sounds."

"Ok, ok."

"Ok?"

"And you are still taking pictures?"

A small smile curled the corners of his mouth.

If she had seen the website with his exhibit details, then she had seen some of his pictures as well.

"Did you see them?" he asked.

"They are beautiful," his mother replied, and her voice now showed no sign of sadness. "Oh, Akihito, you are so talented..."

The photographer knew her well enough to appreciate the value of those words. Takaba Noriko, after all, was not easy to please, and hardly ever wasted time with fake compliments. She was very critical even of her own husband and his accomplishments, which reminded him...

"So... dad's in France?"

"He is."

"I thought he wanted to retire? At least he did the last time we talked," Akihito responded. "Go take a seat, I will make us some tea."

"Heh... You know your father, he can't resist an adventure."

"What's he working on?"

"A documentary."

"About...?"

He raised his head to look at the living room when his mother drew in a long breath, her chin resting on one of her hands.

"Wines."

He frowned at the unexpected response.

Even though his father's portfolio was pretty diverse, a documentary about wines did not sound much like an adventure.

As if finally noticing his confused silence, his mother turned to look at him.

"Racism and religious intolerance," she said. "He keeps trying to find his way into communities where he is not welcome, it is driving me insane."

"As usual," the photographer whispered back, briefly revisiting some turbulent moments of his father's career. "But he can take care of himself."

"He is getting old," the woman retorted. "Last year he cracked a rib working in the garden. In the _garden_!" she exclaimed. "But, proud as he is, he tells everyone it was during a photo shoot in Haiti."

They both chuckled at the old man's antics, but in no time, his mother's voice was serious again.

"Everyone but me, of course. He knows better than to lie to me about his injuries."

The zinger made Akihito clear his throat, and he didn't even need to see that well to know he was at the receiving end of a rather intense glare.

"How long has he been in France?" he asked, hoping to divert the attention back to his father and _his_ acts of mischief.

"Almost four months."

"So he doesn't know yet."

"No, but I left him a note."

"You left him a note about my letter?"

"Yes, a note _and_ your letter," his mother explained. "Just so he would be prepared for the content, you know how dramatic he can be sometimes."

"Right..."

He knew that very well. If his mother was all reason and no drama, his father tended to be the very opposite.

"So you got engaged to _Asami_ Ryuichi."

The teapot he was holding nearly slipped to the ground at the mention of the man's name.

"No wonder you just told us his first name..." she went on. "Such a celebrity."

"Yeah, he's... he's pretty famous."

"He is. And a very mysterious man, too."

_'Please don't ask me what he does for a living, please don't ask--'_

"Very handsome," the woman said, dropping the suspicious tone of moments prior. "And well, all things considered, if he can find the time to make plans for your birthday, he's got my blessing."

Akihito took that moment to return to the living room with a tray. The next few minutes went by without awkward silences, tears or embarrassing questions, and he could have simply continued sipping his tea without a care in the world.

Instead, he opted to address the very obvious elephant in the room.

"Right... So we are not going to talk about it?"

"Hmm?"

"Asami's a _man_ ," he whispered. "I'm getting married... _to a man_."

"I noticed that."

Akihito felt his jaw slacken at the extremely concise response.  

"So that's it?"

"What?"

"I don't know, I... I expected... more."

"More?" he heard his mother ask. "What part of my reaction is not living up to your expectations?"

"Aren't you gonna ask me... I don't know, how we met, how long this thing has been going on..."

"This 'thing'?"

All of a sudden, he wished he had not started that conversation. Now that they were getting down to business, he felt strangely vulnerable and anxious.

"You mean, your relationship with him, or _being into men_?"

Akihito bit his lower lip as hard as he could to stop himself from crying.

He couldn't tell if his mother's tone was marked by disappointment, disdain, both, or neither, and the fear of what she would say next made his chest shake slightly.

"Akihito..."

When the slender, gentle fingers tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, the tears he had been holding back started streaming down the sides of his face like a broken dam.

"Son, why are you so upset?"

"I'm sorry," he sobbed.

"Why?"

"B-Because I know this is not what you wanted."

"Pfff, as if you knew what I want, as if you had a clue," his mother replied, lowering his head onto her chest and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Silly boy...You think I hadn't noticed? You were not like the other boys your age..."

The comment made him lift his head for a moment.

"But how?" he asked, his voice nasal and hoarse. "How did you know?"

"I know you like I know the palm of my hand," the woman replied. "I changed your diapers, _baka_."

"Then why did you keep talking about marriage... and kids..."

"Because I was selfish, and because I didn't know any better," she said, pausing to give him another kiss, this time on the forehead. "I don't want you to feel bad about yourself. You did nothing wrong, there is nothing wrong with you."

Her voice was so loving, so calm, so soothing, that Akihito felt he had just been wrapped in a very warm, very fluffy blanket. Even though his nose was blocked and his eyes were probably swollen and red, the waves of relief rolling inside his chest made him feel ten times lighter, and safe.

"Thank you."

After another kiss, his mother urged him to move to the side so that she could stand up.

"Now, now, what kind of food do you have in that fridge?" she said, walking back to the kitchen. "I feel like egg rolls this morning, what about you?"

The mention of eggs made his stomach grumble loudly.

Now that other concerns were taken out of the way, he was so hungry he wouldn't even bother with the menu.

"Sounds great," he replied contently.

++++

The casino where Liu Fei along would meet his international business partners was surrounded by an infinitude of black SUVs and men in suits. At the very centre of a hidden island to the north of Taipa, the place was too hard to reach to be crawling with journalists and other curious eyes, and his absolute control of the entry points guaranteed that at least that afternoon they would not have to deal with any other unpleasant surprises.

 _'Though, to be honest,'_ he told himself, as rows and rows of his operatives bowed as he made his way to one of the reserved betting rooms, _'I'm not sure meeting with Asami Ryuichi and Mikhail Arbatov fits my definition of pleasant...'_

As always, the Russian leader was the first one to arrive, order a drink and make himself comfortable at the three card poker table.

"Ah... Fei Long!" he called out.

"You. _Again_."

"Yes. Me, again," Mikhail responded, his deep blue eyes still averted to the table as he shuffled a deck of cards. "Looks like we only meet in times of crisis, these days."

"These days?" Fei Long scoffed. "You have a very peculiar sense of humor."

He couldn't remember a single time in which meeting Mikhail Arbatov wasn't preceded or followed by all kinds of nasty events.

As if coming to that same conclusion, the corners of the blond man's mouth curled into a malicious smirk.

"Perhaps we should try meeting outside business hours, for once."

"You would think..." Fei Long replied, his eyes shifting to the opposite side of the room when the doors were pushed open to let in a very tall man wearing an overcoat and sunglasses.

"And here he is, finally."

Mikhail didn't even try to hide his disdain as he spoke.

"Looks like you've really taken a liking to the life of a commoner, Ryuichi," he said, putting down the cards to take another sip from his drink. "Getting married, being late for business... Next thing we know, you'll be flying commercial airlines."

With his trademark indifferent expression, Asami took off his sunglasses, folded his coat over the arm of a chair, and took his seat.

"What's the world coming to..." Mikhail went on, his cobalt eyes once again shining with mischief as he dealt the cards with the skill and quirks of someone who had obviously worked as a croupier at some point of his life.

"What?" he raised an eyebrow when the Japanese man put his cards down, looking extremely bored. "Are you not going to play?"

When Asami lifted his murderous eyes to the Russian leader, sliding a 5K chip over to the 'Play' marking on the table, Fei Long took the opportunity to study his own cards, a two, a five and a ten, all of different suits.

How very appropriate that he had been dealt a shitty hand.

"I fold," he said, pushing his cards to the side.

"Off to a bad beginning, I see," Asami remarked, an eyebrow raised as he lit up a cigarette.

"A three of spades, a seven of spades and a nine of hearts," Mikhail then announced, revealing his cards. "Dealer does not qualify."

When he glanced at Asami's hand, he saw the man had nothing either.

"You too would have gotten even money, Fei Long," the self-appointed dealer whispered, his voice casual and amused.

"Sometimes it's better to play safe," Fei Long replied.

"Sometimes..."

It was just a meaningless round of three-card poker, but the leader of the Baishe knew he was being tested.

Asami and Arbatov were birds of prey, after all, but at the end of the day, _so was he_.

After a sigh, he looked at his new cards, and found out they were slightly better this time around.

"Dealer has a flush," Mikhail announced. "A pair..." he said, looking at Asami's cards, and then revealing his. "High card. Sorry, gentlemen. Better luck next time."

With a smirk, he collected the chips from both players and started shuffling the cards again.

"Fei Long, what is going on in your side of the woods?" the Russian leader then explained, as he dealt the new hands.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Three of my shipments to Hong Kong were intercepted at the port, I thought I had a protection and distribution agreement with the Baishe?"

Mikhail's question was the cue for Asami to cast a sideways glance towards him.

He had been trying his best to ensure that details of internal fractures in the Baishe were kept secret, especially from the two men in that room.

Perceived weakness, in their world, was pretty much a death sentence.

"Have the terms and conditions of your services changed, as of lately?"

"That incident is being investigated," Fei Long replied, trying to focus on his cards even though at that point he couldn't possibly care less about them.

"What about _your_ incident, Ryuichi?"

"What's with all the questions?" he heard Asami reply, the low, grave tone of his voice a warning in itself. "I don't recall naming you as liaison agent, Arbatov, and I have no obligation to report to you."

"Always the alpha male, aren't you?"

"Three of a kind."

"Good for you."

This time around, both he and the CEO of Sion had better cards than Mikhail, and the man took that moment to put the deck away and lace his fingers on top of the table.

"Well, here is the problem, gentlemen," he then explained. "Whoever it is that you two pissed off, they are coming in guns blazing."

After raising his empty glass to draw the attention of the only waiter in the room, he continued.

"They're fucking up my business in Hong Kong, they are causing me PR problems in Japan with all the Omi bait-and-switch," he said, his voice still casual although his eyes were now slightly narrowed. "And so... Since I just happened to get caught in the crossfire, I feel it's just fair that I get informed of any potential leads."

"Other than the fact that my incident is somehow related to the Omi, your former business partners?" Asami asked.

"Where did you get that information?"

"My sources are none of your business."

"Have you been tracking Tanimura as well?" Mikhail asked.

"Tanimura?"

Fei Long, who had remained quiet during the exchange, finally decided to butt in.

So now that Japanese cop was being used as a source... When exactly had he agreed to work for Asami Ryuichi?

"You have, haven't you?" Mikhail asked again, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he continued to stare at the other man. "Does your daughter know?"

"Leave her out of this."

The low, menacing tone of Asami's voice made Fei Long turn his head, just to find the golden eyes filled with the kind of undistilled anger that tended to end up with all of them shooting at each other.

Mikhail had just opened his mouth to reply when the leader of the Baishe cut him short.

"This is pointless," he said. "If we are just going to sit here and speculate... then we might as well call this meeting off. I suggest we try to be more objective, for once."

Surprisingly, neither man chose to question his logic.

"The Korean Mafia has turned against the Baishe. My operatives have gathered enough intel to conclude they are working with a rival triad, which one is yet to be determined," Fei Long continued, his gazed fixated on the small pile of chips in front of his hands. "As to the rumor that they would try to use Patricia Shen to trigger a triad war between the Baishe and the Sun On Yee..."

He raised his eyes to look at the other two men, and saw that they both looked particularly interested in how he would finish that sentence.

"That's all it is. A rumor," he concluded, taking a sip from his drink. "For the past three months, infiltrated agents have investigated the area where she was supposed to be--"

"Yasu?" Asami interrupted.

"Yes," Fei Long replied. "Nothing. Not a sign that she was ever there."

"Who did you send as agents?" Mikhail asked. "Men or women?"

"I don't see how that is relevant."

"It's a human trafficking ring operated by the Baishe," the Russian leader explained. "I am just assuming that if you sent a team of elite _male_ triad members to do the field work, it is unsurprising that they found nothing."

Fei Long raised both eyebrows for the fraction of a second. The Baishe did not have any female agents that were remotely qualified for such a mission. In fact, as far as he could tell, women didn't have much of a presence in Chinese triads...

"He's right."

The words made Fei Long blink slowly.

Asami Ryuichi agreeing with Mikhail Arbatov... What was the world coming to, indeed.

"If she is being kept hostage, there is no point sending men who can pass up as the kidnappers themselves," Asami continued, smashing what was left of his cigarette on as ashtray. "You need a potential victim."

"A woman. Young," Mikhail added. "Preferably foreign."

"And then what? She gets taken, sold, put to work in a brothel, and I should expect she will continue to report to me?" Fei Long retorted. "You two cannot honestly think that is a good idea."

"You just need the right woman."

"You are making it sound awfully simple, Mikhail."

"We can use one of my female associates," said Asami, just to elicit a scoff from the man sitting across from him.

"No," the Russian leader replied, shaking his head. "Not one of the escorts from your private collection, Ryuichi. They might be very skilled but not for this kind of task."

"Don't you even--"

"It needs to be _her_."

The table shook violently when Asami grabbed Mikhail by the collar and slammed his head against the velvety green surface.

"If I get word you ever contacted her again--"

"She is beautiful and young, she has the skills," Mikhail interrupted, his voice still calm even though one of his cheeks had just been forced against a pile of chips. "She knows how to fight, she's half Japanese--"

"She's _not_ half Japanese!"

Asami's galloping irritation only seemed to amuse the Russian leader even more.

The man certainly had a death wish.

"Asami, let go," Fei Long said simply. "He's just saying that to rile you up."

 _'And it always works, apparently,'_ he completed mentally.

One forceful slam later, with a reasonable amount of chips jumping from the table, the man finally let go of a still smirking Mikhail Arbatov.

"I will send you a list with the names of people I am willing to recruit," Asami said quietly, his forehead wrinkled by a deep frown as he stood up and put on his coat. "This meeting is over."

"I am the one that called for the meeting," Fei Long quickly responded, getting to his feet as well. " _I_ am the one that decides when it is over."

For a very long moment, all they did was stare at each other. Worst case scenario, they would end up punching each other on the face, but at the very least he would ensure that while in his territory, the last word was _his_.

"Are you done?" Asami asked. "I'm sure Arbatov already has a hard on, so you can drop the act."

Indeed, a quick glance at the Russian leader and the way he was discreetly biting his lower lip left very room for imagination.

"We will not contact the girl."

"Oh, come on!" Mikhail protested.

"I'll be waiting for your list," Fei Long continued, ignoring the opposition as he excused himself and walked towards the door. "Feel free to enjoy the rest of the casino while you're here."

Before exiting the room, however, he cast a final look at the men still sitting at the table.

As expected, Asami was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, probably detecting that his energy levels had dropped incredibly fast during the final section of the meeting.

_That man knew him too well._

++++

Following his boss's instructions, Kirishima Kei stayed outside the Gran Plaza Casino during the afternoon talks. The atmosphere, as usual, was loaded with tension and suspicion, with operatives from different countries and under different leaderships exchanging less than amiable looks as they walked around the area.

After less than an hour, he narrowed his eyes when Mikhail Arbatov and his advisors left the main building to enter the only white limousine parked outside, followed closely by Liu Fei Long and a man wearing sunglasses, who he quickly recognised as Yoh.

 _'Now that was strangely uneventful,_ ' the secretary thought to himself when the SUVs around the casino started taking off, and his boss walked past the main door with Suoh right behind.

"Kirishima," he heard the man say as soon as he entered the black BMW.

"Yes, sir?"

"Contact Sachi, tell him to meet me in Sion on Monday after my meeting with Kuroda."

"Certainly."

After a quick glance at the rear view mirror, the secretary noticed that he was not going to get much more than that for at least another half hour.

His boss was staring intently out of the window, his forehead creased with a wrinkle of concern.  

"How many men do we have in Shiga?" the baritone voice asked, many minutes later.

"Do you mean, managers or inf--"

"How many agents?"

_Agents._

Also known as highly skilled, extensively trained professional assassins.

"Five," Kirishima replied, after a quick search through his mental archives. "Maybe six."

"Schedule a meeting with them as well, I want to organize a siege in Yasu."

The words made Suoh lift his head to look at the rear view mirror as well, his face showing just as much concern as his.

Sieges had to be some of the most logistically challenging operations he had ever been a part of, not to mention a public relations nightmare.

"A siege?" Kirishima then asked, hoping he would get at least the beginning of an explanation.

Instead, his question was met with more introspective silence.

"Fei Long accepted help far too easily," his boss said at last. "Under normal circumstances I would suspect it's just part of his usual scheming... but this time, I'm afraid he really needs it."

That kind of information still didn't give him any solid, practical pointers to work with, but at least he could now understand the gravity of the situation.

Asami Ryuichi was not the kind of man that would organize a siege just to lend a friendly hand to Liu Fei Long...

"The Baishe is on the verge of collapse," the man on the backseat concluded, before the car was filled with silence until the very end of the trip.


	71. (Dis)Illusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: long scene in Purgatory with Masa, Sachi and Wei Shen at the end but there are certain details there that will be very important to understand a big event later on. Also worth noting: Asami is not much of an empath, so although he has shown some improvement on the emotional front, the way he reacts to the events of this chapter reflects years of relying on a very cold and calculating way of thinking. Let's just say that he and Akihito live in two different planets when it comes to dealing with complex emotions XD.

**_Torai Correctional Facility, Yokohama, 10 years ago_ **

_With a bored sigh, a teenage Takaba Akihito dragged his feet to the small room where he was being expected._

_“Not that I dislike you or anything, Takaba-kun,” one of the educators told him when he cracked his knuckles, still looking far from amused. “But four times is enough, right? I really hope I won’t be seeing you again.”_

_“Who knows…” Akihito replied with a sly smile, his eyes hidden by long bangs of blond hair, his lips the only part of his face visible under them._

_“Heh…”_

_The man said his goodbyes after sliding the main door open, and Akihito bowed respectfully in response, his eyes quickly shifting to the shape of another man clumsily signing papers at the reception desk._

_“What happened to your hands?” he asked his father, who was struggling to keep the pen in place as the receptionist held the clipboard for him._

_His efforts to even try to make his signature legible were commendable, considering the fact both of his hands were in casts._

_“I suffered an accident at work,” the older Takaba replied quietly, his hazel eyes flashing with poorly hidden irritation behind the silver-framed glasses._

_“Where's your camera?”_

_“It broke.”_

_“Tsk,” Akihito snorted. “Looks like I'm not the only one who should not be trusted with a Nikon…”_

_Instead of taking that chance to remind him once again, what an irresponsible, reckless kid he was, and that no, he would never get close to one of his cameras ever again, Akihito saw his father lower his eyes, as if anger had suddenly been replaced by sadness and shame._

_And for his old man, an experienced photojournalist and member of the “Magnum Photo”, to be affected by an accident at work, something really bad must have happened._

_“I'm sorry,” Akihito said quietly. “I'm sorry I broke your camera last year, I'll get a job and get you a new--”_

_“Let's go home.”_

_Feeling even worse at the absence of a lecture than he normally did when there was one, Akihito followed in silence when his father walked towards the door, and they left._

++++

"I can do it,” present day Akihito told the man by his side, after he had filled him in on the details of his meeting in Macao.

"Do what?" Asami asked.

"You need someone to be the bait, yeah? I don't look my age, I can--"

"No."

"Why not? I bet it's not only girls that they take, they--"

"Akihito."

The photographer stopped midsentence at the man's serious tone.

"I'm not letting you take part in this."

"But you will let your daughter do it?"

"Of course I'm not letting her do it either."

Without another word, Asami left the bedroom after picking up a tie from a drawer, and Akihito's eyes shifted to the clothes spread on a chair in a far corner of the room.

_'It certainly turns other people on too...'_

It had been the daring choice of outfit from that night at the club that made his mind click. He had it in him, he had worked undercover before, he could do it. To infiltrate a human trafficking ring was the kind of work that could finally give him a final boost towards becoming a respected photojournalist, and if by doing that he could help rescue Wei's sister and somehow assist Fei Long and Asami in the process, even better.

Asami, however, didn't seem inclined to give him a shot, and he had to wonder if that was because of his past predicaments in undercover missions, or if it was because the man thought he was an easy target now that his eyes were not the same.

Either way, Akihito was willing to prove him wrong.

"Well. Then you have a prob--"

"I don't have a problem."

As soon as he entered the living room, Asami once again cut him short.

"In fact, this is Fei Long's problem, not mine, not yours, if one of his subsidiaries has gone rogue then it is _his_ job to get it back on track," the CEO continued. "I'm not using my own family as bait, and my decision is final."

_'My own family.'_

They really had come a long way, and Akihito wished that the words had come in a less preposterous time, so that he could tease the _man-that-didn't-do-relationships_ about the bold change of heart. At that point, though, the adrenaline flooding his veins primed him for combat, and he refused to accept the invisible chains Asami was trying to tie him in, even if he did so with the best of intentions.

"I'm not just gonna sit here and wait for things to get worse," the photographer replied, his low tone making it clear that decision was far from final.

And that if it were, it would not be respected.

"Maybe going out there is what will make things worse, have you thought about that?" Asami asked, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Not to mention it is the Baishe we are talking about, did you actually forget that they kidnapped you not that long ago? Have you even thought about what they would do to you if they recognised you?"

The 'not that long ago', in that case, was almost three years back, so long ago that Akihito even felt those memories belonged to a different lifetime.

"What are the odds I would come across the same people that kidnapped me back then?" the photographer asked, with a frown of disbelief.

"All it takes is one."

"Then what? Are you really just gonna put the area under siege so that no one goes in, no one goes out, no one does anything?"

"It's the best--"

"You're just gonna let that girl die?"

"She might already be dead, Akihito," Asami replied, his voice also hitting a dangerous crescendo that threatened to match his. "There were several international crime units working on her case for years, and now all of a sudden her precise location is out in the open for everyone to see? This is probably just a trap."

"Who is 'everyone', Fei Long didn't know! How did you find out?"

"It doesn't matter!"

At that point, they were openly screaming at each other, but Asami put on his jacket and continued to get ready for work as if nothing serious was actually happening.

"And what is it with you and the hero complex, you barely know who she is. Or was."

"She's Wei Shen's sister," Akihito replied, drawing in a deep breath after the other man's voice regained its calm, almost disinterested tone.

"And?" he asked.

"What are you planning to do?"

"I told you already, I will wait," Asami replied, one of his hands already resting on the doorknob. "I have a meeting with Kuroda tomorrow, now is not the time to do anything rash."

"Fine..." Akihito said quietly, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

The resigned silence that followed made the other man turn his head, put down his suitcase and walk back to him.

"Hey."

"What?"

"It’s your birthday today, don't start the day like that,” Asami whispered, before cupping his chin to lift his face and coax his lower lip into his mouth.

"Whose fault is that?"

"Your own, and you know it."

"Idiot..."

In a display of pure stubbornness that only seemed to amuse the other man even more, the photographer turned his head to the side, frowning.

"I'll be back at five to pick you up, then we can go get your mother at the... where's she staying again?"

"At the Centurion Grand."

"Ah, that,” he heard Asami reply, before checking his phone and stepping outside. “Remind me to book her a room at the Ritz-Carlton when I get back."

When the door clicked shut, Akihito let out a defeated sigh.

Having dinner with Asami and his mother was not the kind of celebration he had anticipated, but since the chances of getting out of it were slim, he might as well prepare for the awkwardness to come.

++++

In Chayama, Mine put down his backpack and watched as Maya said her goodbyes to the group of girls she had been mentoring for the past few months.

It was almost lunchtime, and the warm weather made him think of going for a swim before they left town.

Too bad that they did not have that kind of time.

Tanimura had already taken the first train to Tokyo after exchanging a few cryptic words with Maya and giving him a cold, clipped _sayonara_.

Clearly, their disastrous interaction in the night of his arrival was still weighing him down.

"Are you leaving?"

The high-pitched voice behind him brought him back to reality.

"Yes," he said, turning his head to look at one of Maya's pupils, Ichika, whose crush on him appeared to have survived the revelation that the past few months of their lives were all part of an undercover operation.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice much lower than before.

"Tokyo."

"Can't you stay a little longer?"

"You don't need us anymore."

His response made the girl gasp quietly, and when she raised her saddened eyes to his face, Mine could see they were glistening with unshed tears.

"Will you ever come back?" she asked. "To visit?"

"I don't know."

Realising that his answer was probably not what the aspiring hairstylist wanted to hear, Mine crossed his arms and spoke again, trying to sound more cheerful.

"Maya probably will. She's gotten really attached to you all."

"Her mother was born here, did you know that?" the girl asked, her eyes once again lighting up with excitement. "Her stepfather too."

"Yeah, I know."

"Here."

"What is this?" Mine asked, when she held one of his wrists and placed a plastic keychain in the shape of a pineapple on the palm of his hand.

"A good luck charm."

"Thanks..."

"I hope you come back one day."

Chances were that he wouldn't, but he didn't have the heart to tell her.

"Bye-bye," the girl waved, walking back to the other side of the street with quick little steps.

He had just put the keychain into his pocket when Maya joined him, female voices still bidding their goodbyes behind her.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah..." she replied, putting on her sunglasses after waving to the small group one last time. "They'll be fine."

"What's next? After Tokyo?"

He watched when the girl leaned against the side of their rented car, arms crossed, her still swollen chin tilted upwards.

Her hair was the shortest it had ever been, and the usual sweatpants and T-shirt had given way to an edgy business suit that would make her father proud.

As a matter of fact, that was the first time Maya reminded Mine of Asami Ryuichi.

Before, despite the obvious physical similarities, the girl seemed to have too much of a temper for him to see the _Asami_ hidden underneath, but now, for some reason, the commanding presence of the father was evident in the daughter, whose lips had curled in a disturbingly familiar smirk.

"How about exposing the idol industry?" she said.

"You mean the greedy agents that make the girls sell their bodies as a side business?"

“Yeah."

"Don't do that," Mine replied, unable to hold back a little smile. "You will break the heart of two thirds of all middle-aged men in Japan."

"Someone needs to do it," Maya chuckled in response, before striking a ridiculous pose that made her look like a brainless schoolgirl. "Here, do I look the part?"

"Nah, you're too old."

"Shut up."

"You're an old hag by their standards," he said, his grin intensifying. "Most idols retire when they reach your age."

"Let's use you as a male idol, then. _You_ look like you're still in your teens."

"I can't," he answered, rubbing one of his eyes as he laughed. "I don't look like a virgin."

"No, you don't."

He watched as the girl giggled for a while, and felt that his own facial muscles were beginning to ache.

They were almost never used, after all.

When he shoved his hands back into his pockets, his fingers brushed past a metallic object that he had been meaning to return to its rightful owner for a couple of hours.

"Is this your ring?" he asked.

"Yes," Maya replied, her smile fading into an expression of absolute surprise. "Yes, it is! Where was it?"

"Near the river bank," Mine replied, giving her back the accessory. "I found it earlier this morning, when I went for a walk."

"Thank you so much..."

He could tell, just by looking at Maya's elated expression, that recovering that ring was like reconnecting with a happier moment of her life.

"It's too big for my finger now..."

"You can get a new chain."

"Yeah...." she whispered, still staring at the object in her hands. "I will."

"Did he give it to you? Kou?"

"He did," the girl replied, after a melancholic nod. "A long time ago, when he asked me to be his girlfriend."

No wonder she had been so desperate when the ring went missing.

At the very least, she had memories to cling to, even if the object of her affection was many miles away, the two of them separated by things more serious than just distance.

"What's the deal with you and Masa?"

The unexpected question made his pulse race for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"I saw the way you look at him."

"I d--"

"If you like him, tell him," the girl interrupted, putting the ring into her pocket and taking a step closer to him. "We sometimes think people will just know, but that's stupid," she said. "They need to hear it. They need to be sure."

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

If anything, Maya's reluctance in not addressing her own unresolved feelings towards Kou was one of the main reasons why they had ended up on a wild goose chase in the outskirts of Kansai.

"If I go talk to Masa..." he said, willing to trade his own dignity for a more congruent future for both of them, "...will you talk to Kou?"

"It's not the same thing."

"'If you like him, tell him.' Right?"

With an eyeroll, the girl realised her own words had come back to bite her in the ass.

"Right..." she conceded, with a somewhat annoyed frown. "I feel like I'm being put on the spot here, how did that happen?"

"Will you talk to him?" Mine insisted. "When we get to Tokyo?"

"Yes."

"Ok."

With a handshake, they sealed the deal, picked their backpacks and got into the car.

Tokyo - and their unfinished affairs - awaited them.

++++

"The Ritz-Carlton, huh? Wow."

To his surprise, Akihito's mother did not make much of a scene when he passed her the keycard to the hotel's legendary suite 247.

He had timed his approach carefully, just in case the photographer had inherited his tendency to get offended by expensive gifts from the woman sitting right next to him. For very long minutes, he had merely watched the two other people in the room and their brief interactions - Akihito looked beyond nervous but stunning in a pair of dark jeans, white shirt and green bomber jacket; his mother, in an elegant mid-length black dress that matched the sharpness and grace of her gestures, was on the other hand as calm and unaffected as they come.

Given the pleasant atmosphere in the finely decorated dining room, booked exclusively for their use, he thought he might as well make a good impression.

"My company and the Ritz have several business agreements," he said, bowing politely as the woman across from him looked at the card with a raised eyebrow.

"You shouldn't have bothered."

"It's my pleasure."

Akihito seemed to be observing the exchange with apprehension, as if he himself did not know exactly what to expect.

"Thank you very much," the woman finally replied, bringing her long fingers together in front of her face, and bowing with an enigmatic smile that curled the corners of her mouth.

By her side, the photographer let out a very audible sigh of relief.

"Well, I'm starving, what are you guys gonna have?"

"I already told the chef to send us all the items in the menu," Asami replied.

"Of course you did..." Akihito whispered quietly in response.

"Oh my, this is going to be quite the meal," Noriko-san laughed, even though her eyes still showed a very noticeable hint of suspicion.

His soon to be mother-in-law, Asami pondered, was a very difficult person to read.

Despite that, the evening looked promising as they savoured the dishes being placed in front of them. Nibbling on a thin slice of tuna, Asami let his eyes shift from the tall windows to a voracious Akihito, who seemed torn between devouring a bowl of deep-fried tofu and humming his approval at the fugu rice porridge.

"So..." he heard the photographer's mother say, after putting down her chopsticks. "What exactly do you do for a living, Asami-san?"

From the corner of his eye, he could see Akihito's eyes had gone wide.

"I'm the CEO of an entertainment conglomerate," Asami replied calmly. "And I own several other businesses related to other industries as well."

"Including pharmaceuticals?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice still casual even though he was beginning to suspect the conversation was about to take a strange turn. "Including that."

"So I take it you are very familiar with _drugs_?" she asked again.

Akihito, who had just taken a glass of of water to his lips, choked loudly by her side.

"I mean, _prescription_ drugs."

The dark, challenging eyes boring into him, however, told a different story.

"Yes," Asami replied, holding the stare. "Legal _and_ illegal drugs, I'm familiar with both kinds," he said, ignoring it when the photographer cleared his throat much more loudly than necessary. "I have to be, since I'm the owner of several nightclubs."

"I see..."

The awkward silence that fell between them after that was conveniently interrupted by a waiter that had shown up to remove the empty dishes that were beginning to pile up on the table, largely due to Akihito's unstoppable stress eating.

"Akihito," Asami heard his mother say. "Be a good kid and go get me something at the drugstore?"

" _Now_?" the photographer replied, still munching on a piece of cucumber and looking profoundly confused. "Can't you wait til we're done?"

"I think the vinegar bean paste did not sit well with me, I could do with an herbal supplement," she said, reaching for her purse to retrieve her wallet. "Here is the money."

"But the closest pharmacy is like... five blocks away!"

"I know," Asami heard the woman reply. "Please?"

Her version of the classic "go-buy-me-cigarettes" was filled with so many second intentions that Akihito himself seemed hesitant to go along with the plan, and Asami had to wonder why exactly the photographer was so worried about leaving the two of them alone. When their eyes met, though, the hazel orbs were somehow pleading, and he had to stifle a chuckle at the excessive drama as he gave the photographer a calm nod to reassure him that everything would be fine.

He had faced worse threats than an angry mother-in-law, if it came to that.

"My son is very much in love with you, I can tell," the woman whispered, as soon as Akihito left the room and closed the door behind him. "His face changes when you're near him. His posture changes, I've never seen him like that."

In silence, Asami watched her get up to check her son was not stationed behind the door to eavesdrop on them.

Apparently, he wasn't, because when she turned her head to look at him once again, her eyes were no longer friendly, and neither was her voice. 

"What an irony, that it had to be _you_ ," she said.

"I'm sure you must have heard many rumours ab--"

"The Ritz-Carlton, I hope you are not thinking of doing the same with my husband," the woman interrupted, returning to the table and taking her seat across from him. "I have no problems accepting gifts, even absurdly expensive ones," she went on. "I'm not stupid, I know it is a fine line between a gesture of kindness and a bribe, and then there are the variations, like a man trying to buy affection."

He knew he had instinctively reacted to the comment by emptying his face of any emotion, and that as a result his eyes were probably much more hostile than before.

But then again, _so were hers_ , so he might as well drop the act.

"Still, a gift is a gift. What one gives in return or not is no one else's business," she completed, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from inside her purse. "As to the smoking, I would appreciate it if you didn't tell Akihito. Or my husband, for that matter," she said, with a Pall Mall dangling from her lips as she continued to rummage through her handbag, this time in search for a lighter. “They think I quit.”

"Then you might want to smoke one of mine," he replied, fishing his Dunhills from the pocket of his pants. "Akihito has a very keen sense of smell, and he knows I always smoke the same brand."

After a moment of consideration, Noriko finally accepted one of the cigarettes being offered to her, and leaned forward so that Asami could light it.

His eyes followed her hands when she tilted her chin upwards and closed her eyes, holding in the smoke before blowing it out in a long, gracious breath.

"You know who Akihito's father is, obviously," she said, after bringing the ashtray closer to her. "If you have taken your time to dig deep enough to find out I liked _fugu_ , then you must know plenty about him as well."

It was Asami's turn to take a long drag off his cigarette, his eyes still blank as he studied the woman in front of him. Under normal circumstances, he would allow no man or woman to talk down to him like that without having them experience some sort of _discomfort_ , but those were not his normal circumstances, and the person sitting across from him was no random associate.

Her status as Akihito's mother certainly made things more complicated.

"I take it that you remember you two have crossed paths in the past?" the woman asked, after a long pause.

"I don't recall," Asami calmly replied.

Even though he had met a fair share of Takabas in his many years of business, Akihito had been the only photographer with that family name he remembered meeting, and even if his memory was playing tricks on him, he himself had reviewed the man's file.

There didn't seem to be any past encounter he had overlooked.

"Well, you did," the woman then said, as if his answer was far from surprising. "He didn't mind using his real name abroad, even when the work he did was dangerous," she explained. "But in Japan, he feared for Akihito and me, so he created a new public profile for himself and all, he had contacts in the police."

The ashes from Asami's cigarette fell on the table before he had the chance to reach for the ashtray. At that point, though, he was far too busy revisiting his own memories to care. He had, after all, tortured, maimed and gotten rid of a considerable number of photographers, depending on how much of a problem they had created for him.

He could only hope Akihito's father was among his less severe cases.

"He went by the name Yoneda Akira," Noriko said, her sharp, fierce eyes still boring into him. "Remember now?"

"Vaguely," he lied, finally smashing what was left of his Dunhill on the ashtray.

"It took him almost three months to go back to work," she went on. "Not just because of the… physical injuries. His spirit took quite the blow. His pride, his ego..."

He remembered it all too well.

Yoneda Akira had been a case of bad timing and even worse luck, with the man getting his hands on incriminating information about his business at the very same time he was too busy handling the Fei Long fiasco in Hong Kong, almost ten years prior.

The kind of favours he had to call to stop his pictures from hitting media nationwide had temporarily weakened his grip on politicians and informants, and to add insult to injury, Yoneda had at least two higher-ups of the Tokyo Police in his belt, and as a result cops had raided one of his warehouses instants before his men had the chance to finish the photographer off....

"His encounter with your people hit him hard, in many ways," the woman continued. "But he never told Akihito, and I didn't either, so he doesn't know."

Asami drew in a long breath, fighting the urge to close his eyes and sigh as his mind took him to the usual places of resolution.

_Get rid of her._

_Get rid of the father._

_Make it look like an accident, Akihito will never find out._

"You need to tell him," she added. "And you need to do it before his father gets to Tokyo."

He waited until his instincts stopped yelling all kinds of gruesome ideas into his head, and blinked slowly to readjust his focus.

They were Akihito's family, so his usual procedures were out of the question.

But telling Akihito he had tortured his father was out of the question as well, and the lack of resolution made him restless.

"Are the desserts good here?" Noriko asked, after taking a large gulp of tea from her glass.

"I can't tell, I don't normally eat sweets."

"Why don't you make an exception today? I bought Akihito his favourite cake, --"

"--chocolate cream and cherry," they both said at the same time.

"I bought one too," Asami responded, his mouth too stiff for him to reciprocate the faint smile the woman was giving him.

"Twice the happiness," she said, bringing the conversation to an end with the confidence of someone who knew they had gotten their message across.

He averted his gaze to the windows to mentally evaluate the evening and its developments. Akihito's mother detested him with good reason, his father probably wanted him dead, but for the photographer's sake he would play along and pretend there was nothing wrong.

"Sure, I'll have a slice," he whispered, pushing away the ashtray. "Was the food to your liking?"

"Yes. Everything was perfect, thank you very much," she answered, her voice back to the amiable tone of when Akihito was still in the room. "You are a man of very good taste."

And then, they both allowed silence to fall between them, every second an eternity until footsteps approached and they heard two quick knocks on the door.

With luck, Akihito would not be too curious about how that private conversation went and he would successfully execute the remainder of his birthday plans, which consisted of taking the photographer to the nightclub he now owned for a private celebration, with music, dancing and sex in not so private places.

One look at the younger man's face when he reappeared in the dining room, though, told him he would be lucky to even make it out of the restaurant before being hit with all the questions he was hoping to dodge.

++++

"Eh... Asami..." Akihito moaned as the other man's hands continue to roam over his body.

"Hmm?"

"What did you guys talk about?" the photographer insisted, asking the same question for the third time ever since they had dropped his mom at the hotel and gotten back into the car.

"Why are you so worried?" Asami whispered in response.

"Because... you're not answering."

It was tough to remain coherent when the other man's persistent lips drifted to his neck, biting and sucking and licking with renewed energy despite his attempts to take a break.

"Was it so bad?" he asked, trying to ignore the throbbing between his legs when Asami pulled him onto his lap.

"No."

"Stop... ahh no... no, don't..."

_Not the nipples, dammit._

His own hands were already shaking when he grabbed Asami's fingers and pulled them away from his chest, even though his warm skin felt good, way too good, against his body.

With a sigh, Akihito opened his eyes and let them travel to the lean muscles peeking from under the short sleeves of the black T-shirt Asami was wearing. That, in addition to the dark designer jeans and the bangs of dark hair falling in front of his eyes, made him look younger, wilder and a different kind of sexy. His resolve to resist was faltering, especially now that the man was beginning to unbuckle his belt, but he really needed to know.

"Don't try to distract me," he managed to pant, peeling himself from the strong arms trying to hold him in place. "Asami... What did she say?"

"About what?"

"About you."

His relentless nagging, it appeared, had finally succeeded in stopping the man's advances. However, instead of replying, Asami merely let out an annoyed sigh, crossed his legs and turned his head to the window, looking thoroughly pissed off at the sudden change of pace.

"I mean, that comment about drugs?" Akihito continued, ignoring the other man's somewhat childish reaction. "She must have heard the rumours. But if she knows the rumours, then she heard them from my father, and if my father knows the rumours..."

The words fell from his lips a couple of seconds before his brain could properly process that chain of assumptions. When it did, though, his jaw slackened slightly.

"Fuck," he muttered. "My father _hates_ you."

"Yes, he does, and not just because of the rumors."

Asami's voice was void of any emotion, but the slight frown he was now sporting betrayed the calm facade.

"We might have met each other in the past," he added.

Akihito felt his heart stutter at the revelation.

"Y-You _‘might’_?!?" he shrieked, a mixture of panic and surprise filling his chest. "How can you not know for sure? _You,_ of all people?"

"I run across plenty of curious photographers in my line of business..."

It was almost as if his blood had been replaced by some kind of cold, viscous liquid travelling slowly through his veins. Jumbled images of his first encounter with Asami and the trap that followed, with film canisters being improperly handled and several other compromising moments made his heart race impossibly fast.

Up until then, he had avoided thinking of how many other photographers had had to endure the same things he had put up with on the occasion, and the thought that his father, _his own father_ , could have received the same treatment at the hands of _the man he was about to marry,_ made him want to scream, throw up and run, all at the same time.

"Oh my-- What did you do to him?" he managed to ask, his voice weak and distant as his blood pressure continued to drop.

"Me, personally, nothing, and most certainly not what you're thinking."

A surge of relief made his constricted chest relax a little, but his mouth was still dry.

He could tell that story was far from over.

"But my security team…" Asami continued, "...on my orders… might have confiscated his camera."

"And?"

Still gazing out of the window, the photographer saw him draw in a long, deep breath, and his heart skipped another beat.

"And broken his hands."

"Oh my God..."

"Both of them."

"Oh my _God!_ "

"See, that was a very long time ago--"

"I remember the time he… he said it was an accident at work," Akihito muttered in response, his palms now wet with cold sweat. "It took forever for him to be able to take pictures again..."

His nostrils started burning when another set of memories filled his mind, his chest once again aching.

True, come to think of it, he and the old man were always locking horns, but still, it was his father. His proud father, whose passion for photography had always been such an inspiration...

Who knew what kind of emotional damage that encounter with Asami had dealt. Was that why he had stopped accepting investigative jobs in Tokyo?

"Shit..." he whispered. "It was _you_."

"Akihito--"

"Stop the car."

After he knocked twice on the divider, the limousine came to a sudden halt.

"Where are you go--"

"I'll go for a walk," the photographer answered, slamming the door and ignoring it when Asami called out to him.

" _Akihito!_ "

"I need some time on my own," he yelled back, before taking a left turn and running down the stairs to Shinjuku Central Station.

Once in the middle of the oblivious crowd, he started walking faster, and faster, and faster, until he was running without a proper destination.

For some reason, his mind was showing a rather biased selection of events involving his father, and instead of their frequent fights and disagreements, he found himself revisiting the few times the two of them had gone fishing together, the old man's unwavering passion for karaoke, how silly he looked with his Christmas sweater, all the times he had made his mother laugh with his lame jokes.

All of it made Akihito feel lucky and terrified of him passing away, or getting hurt, or feeling miserable.

Still running, ignoring the burn in his muscles and the tears that had begun falling from the corners of his eyes, he gritted his teeth and refused to slow down, even when he reached the daunting staircase leading to Kabukicho.

By the time he finally made it to the street, his knees were so wobbly that he had no choice but to stop, and lean against a graffiti-covered wall next to a vending machine.

 _"Kuso..."_ he cursed, his head down as he tried to catch his breath.

"Akihito?"

The familiar voice made his head shoot up.

Given all the physical effort and stress, he could barely see past blurs and the diffuse shape of a man standing in front of him.

"Masa?" he asked, still squinting.

"Yeah!"

"Wow, what... what are you doing here, I thought you were still in Thailand?" he asked, trying to dry his face as discreetly as he could.

"I was, but things got a strange turn, I didn't even have the-- are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," Akihito quickly replied.

"You look pale, have some water."

He figured it would be better to accept the plastic bottle being passed to him. With luck, that would buy him some time, and avoid questions he didn't feel like answering.

"Were you running?" the detective asked.

"I was. It's part of my physical training."

"Oh. That looks very... _intense_."

"Right?" Akihito chuckled, hoping he sounded convincing.

"Oh _shit_."

"What?" he asked, frowning at the man's alarmed voice.

"It's today, isn't it?" Tanimura asked. "Your birthday?"

"Ha... You remembered?"

"I did now! Damn... I didn't get you anything!"

"Come on--"

"Oh, I know. Here, pick a snack," the detective chuckled, pointing to the vending machine. "It's on me."

"No, no..."

"You've been running and you're pale, I bet you can do with some energy."

 _'I nearly ate two chocolate cakes half an hour ago...'_ Akihito replied mentally. _'I think I got too much energy, even...'_

"Ok!"

"Go ahead."

With a faint smile, Akihito randomly picked a bottle of apple juice and a box of triple chocolate Pocky, and bowed slightly to thank the detective when he passed him the items.

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

There was a moment of silence, in which Tanimura appeared to be looking at him with a friendly, melancholic smirk on his lips.

"Listen, I..." he said. "I'm kinda late for a meeting, so I need to get going."

"Sure, don't let me keep you."

"You sure you're ok?"

"I am," Akihito replied, this time with much more honesty. The random encounter had at the very least taken his mind away from the thoughts that had been plaguing him minutes prior, and he let out a relieved smile. 

++++

Time was capable of unimaginable things, really.

Months before that, he had been certain he would never be able to look at Akihito again without feeling either shaken or guilty for everything that had happened; maybe both. The photographer was, perhaps, the first man he had allowed himself to fall in love with in a very long time, and he had thought the self-inflicted wounds from that fleeting entanglement would never heal.

Yet, there they were again, face to face, and his heart felt surprisingly light.

When they finally went their separate ways, Tanimura stopped on his tracks and turned around, just in time to see Akihito turn a corner, carrying with him an unfulfilled future that they would never have together, and _that he would not miss_ , he now realised.

If friends was what they were meant to be, then be it. It was not as bad as he had anticipated.

Before long, he had reached Park n.3, but much to his surprise, one of the men guarding the place prevented him from going past the toilet door by hitting a crowbar against its frame.

"What the hell, Kato?" he asked.

"Hold on, Mr. Detective," the homeless man replied. "I need to get permission from station B. Additional security procedures."

Tanimura had no idea whatsoever of what a 'station B' was, but opted to let it slide. He had been away from Tokyo long enough; it was understandable that things had changed in the meantime.

"Access denied," the man named Kato announced, after spending a good five minutes murmuring onto a walkie talkie.

"What do you mean, 'access denied'?"

"I mean, you can't go in."

"What, did my permission expire?" the detective asked, with a mirthless chuckle. "What a joke, where is Minami?"

"Out in the Tojo Headquarters."

"Wei Shen. Let me talk to him, then."

"Busy."

Tanimura let his shoulders momentarily drop in defeat.

"What happened to this place?" he then asked.

"Changes in management."

"What kind of change?"

"See the construction work over there?" the man asked, pointing to a nearly finished building right behind their heads. "It's going to be a mall."

"So...?"

"When it is completed, the entrance is going to be through there," he explained, before taking the walkie talkie to his ear. "Looks like the problem is at the second security gate. Have you been blacklisted at the Club Ibiza, by any chance?"

"Club Ibiza, what the--"

"Hold on," the homeless guard interrupted, holding his hand up to hear what the low voice coming from the device was saying. "Ok, cleared. Go in."

He was still frowning when the door finally opened,and he was granted access to the passage leading to the underground level.

"Welcome to Purgatory," he heard the man say behind him.

"Yeah, yeah..."

The Purgatory that he used to know, however, had been through a fair amount of changes, from the additional security check near the main gates, to the much more subdued atmosphere of the hallways near the underground river. Instead of the in-your-face extravaganza of red, geishas and cages, the tapestries were now mostly black and a faded shade of gold, and romantic encounters of any kind seemed to occur only behind the frosted glass doors of several fancy bungalows hidden in the shadows.

It didn't take him long to reach the doors of what used to be the place's nightclub, but as expected, that too seemed to have undergone complete renovation. Two men in suits were stationed on either side of the main doors, and Tanimura saw one of them scan the membership card of a young man he quickly recognised as one of Japan's most famous baseball players.

 _'So this is Club Ibiza...'_ he thought to himself when his eyes shifted to the elegant golden letters adorning a small marble plaque at the entrance. _'Wait, did Kato say something about me being blacklisted here?'_

"Tanimura Masayoshi," he heard someone say behind him, just when he was about to show his card at the door.

"It's been forever, huh..." said an old acquaintance from Taiwan, manager of the Coliseum. "Here to collect your bribe?"

The detective's eyes immediately darted to the guards by the door, but they didn't seem to be paying him any mind.

As a matter of fact, that was not at all the reason of his visit, but declining payment at that point could result in questions he did not feel like answering.

"I call it protection money," he replied, trying to fake a casual, dismissive smile.

"Man..." the man replied, already reaching for his wallet. "Civilians pay protection money to the yakuza, and the yakuza pay protection money to the police. Heh, how I love this country..." he chuckled, before giving him several 10,000 yen bills. "Here. Now let's go in."

As expected, though, when it was the detective's turn to scan his card, a long, foreboding beep echoed in the lounge.

"Access denied," one of the security guards said.

"He's with me."

"I'm afraid that doesn't make a difference, sir."

"Did you piss off the owner or something?" Tanimura heard the man by his side whisper.

"Of course he didn't."

The strong, smooth male voice made all heads turn to the hallway.

"Go enjoy your drinks, Jackie, I have your table set for you already," said Asami Ryuichi's procurer, his long red hair swaying in elegant waves as he walked towards them.

"How many girls?" the manager of the Coliseum asked.

"Three, as per your request."

Tanimura watched in silence when a large, finely manicured hand rested on his shoulder and gently pushed him forward.

"I got this," Sachi whispered to the security guards, before his lips moved to the detective's ear. "Hi gorgeous."

"Hi."

"Long time no see, I thought you were living in Thailand."

"I was. Now I'm back."

"Good."

When they switched places and the procurer started walking in front of him, wearing stiletto pumps and a purple velvet sheath dress that made his long legs look ever longer, Tanimura had to ask himself _since when_ the man had been given power to decide who entered Purgatory or not, and also, how _anyone_ could walk in heels that high.

"So..." the detective started, as men and women alike granted them passage with a respectful bow. "Looks like you've been doing more than... _recruitment_ here."

"Oh yeah. Much more than that, these days."

"Does your boss approve of you spending so much time in Purgatory?"

The question made the procurer turn his head with a malicious smirk on his dark purple lips.

"I would assume so, since he _owns_ it now," he replied, making Tanimura stop on his tracks.

"Excuse me?"

"I had forgotten, you were away for so long you probably missed all the changes," Sachi continued, slowly coming to a halt as well. "After Dojima-san passed, my boss struck a deal with the Tojo. Two thirds of this place now belong to Asami Ryuichi, pretty boy," he added, moving closer and cupping his chin as his light blue eyes bore straight into him. "So be careful with where you collect bribes from now on."

With a frown, he turned his face away and refused to return the chuckle the procurer gave him.

 _Now things had officially gone to the dogs_. Asami Ryuichi, official owner of one of the Tojo's most treasured hideouts...

Were there any places left in Tokyo that had not yet been devoured by that man's greed?

"Are you here to see Wei?" Sachi asked, after they had climbed two flights of stairs that led to the VIP booths in a far corner of the mezzanine.

"Yes."

"He is in a meeting, how about a drink in the meantime? Maybe some fun?"

"No, thanks."

"Are you sure?" the procurer asked, the corners of his mouth once again curled in a smirk. "I see you keep looking around, are you looking for someone in particular?"

"There seems to be a lot of celebrities here."

And not just Japanese celebrities, he realised. When he glanced at the dance floor, he could have sworn he had seen at least two Korean singers and one famous American actress.

"I try my best. Our clients are VIPs, after all, and I like to set the bar high," Sachi replied, showing him to a luxurious couch after unlocking the door. "If you look closely, you will see not all of them are the real thing, though."

He made a quick gesture with his hand, and within seconds a young woman carrying a tray with two tumblers and a bottle of Yamazaki 50 year old whisky showed up near them.

"Some of them are my making, like my pretty Panama," the procurer then said, catching a strand of wavy brown locks between his fingers as he tilted the woman's chin upwards. "A work of art. Doesn't she look just like JLo?"

She did, much to Tanimura's shocked surprise. But then again, he had once seen Sachi without makeup so he already knew how good the man was at creating--

" _Illusion..._ At the end of the day, that's what all those men and women come here for, isn't it?" Sachi went on, after her employee had left the room. "And illusion is what they get."

"So you trick them into sleeping with fake celebrities?"

"No, not trick. Everyone here knows exactly what they are getting," he replied. "Although every now and then people are too lost to know what they _really_ want..."

With his voice now dripping with malice, the procurer approached him once again as he looked down at the dance floor from the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows.

" _You_ , for example..." he whispered, gently turning the detective's head to the left, so that his eyes could fall on a man that looked bizarrely similar to a certain photographer. "Blond delight..." he said, before switching on a large monitor on the other side of the room. "Or mysterious dark-haired gloom?"

When Tanimura looked at the screen, his eyes quickly adjusted to the multitude of surveillance images, and he gasped.

"What does your heart desire, Tanimura-san?"

Looking around Purgatory's main hallway with those dark eyes of his, Mine looked even more gorgeous than usual, wearing a custom made black suit, his hair up in a bun.

"How is Mine doing, by the way?"

"Is he following me?" the detective asked, blinking in confusion.

"What do you think?"

He was about to open his mouth to respond when the door clicked open.

"Tanimura."

"I'll leave you two alone," the procurer said quietly, exiting the room after winking at the man who had just joined them.

"It's been a while, good to see you're still in one piece," said Wei Shen, after pulling Tanimura into a semi-hug and giving him two powerful pats on the back.

"Yeah. Same."

He forced himself to make small talk, even though at that point he was more than ready to cut to the chase. The changes in Purgatory, the fact Mine was apparently following him around, and the contents of the conversation they were about to start were all making him restless.

"Listen, Wei, do you..." he said, resting his elbows on his knees after they had spent several minutes talking about Bangkok, rise in prices and news stories. "Do you still have any contacts in the International Crime Unit?

"A few. But none of them among the higher ups."

"Right..."

As he reached into one of his pockets, Tanimura paused to think, again, about the events he was about to set in motion.

"What I'm about to show you hasn't even reached the higher ups yet," he said, looking around the room to locate the surveillance cameras and position himself in such a way that his body would cover what he had just retrieved from his pocket. "I have an informant. She... she saw something in Yasu. Someone."

Wei Shen's eyes, that up until then had been calm and friendly, suddenly turned very cold.

"Look, man, if this is another fake lead, I--"

"This picture was taken two days ago. It's not a fake," Tanimura replied, passing him a picture that showed a woman in her early twenties walking hand in hand with a child that didn't seem to be older than three. "I need you to confirm her identity before I take this any further."

And then, the detective watched as the other man's face lit up with hope.

"It's her," Wei Shen replied, the corners of his mouth twitching as he stared at the girl in the picture. "It's my sister. It's Patty," he repeated. "Who's the child?"

"My source says that, uh... It appears to be her son."

" _Son?_ "

Tanimura had known the man sitting next to him for half almost an entire decade. Together, they had worked on some gruesome cases, shared personal stories, lost painful battles.

Still, he had never seen Wei Shen so close to tears as he was now.

"I have a nephew," he muttered, his wide smile making him look several years younger. "I have a nephew!"

"Yeah, looks like it."

"Where in Yasu?"

Tanimura drew in a long breath. Now came the tricky part, which was separating emotional responses from strategic decisions.

"Wei, I need to ask you to stay put until I--"

"No, Tanimura. I need to know."

"And I will tell you. But not now."

" _Now._ I have waited--"

"It's Baishe territory," he interrupted. "If you show up anywhere near that area they will open fire. Against you, against her."

Not to mention that a rash intervention would put him in trouble with at least three international agencies, and it was not as if he could afford to become even less  popular within the force.

"Call your source," Wei Shen replied, showing no apparent concern for the consequences. " _Now._ "

They stared at each other for a very long moment, and Tanimura concluded that trying to reason with his counterpart would be a waste of time.

Chances were his source had nothing specific to inform, anyway...

With a disheartened sigh, the detective picked up the phone being offered to him.

"Is this disposable?"

"Yes."

 _Last thing he needed was his source's contact details to become public,_ he thought to himself, dialling the familiar number and shaking his leg as he waited for the call to connect.

"Moshi moshi."

_"Masa. Good thing you called, I was about to do so myself."_

_Shit._

"Why, what happened?" he replied, after putting the call on speaker.

_"Whoa, not so fast, love. 200k now."_

"200k? You really think I have that kind of money in my account?"

_"Take it or leave it, honey. You have no idea how many blowjobs I had to give to get my hands on this info. My jaw hurts, seriously."_

"I can wire it," Wei Shen whispered.

_"Who's that?"_

"A friend, don't worry," Tanimura responded. "Tell me your bank details."

Less than a minute later, the money had already been transferred to her account.

"Done."

 _"Thanks,"_ the woman replied gleefully. _"OK. This one is hot."_

"Go on."

 _"Asami Ryuichi is organising a siege in Yasu. Whether he wants to get the girl himself or prevent others from getting to her, it is unclear, but I can confirm that his best agents have been summoned,"_ she explained, her voice serious and low before returning to her usual high pitch. _"Bye-bye!"_

The call had ended, but Tanimura continued to hold the phone with a despondent look in his eyes.

"Wait, you told me that the info about Yasu hadn't hit the higher ups," Wei Shen said at last, a frown of confusion wrinkling his forehead.

_It hadn't._

There was no way Asami Ryuichi could have been that ahead of the curve, not that time, unless...

His eyes shifted once again to the monitor, scanning all the images as he searched for that one familiar face, his jaws clenched in anger.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, someone is in for a smackdown.  
> Also, do not fret: Akihito is out and about because he's like a stray cat, spending the night on the streets whenever he wants (much to Asami’s dismay). It is not a separation, though, expect him to return home very soon.


	72. The Triumph of Good and Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for Tanimura and Mine to settle the score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to update! Unlike other life-related delays, this one was exclusively due to editing problems. I had originally built a very complex sequence that alternated Maya’s and Mine’s scenes with their respective SOs, but the narrative became so convoluted I decided to literally start from scratch . All in all, I ended up with over 20k words of scenes that needed to make sense time-wise but also thematically. Ah… the joys of writing!
> 
> That being said, my apologies² to everyone who thought this would be the chapter Asami finally meets with Takaba Senior for a much awaited moment of reckoning! It isn’t, but I know that many of you (me included!) wanted to give Mine and Tanimura some resolution so this chapter is pretty much entirely theirs (even though Asami and Kuroda make very important cameos!)

Outside Club Ibiza, Mine continued to stare at the front door, still trying to convince himself that what he was about to do was a good idea.

Was Purgatory the right place for him to approach Tanimura? Probably not. He doubted the detective had walked into the nightclub to have a drink and dance - he had seen the man's face and he looked far from amused.

He looked good, though, in that dark suit, white shirt and fancy leather shoes that he clearly disliked wearing.

Tanimura Masayoshi was a man of simple tastes, after all...

Feeling the palms of his hands grow damp, Mine raised his eyes to the door one more time.

What was he expecting to accomplish, anyway? A rerun of the one time the two of them had made out in a bathroom stall? An argument like the one they had in Chinawa?

What was he even going to say?

'I wasn't expecting to see you here.'

_No._

'I saw you coming in and...'

 _Decided to stalk you?_ No _._

'Tanimura, we need to talk.'

_Even worse._

Every now and then, the bouncer's curious eyes lingered on him and derailed his train of thought. The man was probably thinking he was either an idiot or crazy for standing outside the entrance door for so long.

"Are you sure you don't want to go in?" Mine heard him ask.

He had a free pass to nearly every nightclub in town, after all, and those had not yet been deactivated even though he was no longer in Asami Ryuichi's payroll.

"I'm good," he replied, reaching for the pack of cigarettes inside his pocket a second  before the heavy wooden door next to him was suddenly pushed open.

_There he comes._

After a quick glance up to take in the detective's figure, Mine dropped his eyes back to the floor.

Time to bite the bullet.

He had barely opened his mouth when a fist connected with his cheekbone, making him stumble backwards.

"What the fuck!" he muttered, eyebrows sloping inwards as the sharp pain spread across his face.

"So you've been snitching to Asami this entire time?" the detective snarled in response.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, really? No idea?"

"No."

 _Snitching?_ If anything, he had reported to Kirishima Kei in the occasions when Maya got injured, but he had never volunteered any information about Tanimura's work, and his former boss never appeared to be interested in it.

If there was really a snitch, that was most certainly not him.

"Then why are you here?"

Well, _fuck._

He tried to void his face of any emotion, if only to hide his embarrassment.

That was an answer he did not feel like giving, and his silence elicited a bitter, resentful scoff.

"Do you even understand Asami works with the Baishe? And that I am trying to get the Baishe dismantled?" Tanimura hissed, looking over his shoulder as a deep blush spread across his face.

Soon enough, even the white of his eyes were tinged with a crimson shade of anger. 

"What if Liu Fei Long knows of my operation in Yasu?"

"I d--"

"If they are getting info ahead of time, they could be manipulating the facts that get to me, this could all be a trap!"

"I did not report anything to anyone," Mine repeated, his voice calm and low even though his heart was thumping loudly inside his chest.

"Oh fuck _off,_ Mine!" the detective snapped, raking his fingers through his hair. "Then why have you been following me?"

Against his will, Mine felt his eyes dart back to the man's face.

"Answer me."

This time, however, his nervousness gave way to cynicism, and he smirked.

"Shit..." Tanimura replied, shaking his head as he spoke. "I thought... I trusted you. We were supposed to be working together on this."

"Then why did you decide to come to Tokyo on your own?" Mine asked, his pulse now normal, as if nothing unusual was happening, his intentions from moments prior long forgotten and filed away as a mere moment of insanity. "You don't know how to work with others."

"What, do you?"

"No."

The detective, though, looked profoundly offended at the simplicity of his answer.

"Hell, no, you don't," he scoffed, the light brown orbs lingering for a moment too long on his lips before they were once again fixated on his eyes, bright with anger. "You're just a spineless, two-faced piece of..."

Mine raised an eyebrow when he paused, the muscles of his face engaging in some kind of silent battle before he waved dismissively and turned on his heels.

"Whatever," he heard Tanimura whisper as he walked away, his voice more miserable than anything else.

++++

Asami headed to the balcony of the penthouse with a bottle of bourbon in one hand and a tumbler in the other.

That was not how he had envisioned spending Akihito’s birthday night.

For one, he hadn’t expected to spend it _alone_.

With a sigh, he reached for his phone inside the pocket of his robe and let his eyes wander to the city below as the first rays of sunshine began to tint the darkness of the sky with diffuse spots of orange and red.

“Call me. I know you're not at Kou’s, he called all night looking for you,” he said, after his call was sent to voicemail for what could have been the hundredth time. “It's morning already.”

He hung up, staring at the screen for a long minute before hitting the green button next to Akihito’s name one more time.

“Look, there are many things I did in the past that I'm not proud of,” he continued in a new message. “Not now, at least. Things were different back then…”

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. At that point, he was coming dangerously close to _lying_ just to get the photographer back home, and that was the kind of strategy he was not willing to employ. What exactly wasn’t he proud of? Of doing what he needed to do? Of making an example out of everyone that tried to take him down?

All of a sudden, he felt like deleting that entire message and starting over, with a little bit more truth that time, but his thoughts were disrupted by a shadow moving to his left.

When he turned around, he nearly dropped the phone upon realizing Akihito himself was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at him with a mixture of contempt and curiosity.

“When did you get here?” he asked.

“Just now,” the photographer replied, taking a step closer to him. “Go on. You were saying…”

“That things were different back then. That's all.”

“Different how?”

He knew exactly what Akihito wanted to hear: that he had changed, that he would no longer break anyone’s hands to defend what was his, that he was not able to sleep at night thinking of all the other parents he might have maimed and killed along his career.

The only problem was, any of those statements would be essentially a lie, and any promises derived from them would be just as void.

They deserved better than to live a farce.

“Different, Akihito. Just different.”

That part was entirely true, at least. Takaba Akihito had changed things for him, even if they were not in the proportion and speed the younger man probably desired.

“You, of all people, know what I do to those that get in my way,” he said. “And I am not sorry for that, but I am sorry that one of those people was your father.”

“I know,” the photographer replied, his eyes averted to the ground.

‘And will you forgive me for that?’

That question, though, he did not have the heart to ask.

And so, in silence, they continued to look at the awakening city several floors below, each of them absorbed in their own thoughts.

++++

Upon arriving at the front desk of Sion, Tanimura adjusted his cap and silently scanned the faces at the reception desk. To think that the night before he had waltzed in with the certainty he would easily gain access to Asami Ryuichi's office and give him a piece of his mind.

He must have been pretty out of himself to even try.

Of course, the one time he had been able to do so - or almost - he had a warrant. That time, though, he was on his own, and being on his own meant having to improvise, even if that required him to bribe a plumber who was making his way to the infamous headquarters, borrowing his credentials and lying at the front desk.

The anger leading him on, he suspected, was horribly misplaced. He had reason to be worried that the CEO was meddling with one of his most important investigations but he was especially mad that Mine had probably never been interested in him, and was only acting on his former boss's orders.

He felt like a fool.

With a triumphant smile, he entered the elevator on the far end of the lounge and mentally went over the lines he was planning to use to lecture Asami Ryuichi on his unending shenanigans. What he had not accounted for, of course, was the fact that third parties and suppliers did not have access to any of the main elevators, let alone to the ones leading to the Higher Executive floors.

"Damn it..." he muttered under his breath, after noticing the farthest he could go was the maintenance room on the fifth floor.

"Are you with the cleaning company too?"

He was so busy pondering his impending failure that the grave male voice behind him made him jump.

"Y-Yes," Tanimura answered, without giving it much thought.

"Then why are you not wearing a uniform?"

"It's... uhh... my first day."

"Hmpf," the man puffed in response, pursing his lips. "Then go to the changing room before you join the others, they have already started cleaning the air ducts."

"The air ducts?"

"Yes, use elevator 11. Try to be fast and silent and leave the president's office for last, you will need to take a supervisor with you."

In no time, he was crawling inside air ducts and openly disrespecting the order to leave the CEO's floor for last. Now that insanity had settled in, he'd better get to his destination before reason slapped him on the face and made him turn around and leave.

The faint sound of a familiar voice below him made him stop on his tracks.

"Prosecutor Kuroda..." he whispered quietly, raising an eyebrow. "Meeting with your buddy, are you?"

After a bitter, almost silent scoff, the detective kept going until the prosecutor's voice was no longer audible, and reached for a Swiss knife inside his pocket to open the vent covers that led to an empty hallway downstairs.

He was about to jump down when the sound of footsteps made him retreat back into the ducts, his muscles burning with the sudden effort.

'I need to work harder on my pull-ups,' he thought to himself, feeling his muscles cramp as a woman walked past a door with a tray and a tea set. 'Either that or cut down on the candy. Ideally both.'

He waited for the lady to show up again and exit through an elevator on the far end of the hallway to jump from the duct as silently as he could, and remained immobile when his feet touched the fancy marbled floor, just to be sure.

'What am I even doing here...' he asked himself in silence, his feet nevertheless leading him closer to the door where the familiar voice was coming from. 'If Kuroda sees me here, I'm done for...'

 _"So that's it for Chayama,"_ Tanimura heard the prosecutor say. _"Now, about Yasu, do you really think you can trust your procurer?"_

 _"Who, Sachi?"_ asked another man, whose voice he clearly recognised as Asami's.

_"Yes. Given his past with triads and his current inv--"_

_"So far he has given me no reasons not to trust him."_

With narrowed eyes, Tanimura pressed his ear even closer to the wall, just in time to hear Kuroda's quiet response.

_"Right..."_

That was it, he was going in. He had always suspected the district prosecutor was in cahoots with Asami Ryuichi, but apparently he was in it deeper than he thought.

His hand was already resting in the doorknob when Kuroda spoke again.

_"I haven't seen Mine since he returned to Tokyo, how has he been?"_

_"I haven't had the chance to meet with him yet,"_ he heard Asami reply. _"In his case, no news is good news."_

_"Yes. Indeed."_

With a frown, Tanimura removed his hand from the doorknob as if it were on fire.

_Mine..._

_"His mother suffered from schizophrenia,"_ the prosecutor went on. _"His files showed that she could become really aggressive at times."_

_"She never sought treatment?"_

_"No, not that I know of. Her circumstances were complicated."_

The detective swallowed, and considered walking away before either man started talking about things that were not meant for his ears.

His curiosity, however, got the best out of him, and his feet refused to move.

 _"She once... eh... she once ironed..."_ Kuroda whispered, forcing Tanimura to press his ear against the door. _"She ironed Mine's shoulders."_

Feeling that his heart had just skipped a beat, Tanimura covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. Images of two beautiful black wings flashed behind his eyes. Had he touched them? Had he felt the injured skin under each trace? Fuck, he had been so drunk he couldn't even remember...

 _"That explains the tattoo,"_ Asami replied, his voice equally low.

_"He got inked?"_

_"Yes. Probably when he was in Colombia."_

_"Tsk. So much for him becoming a judge one day."_

The detective's fingers silently curled into claws against the wooden surface of the door. All of a sudden, all thoughts about Yasu, about triads, about Asami Ryuichi and everything else moved to the far back of his mind.

 _"Well, I don't blame him,"_ Kuroda continued, after a sigh. _"He had third degree burns, the scars were really hideous when he underwent the physical test to work at my office."_

Each word about Mine made his stomach sink, not only because of the amount of pain they elicited but because it reminded him that hours prior he had been stupid enough to punch the man on the face and call him all kinds of things... He had seen the haunted look in his eyes, the surprise, _the honesty,_ yet he had been so angry at everything that he ignored it all.

_Idiot._

Inside the room, Kuroda spoke again, his voice transpiring a strange kind of pride and bewilderment.

_"Did you know that he only started attending school when he was 12?"_

_"He told me."_

_"Do you know how many languages he can speak? How many languages he taught himself? He's a genius,"_ the prosecutor added. _"His executive functions are extraordinary. His emotional health, though... not so much."_

After a brief pause, it was Asami's turn to talk.

 _"I made sure to have a doctor prescribe all the medication he needs, and keep track of his progress,"_ he said.

_"I'm very grateful for that."_

_"What was his mother's real name? Mine Ritsuko is probably a fake identity, there's nothing about her in public files."_

_"Ah..."_

At that point, Tanimura felt he should really leave. It felt wrong to eavesdrop on a conversation that had nothing to do with him, but it felt even more disrespectful to stay around and hear stories about Mine's family without his consent.

Once again, his resolve faltered.

Who was he kidding, anyway? He too had checked public records to gather information about Maya's bodyguard, he too had come across a Mine Ritsuko and a strange lack of information about her life.

 _"She was shunned when the family found out she was pregnant with her brother's child,"_ the prosecutor finally replied, and Tanimura felt his jaw slacken slightly. _"Her name was actually Kuroda Ritsuko."_

With a frown, the detective let his eyes dart back and forth when silence once again seemed to fill the room. _Kuroda Ritsuko..._ That name sounded familiar...

 _"She was... uhh... my father's sister,"_ Kuroda explained. _"Which means that Mine is my cousin_ and _my brother."_

"Eehh?!?"

Tanimura quickly covered his mouth when the surprised whisper escaped his lips. Mine, _Kuroda's brother?_ _And_ cousin?

Holy shit.

 _"I told you it was complicated,"_ behind the door, the prosecutor went on. _"The family name would be ruined if a case of incest was made public. That is why he grew up unassisted,"_ he said. _"Left to her own devices, with a kid, with no money, her mental health deteriorating, his mother did what she could, I think. I want to believe she was nurturing in her own way, Mine did seem to be very attached to her. Very caring. Very protective."_

_"So that's why you don't want him to know."_

_"I don't know what good it would bring."_

_"Closure."_

_"Yes, but... I don't know."_

Tanimura had to blink several times to make his mind stop spinning. So Mine didn't know any of that, and now he did, and he sucked at keeping secrets.

He was under the strong impression he would spill the beans as soon as he saw the bodyguard again.

'That is,' his mind was quick to point out. 'If he ever wants to see you again...'

Before he had the chance to continue with the inner monologue, Kuroda's voice brought him back to reality.

 _"The truth is, I myself only found out not that long ago. My aunt... I remember her very clearly. She was very cheerful, very sweet, funny. A very pretty woman, too. I was in college when I was told she had died in a car crash, but I never bothered to investigate..."_ he said. _"Then my grandmother was admitted to a nursing home some years ago, and she let it slip. The whole story."_

 _"When your aunt got pregnant with Mine... was it consensual?"_ the detective heard Asami ask.

The lack of emotion in the man's voice as he inquired about a possible heinous crime made Tanimura swallow. No wonder Asami Ryuichi had gotten so far in business and beyond.

_Talk about a man with nerves of steel._

_"I don't know,"_ Kuroda then replied. _"I never confronted my father about it, there is that too. But it looks like it was, my grandmother was under the impression they were in love, and that they had been secretly seeing each other for many years,"_ he said. _"At first I thought it was the dementia talking, but it wasn't. I double checked the dates, the events she mentioned... It all matches."_

_"I see."_

_"Mine always thought that his father would go back to save him from the miserable life he had, but his father--our father, already had a family of his own,"_ the prosecutor explained. _"He never even tried to find his youngest son. He never will. But Mine is still waiting, isn't he?"_

_"Probably."_

_"Then maybe I have no choice--"_

Tanimura felt his heart jump to his throat when his phone started ringing inside the pocket of his pants, and when he thought nothing could make him panic more, he finally turned his head to the side and noticed a man standing less than a foot away from him.

_Mine._

Where had he come from? What time had he gotten there? Had he heard anything that was said inside that room?

Questions that he never got to ask, because the bodyguard was insanely quick in turning on his heels and leaving, and also because by the time he finally managed to turn the phone off, the door had already been opened to reveal a very calm-looking Asami Ryuichi and a not so pleased Kuroda Shinji right behind him.

"Tanimura!" the detective heard the prosecutor exclaim. "What the hell are you--"

"I got this," the other man interrupted.

Judging by the CEO's intense glare despite his unaffected tone, he was in for a ride.

++++

A very long, very silent minute went by before Asami reached the door to his office, a discreet hand gesture preventing a very angry-looking Kirishima from charging against the cop behind him.

If he had wanted Tanimura to be thrown out of the building, he would have done so when his security team first alerted the detective had entered the premises with a stolen credential.

He wanted to see how far the man would go with his shenanigans, and Tanimura did not disappoint, what with crawling up and down the air conditioning ducts to try to sneak up on him.

"What?" he heard the cop ask angrily, after they had both taken their seats.

Asami merely smirked in response, retrieving a _Behike 52_ from one of his drawers. Surely his disdain had become evident at some point, but what could he do? The fact that some people apparently did not mind making fools of themselves amused him to no end.

To think that at some point the clown sitting across from him had been with Akihito, kissed him, done _things_ to him... things that he had _enjoyed._..

With pursed lips, he realised he had cut too much of the cigar cap - and with far too much gusto - but instead of dwelling on the other possible uses of a cigar cutter, he averted his eyes back to Tanimura's face.

"Cigar?" he asked.

"No, thanks."

"You are very annoying, Tanimura," he then continued, after savouring the first drag. "Eavesdropping on me and Prosecutor Kuroda..."

"I was not--"

"It's not your turn to talk yet."

Even though he could tell the man was probably considering climbing over the table to try and strangle him, Asami had to commend him on his self-control. The light brown eyes staring at him from under a curtain of dark, sleek brown hair were filled with anger but the detective remained silent, jaws clenched, hands curled into fists on top of his thighs.

“What do you want?” Asami asked, leaning forward with an equally intense glare, his cigar firmly secured in the notch of his fingers. “What kind of disaster are you planning to unleash this time?”

Other than a defiant semi-smirk, he got no response.

“Is it my turn to talk yet?” the detective then asked.

_Annoying little prick._

“Be my guest…” Asami replied.

“I am planning to do my job.”

“Your job will cost many lives, I hope you are aware of that.”

“ _Your_ job costs many lives,” he heard the other man retort, raising an accusing finger as he spoke. “And so does Liu Fei Long’s, he sells people to brothels, he runs opium dens, he manages prostitution rings.”

“That's not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“If there is any merit to your investigative skills, then you know that the kidnapping of Patricia Shen was not orchestrated by Fei Long.”

“And yet she’s been spotted in an area controlled by the Baishe.”

“By a _rogue_ subsidiary of the Baishe,” Asami corrected. “You know that. But in the greater scheme of things, yes, you go in, they kill the girl, and you will have indirectly started a triad war between the Baishe and the Sun On Yee. The deaths won't stop in Yasu, and you know that too.”

He could almost see the wheels moving inside Tanimura’s head. Judging by how little resistance he was offering to that new perspective, he couldn't help but suspect that the same scenario had already crossed the detective's mind at least once.

“The Tokyo Police will not have your back,” Asami added, after resting his cigar on an elegant crystal ashtray. “Any kind of rescue operation under these circumstances would bring more harm than good.”

“So you're just going to let her die?”

He nearly knocked over the ashtray and all its contents when Akihito joined the conversation.

For some reason, his security team found it either useless or amusing to just let the photographer waltz into his office unannounced.

“Aki…” he then heard Tanimura whisper before getting up.

“Masa, come on,” the photographer replied, taking a step closer to the cop. “She’s Wei’s sister. He’s your friend, isn't he?”

_Aki, Masa…_

His eyes lingered a second too long on Akihito, and that was enough for him to realize that his body language couldn't possibly be more different than the one he had shown that same morning, as the two of them talked on the balcony of their home. Tense shoulders, the usually pliant body stiff and unyielding - just the very opposite of what he was now looking at. With Tanimura, the hazel eyes were also filled with worry and irritation but at least the rest of the photographer’s body was sending a different message, and he looked receptive, relaxed, even.

When the detective spoke again, Asami realised he had crushed his expensive Cuban cigar to an indistinct brown pulp.

“I know,” Tanimura replied. “But this is not about letting her die, maybe... maybe she's dead already.”

“Maybe _now_ she is, since all of you will just sit and talk about it!”

“It's a trap, Akihito,” the CEO finally decided to butt in. “If they are making things this easy, it is because they have no intention of letting her walk out of it alive.”

The glare he got in return could have soured milk instantly.

He didn't like it when Akihito looked at him like that.

He didn't like it _at all_.

“Wow…” the photographer scoffed unhappily. “So you all will just... leave her there. And the kid, come on, she has a son!”

Asami closed his eyes for a moment. Much could be said about Akihito and his indestructible desire to do right by others, but his inability to use reason instead of emotion when the situation called for it was somewhat problematic.

“Akihito, you should go home,” he said quietly. “We can talk later.”

He really didn't want the two of them to have an argument, not at that moment, and most definitely not in front of Tanimura Masayoshi.

“Yeah…” the photographer scoffed again. “Right…”

He watched when the younger man made his way to the door, shaking his head before turning around to look at him one last time.

“Excuse me,” Akihito said, giving him the same bitter stare of moments before.

‘He's mad at me and it's not because of this stupid case,’ Asami had time to ponder, before the door was slammed with so much anger that even a painting on one of the walls fell to the floor.

Putting away what was left of his cigar and pushing the ashtray out of the way, Asami waited until Tanimura sat down to pick up from where they had left off.

_One problem at a time._

“Don't,” he said.

“What?”

“Play the hero. This will not end well.”

After a long sigh, in which the detective seemed to be weighing his options, Tanimura replied.

“I know. But it needs to end,” he whispered, the flame of determination in his eyes long extinguished. “Whatever it is, it just... it has gone on for too long,” he continued. “Wei Shen won't stop. And Akihito, you know he--”

“Take Mine with you.”

If he couldn't stop Tanimura, at the very least he could keep him on a leash of some sort. There had been a point, after all, in letting that man eavesdrop on his conversation with Kuroda… By allowing Tanimura to get a better read on Mine, perhaps Asami could guarantee he would be around the bodyguard long enough to give him a head start in case things got out of hand.

Not to mention, of course, that it was in his best interest that the detective found new possibilities for his love life, and gave up on Akihito for once and for all. 

“How long have you had him track me?” Tanimura asked, his voice once again filled with suspicion.

“Since the beginning,” Asami replied calmly, lacing his fingers on top of his desk. “When he left with Maya almost one year ago my team bugged his phone. In the event of an emergency, I would be able to reach her immediately.”

He paused so that his words could sink in, and when they did, Tanimura’s jaw slackened slightly, one of his eyes twitching visibly.

“He didn't know that I had access to his microphone and his camera. I could hear everything he said, everything that was said to him, but he didn't know,” he continued. “If he had been asked to follow you and report, he would have done so. He is one of my most trusted employees, but I figured his feelings for you could get in the way.”

He raised an eyebrow, and watched with sadistic satisfaction when the cop sank further into the chair, flabbergasted.

“I opted not to take the chance…” he concluded.

He had to assume Tanimura’s reaction was either the result of extreme denial or just pure, undisputed stupidity. Any person with half a brain would have realised a long time ago that Mine carried a gigantic torch for him, anyway…

“I don't know where he is…” he muttered, eyes fixated on some invisible point behind his head.

“He called me to schedule a meeting this morning, so he might be somewhere in the building,” Asami replied, unlocking one of the drawers in his desk. “But if you two don't come across each other on the way out…”

Without finishing his sentence, he slid a pair of keys across the desk.

“What is this?” the detective asked.

“The keys to his apartment,” he answered, as if handing out keys to his subordinates’ residences was just business as usual. “It also unlocks the front door and the elevator.”

With his mouth still gaping open, Tanimura looked far too confused to be outraged.

“5-5-1, Nishi-shinjuku,” Asami added. “Tower 60, 35th floor.”

Before the man in front of him regained his speech faculties and started a new round of debate, he waved a hand dismissively and turned on his laptop.

“That's all,” he said, golden eyes already averted to his computer screen as Tanimura got up in silence, walked towards the door, and left.

++++

It was almost lunch time.

He was not hungry, but the force of habit made him drag his feet to the kitchen anyway.

There was something soothing in watching water boil, even if that meant he had gotten the recipe for poached chicken all wrong.

It didn't matter.

More than once, he forgot what he was doing, and was only brought back to his senses when all the water evaporated, white smoke making him blink.

Poached chicken. Half a carrot. Two spoons of avocado.

A meal without surprises and fog, lots of fog inside his head.

In spite of that, a part of himself was always awake, always alert, and when the faint ding of the elevator echoed at the far end of the hallway outside, he could hear the quiet steps approaching.

His hands automatically moved to the second drawer in his kitchen cupboard to retrieve a pistol, and he tiptoed his way to the door after also grabbing a cleaver, just to be safe.

Gunshots drew too much attention, so blades were a better option, even if they meant the cleanup afterwards was a bitch.

He was already thinking of the stains he would have to remove from the carpet when a familiar voice called out to him from behind the door.

“Mine?”

His grip on the pistol slackened, and he lowered the cleaver.

_Tanimura._

“Can I come in?”

Under different circumstances, he would at the very least be curious as to why and how the man was showing up at his door unannounced. As it was, though, he couldn't find it in him to care; his emotions had been switched off, and he couldn't really bother to be worried or angry, not even mildly excited.

In silence, he unlocked the door and walked back to the kitchen.

“Hi,” he heard the cop say, with some hesitation.

After casting a quick glance towards him to acknowledge his presence, Mine resumed his lunch preparations, lifting his eyes from the counter every now and then to see the detective walk around his living room, holding his hands behind his back as he studied the endless rows of book covering each wall.

“Wow…” the man whispered at some point. “That's a lot of books you got here.”

“Yeah.”

“How many languages can you read?”

“Many,” Mine replied, his voice void of enthusiasm.

“Even Sanskrit?” Tanimura asked, holding a particularly heavy copy of the Samaveda.

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever been to India?”

“Yeah.”

“Are all of these Bibles?”

The question made him put down the knife and push aside a half cut carrot.

He was particularly fond of his collection of bibles and other Christian prayer books.

“Yeah.”

“I didn't know you were religious…” the detective whispered in response, touching one of the many statues of saints that adorned the shelves.

“I attended a Catholic school when I was young,” Mine replied, frowning at how strange his voice sounded to his ears.

It was almost as if the words leaving his mouth were being said by someone else.

“I found the doctrine interesting so I started studying it,” he added, his eyes briefly scanning everything he had been able to collect over the years.

Statues big and small, some made of clay, some made of gold, some obtained with money, others with blood. One of his favourites was a miniature of Christ the Redeemer made on the spot, out of cardboard paper, by a homeless man he had met in El Salvador.

It was that rough, unsophisticated brown surface that he found himself touching after his feet dragged him closer to the detective.

“I know I will never enter His Kingdom,” he whispered, staring at the small statue and its welcoming open arms, “but I enjoy talking to Him anyway.”

When he turned his head to the side, he noticed Tanimura was watching him with his lips parted, a mix of confusion and surprise in his light brown eyes. His hair was still damp and his skin smelled like citrus and almonds, the proximity of his body filling him with a strange kind of heat.

He suddenly felt very hungry.

His eyes shifted to the dish he had left on the counter, and he turned around to finally start the meal he felt less and less like having.

“Mine, uh... I... I'm sorry about last night.”

“Do you want to eat?” Mine asked, after taking his seat by the small table near the living room.

“N-No, I... I had a snack on my way here.”

“Good,” the bodyguard replied. “I only made food for one.”

Last night felt like a century ago.

Last night, he didn't have a brother, let alone a father that was also an uncle, and that he would never get to meet. Last night, how could he have known Tanimura would find out about some of the worst parts of his past, hiding behind a door…

At that point, the punch that had left a purple bruise on his left cheek was irrelevant.

“You can keep talking, if you want to,” he said quietly, munching on a piece of chicken.

“Right. Uh…” the detective then started, his voice unsteady as he took a seat across from him. “I talked to your boss. Former boss. Asami.”

Mine didn't even bother to look up as the other man spoke, and simply reached for the first bottle of a small row to pop the first pill of many.

“What are all those pills?” he heard Tanimura ask.

“My medication.”

“Do you need to take that many?” the cop inquired, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and concern.

“Sometimes,” Mine replied, unwilling to go into the details of how his mental breakdown following Kuroda’s revelations needed to be medically controlled to stop him from going on a killing spree. “The stronger ones have side effects so some of these are just to manage the symptoms.”

“My antipsychotic usually makes me numb but I think the effect is wearing off “ he explained. “This is for my thyroid,” he said, pointing to the first small bottle, and then the others. “This is a serotonin reuptake inhibitor, this controls my blood pressure, this helps with the stomach aches.”

One by one, he swallowed the respective pills, with the exception of his antidepressant.

His libido had already taken a hit with the powerful drugs he had taken earlier, and if there was even a faint chance of their afternoon taking a turn for the better, he didn't want to be out of commission.

He wouldn't hold his breath, though. If there was one thing he had learnt from his interactions with Tanimura, was that things never happened the way he expected.

“And this ensures that my heart keeps beating after all that,” he said, taking a pill from the last bottle before washing it down with a large gulp of water. “You were saying?”

“Right,” he heard the cop mutter in response. “He... uhh… He told me he tapped your phone without you being aware of it.”

Mine rested his face on one of his hands, probably looking much less surprised than the other man expected him to be.

“I'm sorry,” Tanimura whispered. “I should have--”

“No hard feelings,” Mine interrupted.

 _No feelings,_ actually.

The realisation that maybe the man had decided to show up and apologise out of pity made him shift on his seat.

“You don't need to feel sorry for me because of what you heard,” he said, pushing the small table to the side so that he could stretch his legs.

“I'm not feeling sorry,” the detective replied, moving to sit next to him, his back also pressed against the wall.

“Then why are you here?”

“Because…”

The next words, though, seemed to die on his lips.

With a shrug, Tanimura averted his eyes to the floor, the light brown eyes darting back and forth nervously.

“Cigarette?” Mine offered, retrieving a pack from the pocket of his sweatpants to try and break the awkward silence that had settled between them.

“No, thanks, I'm trying to stop.”

“Oh.”

A cigarette was already dangling from his lips when Mine changed his mind, putting it back into the box.

“You can smoke if you want.”

“It's fine.”

Without a smoke, though, his restlessness intensified. The silence and the heat seeping through the other man’s clothes were beginning to get to him, but his thoughts were far too disorderly for him to know exactly what to do about it.

“I used to be addicted to meth when I was a teenager.”

Mine frowned slightly at the unexpected revelation, but Tanimura ignored his reaction and continued to stare at the carpet as he spoke, his arms wrapped around his knees.

“I was in and out of juvie until I turned 17, but then…” he paused, his eyes darting nervously as he revisited his own memories.

“It was Christmas Eve. There was this other kid that used to go with me sell stolen stuff. Phones, appliances, whatever we could get our hands on. That day, though, he tried to walk away with my cut,” he explained. “So I took a piece of rope… wrapped it around his neck… and threw one of the ends over a concrete beam to hang him.”

After another pause, the detective cleared his throat and continued.

“By the time police got to the place he was not even breathing anymore,” he chuckled nervously, chin trembling slightly as he spoke. “You asked me, so there you have it. That's how I ended up in jail for two years for attempted murder.”

Still avoiding his eyes, the detective shrugged, raking his fingers through his hair.

“That's what happened,” he whispered. “Nothing heroic, no brave gesture to save someone. I was under age so my records from that time are sealed, that's why you probably didn't find anything.”

“Probably.”

“Yeah…”

When their eyes finally met, he noticed Tanimura looked positively mortified. Clearly, killing - or trying to do so - did not come naturally to him.

“Heh…” he chuckled again, his voice a mixture of relief and nervousness. “I had never told anyone about that.”

“It's ok.”

After a quick nod, Tanimura rested his head against the wall and inhaled deeply.

“Do you still want to know why I accepted to work for Asami Ryuichi?” Mine asked, mimicking the other man’s gesture and letting his eyes slip to the ceiling.

“Because he makes sure you take your medication?”

“That happened _after_ I entered his payroll.”

“I figured,” the detective replied, without looking. “Then why?”

“Have you ever been to Colombia?”

“No.”

“Ok. So, in the outskirts of Medellin there is this mountain that leads to a small sanctuary overlooking the city,” Mine explained. “Legend said there was a statue of Santa Rita de Casia, and that those that were able to reach it would have their wishes granted, no matter how impossible.”

“The only problem was, the mountain had been covered from the bottom to the top with all kinds of residences,” he continued. “Think of Kowloon Walled City, but with less concrete and more shacks, and the same amount of drug dealers.”

“Right…”

“I went in, and whenever I came across someone telling me I couldn't go any further, I killed them.”

Unlike the cop sitting by his side, he did not sound remorseful at the confession.

“I killed everyone that got in the way,” he said, his voice showing the same detachment that had been imprinted on his soul many years prior. “People thought it was because I wanted control of the drugs, but all I wanted was to get to that damn statue and make my wish.”

Saying that aloud only made him realize how absolutely unhinged he had been at some point of his life.

“I didn't have my medication at that time,” he added with a malicious smirk. “So… yeah. I got there, after a while. I made my wish, I asked… I asked for my family back.”

He paused, cracked his knuckles, looked at the window on the opposite side of the room.

Sometimes it was good not to feel. It made everything easier.

“And on that same day…” he whispered. “On that same day, he arrived.”

“Asami.”

“He arrived, we had a fight, he won,” Mine went on, after assenting with a nod. “And then he said he had a job for me, and that he would take me back to Japan,” he said, his voice distant and dull. “Back to my mother.”

By his side, Tanimura was leaning forward, legs now crossed as he looked at him with undivided attention.

“What were the odds?” the bodyguard asked, after a bitter, almost desperate scoff. “Well, now I know it was probably Kuroda that told him to do it, but… at that time… I thought he was an angel God had sent with a message just for me.”

Unconsciously, his eyes had shifted back to the miniature of Christ the Redeemer.

_Boy, had he been wrong..._

“So I came back to Tokyo, and my mother was waiting for me with her arms wide open. She looked happy. Healthy,” he said. “One night, she cooked dinner, we ate, I did the dishes. Then I heard her going into the bathroom, turn the water on…”

The memories inside his head seemed to belong to someone else. He could not connect to any of the emotions he knew that other version of himself had felt at that time, couldn't bring himself to fear, or to despair, or to cry.

And so, he kept talking, as if retelling an old horror tale that no longer scared him.

“Half an hour went by… then forty minutes, the water still running…” he went on. “I called out, she didn't answer. I tried to open the door but she had locked it from the inside. And then I kicked it open and she was there, in the bathtub.”

What he had seen then had never stopped haunting him.

That image was his personal hell.

One of them, at least.

“Dead. She had slit both wrists and bled out.”

He had the impression that, by his side, Tanimura had opened his mouth to say something, but he appeared to have changed his mind halfway through it.

There was nothing to be said, anyway.

“That's when I stopped caring,” Mine concluded. “And that is why I continued working for Asami Ryuichi even though he was no angel.”

A sudden pang in the middle of his chest made him groan quietly.

“Mine?” Tanimura asked, turning to look at him. “What's wrong?”

“Heartburn.”

“Do you want me to get you something?”

“No, I can't take anything else,” Mine replied. “It will get better.”

Silently thanking all heavens for the unexpected break, he rubbed his chest, drank some water, closed his eyes, breathed.

Why was he telling Tanimura all of that, anyway? The man probably found him pathetic, insane and evil already - he was not necessarily building a very solid case for himself.

Against his best judgment, he continued.

“I have the same mental problems my mother had,” he said. “But I don't wanna end up like her. Hearing voices inside my head, telling me to do things I don't wanna do.”

The drops that fell from the corners of his eyes might as well be cold sweat, he mentally told himself when his brain got caught in a short circuit of emotions, his body and mind behaving in ways he could not predict.

“I don't want to kill myself,” he muttered.

“Then don't.”

The other man’s uneducated response made him giggle, and the giggling slowly turned into a laughing fit that made him lose his breath.

“That's not how it works, idiot,” he managed to pant, a long minute later.

“I know,” Tanimura replied, still chuckling quietly as well. “But seriously. Don't.”

When their eyes met, laughter finally subsided.

“You would be missing out on a lot of good things,” he heard the detective say.

“Like what?”

“Like... do you like karaoke?”

“No.”

“Hmm…” Tanimura replied, pursing his lips as if he were in deep thought a second before his face lit up again. “But you like _kamameshi,_ yeah?”

“I can't eat rice.”

“Oh.”

Despite the consecutive negatives, the detective insisted.

“What about... Hot sake in the winter?” he asked, enlisting other options before Mine had the chance to respond. “Lantern festivals... Thunderstorms! Dancing?”

“Those are your favourite things, not mine,” Mine answered quietly, a faint smile curving his lips.

“Then stay alive and teach me,” he heard Tanimura reply, his face so close to his that each word was a hot, soft puff of air against his skin.  “Teach me what your favourite things are.”

He blinked rapidly, trying to find at least one thing in his life that he didn't want to miss out on.

Invariably, his brain kept giving him the same answer he would have given at least five years prior, which was when he had first set eyes on Tanimura Masayoshi.

Instead of voicing a response, Mine leaned forward to close the gap between them, his lips pressed against the other man's mouth.

++++

When their mouths touched, Tanimura finally understood why Mine was wearing a sweater and a jacket even though it was a relatively warm afternoon. His lips, just like the fingertips now touching his face, were so cold that the kiss made him shiver, but he didn't pull back, not even the sleeve of the man’s sweater got caught in the zipper of his pants, bending his arm in a strange angle as he opened his mouth to receive his tongue.

Strangely enough, now that he was sober - unlike that one time at the club - their kissing was much more clumsy and uncoordinated, but the clattering of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance at the same time did not turn him off.

Mine’s hot, quick breath inside his mouth, the quiet grunts leaving his lips, the erratic biting and licking…

It all felt even more real.

By the time they had found the right angles and rhythm, he felt his entire body was soaring way above him, electricity making the inside of his thighs throb, shivers running up and down his spine every time Mine pressed his tongue against the corners of his mouth, ever so lightly.

“You're hard,” he heard the bodyguard whisper, one of his hands resting on his crotch.

“Yeah…”

He didn't have time to check if his enthusiasm was reciprocal, though. Just when his hand was about to move from Mine’s hips to his groin, the man grabbed his fingers and pulled him up.

“Let's go to the bedroom,” he panted.

“Yeah…”

Too busy fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt while trying to continue kissing Mine in the process, Tanimura tripped on the legs of tables, chairs and his own feet before the other man slid a door open behind him and pushed him inside. Unable to see where he was going, Tanimura only stopped when something pointy prodded his butt, and he let out a startled gasp after turning around to check what he had hit.

“What-- what is this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the life-sized marble statue of a man on a horse fighting a dragon.

“Saint George,” the bodyguard replied, paying him no mind as he pulled his pants down to his ankles and urged him to get on the bed. “Don't worry, he'll be a silent participant.”

“Hah… O-okay…”

Of course, he should have known there would be something weird in Mine’s bedroom. That entire afternoon had felt a bit strange so far, but why bother with the details?

What truly mattered was that the other man was already half naked on the bed, his legs already tangled with his, mouth going up and down his neck, and he was ready.

Mine, however, wasn't.

“My medication slows things down for me,” the bodyguard whispered apologetically when Tanimura’s fingers rubbed the front of his boxer briefs, only to find there wasn't much action going on in there. “Sorry.”

“It's ok,” the detective replied, kissing the man's lips one more time before settling between his legs to take off his boxers and the sweatpants dangling from one of his feet.

Not that he was in a hurry, but perhaps he could help speed things up a little.

After pressing soft kisses on Mine’s flat, toned stomach, Tanimura let his mouth wander farther, and he had to stifle a surprised gasp when his lips reached his destination.

How come that man was cold _down there_ too? It made him think that maybe his blood was not circulating properly, but that was something to discuss later.

For now, he would simply help bring some heat into that body, more specifically into the parts that he was welcoming into his mouth.

In a way, Mine’s slow metabolism had its advantages. It meant that before going to the main act, he would have plenty of time to enjoy every twitch and every moan, watching the man grab the sheets by his side, feeling warmth spread across his skin as his sex expanded inside his mouth.

He left no inch of skin unattended. His tongue covered and bathed every sensitive spot from the base to the very tip, gliding further down to tease his balls and the patch of skin leading to his ass.

When a hand moved to the back of his head to keep his mouth in place as Mine gently threw his hips up, he was pleased to realize it was no longer cold either. In fact, the temperature had gone higher for him too, his forehead beginning to sport the first beads of sweat as he gave Mine’s cock a final lick, watching it strain against his lower stomach.

He let out a satisfied smile at the sight, and a split second before they changed positions and he was the one on his back, his mind had time to point out that they seemed to be mimicking their first date, so to speak, saved all the essential differences in setting.

Back then, it had been him with problems to get an erection… Mine had been the one to give him head…

They seemed to be doing everything in reverse.

As they kissed, his forehead got wrinkled with an involuntary frown.

But… if that was the case… then…

His thoughts were painfully interrupted - and confirmed - when the tip of a wet finger entered his ass, quickly followed by another.

“ _Ore_ , Mine Mine Mine o-oi, wait, haha, wait,” he said nervously, patting the man’s forearm.

“What? You don't like it?”

“It's not that, I just--”

“You never... ?”

Tanimura shook his head, trying to ignore his racing heart and the cold sweat that seemed to be pooling behind his knees all of a sudden.

“I did, I just…” he whispered, the corners of his mouth twitching as he spoke. “It was not that good.”

‘Not that good’ was one way to put it. In short, it had really been a long time ago - he was only 18 at the time - and back then he had been unable to walk for three days, not to mention the humiliation of having to stop at the ER to get examined for possible internal injuries.

“Oh, ok,” he saw Mine reply, nodding his understanding as he prepared to change positions again. “We can do it the other way ar--”

“No, no…” the detective whispered in response. “No, it's ok, go on. I want you to do it.”

“Are you sure?”

The concern in the dark brown orbs staring at him made his heart skip a beat, and he automatically leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mine’s, deepening the kiss and wrapping his arms around the other man's neck if only to soothe his own nerves.

“Yes,” he then answered, smirking nervously, “Do your worst.”

‘What a terrible choice of words!’ his scared mind yelled in response.

“I'll use plenty of lube, don't worry.”

“Ok,” Tanimura nodded again, after kneeling on the bed and parting his legs. “I'll try to relax.”

And he did, he really tried to relax as Mine propped his hips up and placed pillows under his upper body to give him some kind of comfort. And yes, Mine did use plenty of lube indeed; he could even feel some of it run down the inside of his thighs, so it was all going according to plan.

“Do you want me to wear a condom?” he heard the bodyguard ask.

“Yes, please.”

“Ok.”

The answer fell from his lips automatically. He had never even considered having sex with another man without wearing a condom, even though he had always wondered what it felt like...

“Uh, Mine?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you _need_ to wear a condom?” he asked quietly, turning his head to the side just in time to see the other man getting it ready.

“No, I'm clean. Do you?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “A-Are you going to come inside me?”

“Yes.”

The determined answer made his cock stir.

Truth be told, he had not envisioned any of that when he decided to show up at the bodyguard’s place. Yes, he had figured they might end up having sex, but then it would just be more of the same. He had certainly not expected to be the one on all fours, and he was still having a hard time believing he was about to say what he was about to say.

“Then don't wear one,” he whispered. “I… I wanna feel it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Tanimura started to worry. Had that been some kind of trivia, had he given the wrong answer or something?

As soon as he looked over his shoulder, though, Mine cupped his chin and brought their mouths together for a violent kiss, sucking and biting hard enough to draw blood.

When he finally let go, his lips were throbbing, just like another part of his body.

His joy didn't last long, though.

As soon as he felt the initial pressure against his ass, his entire body tensed defensively, making waves of sharp pain irradiate from his backside all the way down to his toes and up to his scalp.

The more pressure Mine applied, the more the pain intensified and the less he could relax, making everything much more uncomfortable than it should be. He was positive he was about to be split in half despite all the lube, but he couldn't ask the other man to stop, he really didn't want another fiasco on his hands...

‘Grown men don't cry, grown men don't cry…’ he mentally told himself, a second before a pained sob escaped his lips.

“Tanimura?” Mine’s worried voice made his eyes snap open. “What's wrong?”

The other man tried to cup his chin again and tilt his head to the side, but he looked the other way to stop him from seeing his tears.

How many times would he embarrass himself in the middle of sex with that man?

“It's just that it's been a very long time…” he chuckled, trying not to sound even more pathetic.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah.”

After a reassuring kiss on the back of his neck, Mine patted him on the shoulder and helped him lie on his back again, settling between his legs and pushing his knees back as far as they would go.

“Uhh…” the detective whispered, his voice filled with confusion and embarrassment.

Of course, his erection had waned considerably after their troubled start, but instead of disappointed, he noticed Mine looked particularly determined as he stared at his private parts.

He had never felt so exposed in his entire life, but Mine’s skilled mouth stopped his mind from dwelling on the details.

If at some point those lips had been cold, he could barely remember it, because now they were engulfing him like soft, melted lava, and he surrendered without reservations to that intimate kiss, which became even more intimate when Mine’s mouth ventured further down, using his tongue to open him up.

That time, though, his muscles only tensed out of surprise, and for the fraction of a second. The warm softness pushing its way in made his thighs tingle and his entire body relaxed so much he felt he was melting onto the mattress. Suddenly, he could no longer stand to hold Mine’s stare - the dark eyes seemed to be stripping him of every single layer of shame he had left and it felt too much to keep up, too much to keep looking at him while his mouth was making that kind of sound, wet, indecent, hot.

He himself was moaning in a pitch that was several levels higher than his usual, but he didn’t care anymore. His insides were on fire, and when Mine’s fingers once again slipped inside him, the groan that escaped his lips had nothing to do with pain or discomfort.

He wanted _more._

“Is it better now?” Mine whispered into his ear, after letting his legs fall back onto the mattress and moving up to cradle his head.

Still slightly out of breath, all Tanimura could do was nod in response before the bodyguard kissed him again, sliding his tongue into his mouth without giving him time to object.

Not that he would, anyway. On top of the very thorough shower he had taken hours prior, he had apparently been prepped with the sweetest lube he had ever tasted.

“What kind of lube is that?” he asked.

“Candy Apple. It’s imported.”

“Oh…”

It occurred to him to say ‘let’s order another box of those, shall we?’, but he was beginning to doubt his ability to form any complex sentences at that point. Instead, he coaxed Mine’s lower lip into his mouth, feeling his hips rub against his now fully-engorged penis.

“Lie on your stomach,” the bodyguard commanded, and that was the cue for his heart to start racing once again.

Instead of propping his hips up, though, Mine laid on top of him, covering his body as if he was a very warm, very soft man-blanket. Even though the bodyguard had a much more delicate frame than his and seemed to be at least some ten pounds lighter, their bodies fit perfectly against each other, and in that position he could enjoy the bonus of Mine kissing the back of his neck, and then his shoulder blades...

Overwhelmed by the sensations, Tanimura spilled a considerable amount of precum onto the sheets, the pressure of the other man’s hips on his backside making his cock rub against the wet spot on the mattress time and again. When the familiar pressure at his entrance finally came, his body welcomed it eagerly, the initial pain and burn being quickly replaced by a jolt of electricity that made his toes curl.

“It's in,” Mine panted, not even a full minute later. “All of it.”

“Feels... good.”

“Yeah... it does.”

And then Mine was thrusting into him, all the while wrapping an arm around his neck to turn his head to the side and bring his mouth closer to his, kissing, biting, sucking, the layer of sweat accumulating on his lower back mingling with the moisture of the other man’s chest.

It felt like heaven, even when the thrusts were hard and Mine tightened his grip around his neck, his thumb sliding into his mouth and receiving a heated bite in return.

“Ahh…!” he moaned, tilting his hips to meet Mine’s thrusts when his cock bumped into his prostate.

“Here?”

Before he could actually reply, the other man adjusted his angle so that he was repeatedly jabbing his sweet spot.

“Mine… I--I can't… hold…”

“Wait… wait…” the man panted in response, a droplet of sweat dripping from his temple to his shoulder. “Let’s come… together…”

“Hurry up…”

He wanted to, he really wanted to wait, but his body seemed to have other plans.

One more thrust and he would be done for, he could tell.

“Tani...mura…”

And then, with one final thrust so hard that it made his entire body jerk forward and his forehead nearly hit the wall, he heard Mine grunt into his ear, his eyes squeezed shut as his muscles twitched and strained against the back of his thighs, each erratic throb filling him with heat.

_He's coming inside me._

His voice was nowhere to be found, but Mine seemed to understand exactly what he was asking for. He was at the very edge of that abyss himself, the pressure building inside his lower belly too much to handle…

When Mine finally propped his hips up and his thumb  glided over the throbbing tip of his cock, he thought he was going to die. The orgasm ravishing his body made his legs shake and his eyes rolled back into his head -  for all he knew, he might as well be having a seizure.

But what a _good_ seizure that was…

When his cock finally stopped twitching, he collapsed on the bed again, paying little mind to the fact the sheets under him were now wet and sticky, covered with all kinds of bodily fluid. Who cared, anyway… He was too busy reveling in the sensations of Mine’s warm breath tickling his neck, his muscles slowly relaxing as well, the weight of his body squeezing the air out of his lungs.

When he finally rolled over, he was a sight to behold. Chest and face flushed red, nipples hard and dark, a thin layer of sweat making his muscles glisten. Warm. _Smiling._

“Wow,” he whispered, still lying on his stomach.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Want some water?” Mine asked, retrieving two small bottles of water from a drawer in his nightstand.

“Thanks.”

After rolling on his back and sitting up, Tanimura’s eyebrows shot up.

“Hold on,” the bodyguard said, apparently noticing the source of his surprise. “Lemme clean you up.”

In a matter of seconds, he had left the room and returned with a warm towel in his hands.

“I can do it,” the detective replied, still overwhelmed by new sensations as he watched the evidence of Mine’s pleasure trickle down his body. “You came a lot…”

“Yeah…”

“Did I say that aloud?” Tanimura then asked, eyes wide.

Apparently, not much blood had returned to his brain. Of all things to say, really...

“Not that it is a problem,” he added with an embarrassed chuckle. “I mean, I did too.”

He lifted his eyes to Mine’s face just in time to see the look on his eyes change dramatically. It was almost as if he was seeing a change of shift - the happy, peaceful man from moments prior was taking his leave right before his eyes, and before he could do anything to stop it, a gloomier version of himself was back, his lips going pale as they looked at each other.

“Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah,” the bodyguard replied quickly, taking the towel from his hands. “Here, give it to me.”

What followed was some of the most awkward minutes of his life.

There he was, naked, on someone else’s bed, and although that was not exactly a first, that was the first time he did not know exactly what to do. Was he supposed to get dressed and leave? Should he wait for Mine to come back?

The door was open and the rest of the apartment was disturbingly silent. Maybe the man just needed some time on his own.

He would wait.

Yeah, waiting sounded good.

Ten minutes later, though, he realized there was probably something wrong going on.

After picking up his pants from a pile of clothes near the door, he got dressed and tiptoed out of the room, silently searching for the other man in the bathroom, and then in the kitchen and in the living room.

_Nothing._

Only then did he notice the shadow of a silhouette in the balcony, whose glass doors had been locked from the outside.

His mind automatically thought of the worst.

“Mine!” he yelled, slamming his wrist on the door frame multiple times.

When the man materialized in front of him with an ashtray firmly secured in one hand, a pack of cigarettes in the other, and a cigarette dangling from his lips, he let out a relieved breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t want the smoke to get into the house,” he explained.

“It’s fine, I just--”

“--thought I would jump?”

“No,” Tanimura lied, with a scoff.

When Mine raised an eyebrow knowingly, his facade shattered.

“I’m sorry, I-- I’m sorry. I was worried, that’s all.”

“It’s okay.”

Despite the calm in his voice, Mine looked far from okay.

It would surely take him some time to understand those mood swings, but he was willing to learn if only the man found the time to teach him.

“Can you.... can you get me my medicine in the bathroom?” he asked, after smashing what was left of his cigarette on the semi-full ashtray.

“Sure.”

When he managed to get to the cabinet in question, though, his jaw dropped.

Each shelf was filled with row after row of small bottles, all of them of the same size and with one name more complicated than the other.

“Holy shit…” he whispered, before turning around to scream. “Which one?”

“Ativan.”

After locating the right bottle, he rushed back to the balcony, stopping at the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“Here,” he said, his hands gently brushing against Mine’s cold, shaky fingers as he passed him the glass.

“Thank you.”

“What is that one for?”

After swallowing the pill, Mine seemed to be buying himself some time as he slowly drank what was left of the water, his eyes averted to the city below.

“Anxiety,” he finally replied.

With a silent nod, Tanimura collected the empty glass and the bottle and brought them back into the apartment. From a distance, he watched as Mine continued to stare vacantly into the city skyline, cracking his knuckles.

“Tanimura…”

“Yes?” he replied, walking back into the balcony even though the other man had not yet turned around to look at him.

“Do you... do you want to spend the night?”

For a second, he had to wonder how hard and for how long Mine had struggled to ask such a simple question. It sounded cruel to keep him waiting for an answer, though, so he filed those considerations for later.

“Yeah,” he said, with an honest smile. “Come back to bed.”

They would need to have an early start tomorrow. He hadn’t even brought up Yasu yet and he didn’t feel like doing that at the moment, anyway.

“Ok,” Mine then replied, looking so relieved his shoulders nearly collapsed as he spoke. “Can you just give me a minute?”

“Sure.”

Obviously, one minute turned easily into an hour, and by the time Mine finally joined him in bed, he had already changed the sheets, showered, and put what needed to be washed into the washing machine.

His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, but he was still wide awake when the man slipped under the blanket, lying on his back next to him as stiff as the statue across from the bed.

Pretending to be asleep, Tanimura grumbled and turned to face him, eyes still closed as he threw an arm over his body and pulled him closer.

He could feel each and every muscle in Mine’s body tense with the unexpected gesture, but after several deep breaths, his body began to relax.

The next time he opened his eyes, who knows how much time later, it was to find Mine snuggled against his chest, his forehead resting on the space between his neck and his collarbone, his face relaxed and calm.

With a satisfied smile, he pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and fell asleep again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is the name of the [cardboard-sculpture version ](http://metro.co.uk/2012/04/22/sculptor-makes-life-sized-statue-of-st-george-from-cardboard-boxes-398622/)of the famous episode of Saint George and the Dragon.
> 
> Also, the line "I thought he was an angel God had sent with a message just for me" is taken almost ipsis literis from episode 3 of Season 3 of the most excellent show, "The Leftovers".


	73. Trial and Error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have officially reached the mark of over half a million words in this story! =O
> 
> Kudos to you all for putting up with me for so long - you all are heroes for sticking to a work that will probably be almost as wordy as War and Peace (and its mindblowing 580k word count), just without all the refined prose because I’m no Tolstoy and I use the word “cock” far too often, hehe… (94 times, to be precise.xD)
> 
> Anywho… Please bear with me as we tie the remaining loose ends. This chapter focuses on Asami and Maya’s relationship (but there is some Akihito and his ma’ in this one too! And Kou, of course. The poor guy...)

 

 

Maya let out a sigh as she watched Kirishima work on his spreadsheets, eyes fixated on his computer screen.

To say that she was bored was an understatement.

At least three hours had gone by since her arrival at Sion, and from the looks of it, it might as well be another three until Asami Ryuichi found time to see her. After all, the man seemed to be handling an endless list of appointments and a few surprises of his own, if Akihito bursting into his office was anything to go by.

"Oi, Akihi--"

The photographer barely noticed her sitting next to Kirishima's desk, though. In fact, he seemed to be thoroughly annoyed on his way in, and even more pissed off on his way out, after slamming the door and stomping out with a murderous glare.

"Busy day here, huh?" she muttered quietly, after the photographer disappeared behind the the doors of the elevator at the end of the hallway.

"I've seen worse."

"I'm sure you have..." she replied, opening and closing drawers without much enthusiasm, until her eyes fell upon a rectangular velvet box with an elegant bow and a small card. "Makoto-chan, who is Makoto-chan?"

The secretary's sudden blush when he realised what she was holding made her smirk.

"Kirishima, have you been _dating_?"

"Give that back," the first assistant snarled in response, stretching a hand to try and snatch the gift away. "Now you’re just being inconvenient."

"Kirishima has a _girlfriend_ ," she chanted. "Kirishima has a girl--"

"Be quiet."

"Is she cute?"

"Give it back."

"Is she?" Maya insisted, giggling quietly as she dodged the man's attempts to take the box from her hands.

Crushed by the inevitable defeat, Kirishima let out a sigh.

"Yes, she is," he responded, before taking the box back with a tentative frown, whose impact was certainly lessened by a profuse blush spreading across his cheeks. "Now sit and stop messing with my things."

After the brief moment of amusement, Maya leaned back on her chair, and let her eyes once again shift to the door of her father's office.

"Who's that woman?" she asked quietly, watching an incredibly tall redhead knock softly on the door across the hall, her blue eyes temporarily locking with hers as she waited for a response.

" _Man_ ," Kirishima corrected. "That woman is a man, and his name is Sachi. He's your father’s... wedding planner."

"Oh..." Maya whispered in response, raising an eyebrow when the man lowered his head in a respectful bow before turning around and walking into the CEO's room. "Does he know who I am?"

The secretary's response was preceded by a disheartened scoff.

"Who doesn't, these days..."

She drew in a long breath when the door to Asami Ryuichi's office closed once again.

Who knew how long _that_ appointment was going to take...

"Hey, Kirishima."

"Hmm?"

"What was my mother like when she was my age?" she asked, resting her face on one of her hands as she spoke. "That's when you met her, yeah?"

"Yes. Maybe one or two years older."

"What was she like?"

"What, you don't remember?" the man replied, without bothering to raise his eyes from the computer screen.

"I remember her as a daughter. But I mean… what she liked to do for fun," she explained. "How she acted around others."

When she averted her gaze to the secretary's face, she noticed he was now looking at her.

"She was a lot of fun," he said, after taking off his glasses. "Quick-tempered, like you. Outspoken. Kind," he went on, cleaning the lenses with a handkerchief. "No one could beat her at Mahjong... She went by the nickname ‘Thirteen Orphan Hayashi’ when she played."

With a melancholic chuckle, he put his glasses back on.

"Couldn't cook to save her life."

"Really?" Maya interjected. "I liked her food."

"When you were older, perhaps. But in the beginning she would just get takeaway Chinese whenever she could."

"Ahh… It's true," she replied, a small smile curling the corners of her lips as memories of meals made together filled her mind. "The lucky dumplings..."

There were so many things about her mother she had never bothered to ask… so many things she thought she would have time to find out, only to be proven wrong in the most horrible of ways.

“I wish I had spent more time with her,” Maya said quietly, staring at her own hands. “I wish I had gotten to know her better.”

“I know,” she heard the secretary reply, his voice full of uncharacteristic softness. “But at least you've still got another parent to do that with.”

His words made her blink.

_Another parent…_

She and her father had grown so far removed that it was difficult to imagine that one day they would have some sort of emotional bond, let alone the kind she used to have with her mother.

“You can go in now,” Kirishima added, picking up the phone when the CEO’s current appointment left his is office.

“Thanks…”

The first thing she noticed when she entered the room was that it looked exactly the same as it did the last time she had been there, almost an entire year prior. Nothing out of place, nothing different on the walls, nothing new on the desk other than piles of hardcase folders and files.

The only difference in that setting was the shiny ring on one of his father’s fingers coming in and out of focus as he typed away, his eyes fixated on the screen in front of him.

He did not seem to be in a good mood.

 _‘But then again,’_ she mentally remarked, _‘that’s not so uncommon…’_

“How's your jaw?” Maya heard him ask as she approached one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Fine. I'm taking some strong painkillers.”

Only then the golden orbs shifted to her face for the fraction of a second.

“It's still swollen,” he said, eyes once again averted to the computer screen.

“Yeah.”

She took her seat and tried to make herself comfortable as she waited for the cue to start talking, letting the sound of fast keystrokes fill the silence between them.

After realizing that they might as well sit there for another full hour before the man said something, she drew in a long breath.

“Listen…” she said. “I'm going to Yasu.”

“Tsk,” Asami replied, still far too absorbed on whatever it was he was typing. “I'm not sure about that.”

“I want to help.”

“Good. Then stay out of it,” he said, finally shutting down his laptop, but without making eye contact. “What's happening in Yasu is none of your business.”

“It's whose business, then?”

When his gaze finally shifted from his desk to her face, Maya felt her heart skip a beat.

She had almost forgotten how intimidating his glares could be.

“Do you have _any_ idea what type of people you'd be dealing with?” he asked, his narrowed eyes piercing her very soul.

“Yes. The kind of people that _you_ deal with.”

“Exactly. Do see what the problem is now?”

“My help could end up hurting your business?”

“If you were that big of a player, yes, obviously,” he replied with a disdainful, irritated scoff. “But the bottom line is that you would end up getting hurt, or worse.”

“How can you provide those people with guns?” she asked, the usual anger at her father’s illicit activities bubbling up to the surface. “And drugs and--”

“It's _guns_ and _drugs,_ Maya. Who do you think buys those things?”

“And it doesn't bother you?”

“No,” he answered, his eyebrows going slightly up, as if he had just been asked a most idiotic question. “If it wasn't me, it would be someone else. At least I can keep things under control.”

“People are dying,” she retorted. “Or about to die, how is that under control?”

“People who want to die always find a way to do so,” she heard the man across from her answer dismissively.

“Do you think my mother wanted to die?”

The question fell from her lips before she could stop it, before she could even think about what he was asking and why, and the abrupt change of topic made her father blink, his irritation giving room to a somewhat confused, almost guilty frown.

“I was not referring to--”

“Did you ever love her?” she asked, her thoughts turning into questions that had been sitting at the back of her head for a very long time.

Why was she digging such a distant past, anyway? That was not why she had come to that place, that was not what she had envisioned when she entered that room.

Or maybe it was, at least in part.

“I… I found this picture in the middle of her things,” she said, retrieving a picture from one of her pockets.

Looking several years younger, a smiling Asami Ryuichi had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of an equally cheerful and young Hayashi Mirai, in a picture that had been folded and unfolded multiple times, and probably cried upon by her mother just as many others, if the stains on the glossy paper were anything to go by.

“You look happy,” she whispered. “The two of you.”

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because… Don’t you think about it?” she asked quietly, as Asami picked up the picture from the table, his face still void of emotion even though his eyes seemed to be clouded with some kind of sadness and nostalgia. “Why some people move on and others don't?”

 _‘Don’t you think about why things end?’_ she asked in silence, watching as her father put down the picture, the golden orbs once again cold and intimidating.

“I think… that suddenly the point of this conversation is very unclear,” he said, lacing his fingers on top of the table. “What are you here for, what do you want me to do?”

“I don't know,” she replied. “Teach me what needs to be done,” she shrugged, hoping that she would eventually walk out of that room feeling less lost than she felt before walking in. “To make a difference. To be strong.”

“You're not ready.”

“What do you mean, I'm not ready?”

“If you want to make a difference, whatever _that_ means to you,” the man replied, golden eyes still boring into her, “you need to be one step ahead of everyone else all the time, and you can't be afraid.”

“I'm not afraid.”

“And you need to know what your weaknesses are because people will always use them against you.”

“I know what my weaknesses are,” Maya insisted, her chin tilted up as if to show she still had some pride in her, at least.

Her father, though, did not look convinced.

“Good,” he said simply, raising as eyebrow as he picked up the phone and pushed a button with a tired sigh. “Kirishima, send my next appointment in.”

Maya had to stifle an indignant gasp.

So that was it? That was all the advice she would get?

 _‘Talk about a waste of time,’_ she mentally told herself, getting up after a disdainful scoff.

“Sit down, I want you to stay,” her father said before she opened the door. “It’s just an employee who wants to introduce his fiancée to his boss, it's a… company tradition,” he explained. “Won't take long.”

“I can wait out--”

“ _Stay_.”

She had to roll her eyes. So what if it was a company tradition, she had better things to do with her time...

Trying her best to just blend in with the furniture, she let her body sink onto an armchair near the couch, hoping no one would attempt to make small talk with her.

“Asami-sama, thanks for--”

The familiar voice coming from the door made her eyes go wide.

“Come on in, Kou,” she heard her father reply.

_It’s just an employee who wants to introduce his fiancée to his boss…_

“Emi, aren't you?”

“Asami-sama, it's an honour to meet you.”

She raised her eyes from the ground just in time to see a short-haired woman bow respectfully as she approached the CEO. Kou, on the other hand, looked as pale as a ghost as he stood by the door, lips parted as he stared at the corner where Maya was sitting.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him in the eye.

“Likewise. This is Maya, my daughter.”

With a discreet hand gesture, her father urged her to get up for a proper greeting, but her knees felt so weak she had to hold onto the chair not to fall.

“N-Nice to meet you,” she stuttered, lowering her head as well.

“Please take a seat,” said the CEO. “Kou?”

Only then did she realize the designer still hadn't moved from the door.

“ _Kou?_ ”

When her father called him one more time, his voice void of any amusement, the young man finally started dragging his feet as if he was walking towards his own death.

By the time he took his seat next to his fiancée, it had become extremely difficult to focus on the words leaving his father’s mouth.

“Congratulations on your engagement. Have you both decided on a date for the wedding yet?”

“Almost,” the girl answered.

“No!” Kou replied at the same time, his pitch much higher than usual.

“I see…” Asami whispered in response. “What do you do for a living?”

Maya blinked slowly. The man’s voice sounded distant and low to her ears, as if they were standing on opposite ends of a crowded hallway, except that the noise muffling his voice came from inside her head, in a jumble of images, sounds, feelings.

The chain around her neck felt heavy and hot, and the ring touching her chest now filled her with embarrassment.

Everything that it represented was now water under the bridge.

“I know that it is customary for the three of us to have a commemorative lunch together but I'm afraid Kou and I have a meeting in... less than half an hour.”

“We do?”

“Yes. About a promotional campaign for the Fixer.”

“O-Oh.”

“Maya…”

She was a coward.

She had been a coward back then, she was a coward now. She kept staring at Kou's face but whenever the designer turned his head to look at her, she would avert her eyes to the closest window, her nails digging into the palms of her hands as she held back the urge to get up and leave.

“ _Maya?_ ”

It took her a while to notice all three heads had turned to look at her.

“What?” she asked quietly.

“Would you mind taking Kou's fiancée for lunch instead?” her father asked, looking thoroughly calm. “I have already booked a table at the Ducasse.”

Perhaps because her mind was too busy trying to contain an imminent breakdown, she couldn't help but grimace at the suggestion.

“Could we…” she muttered, staring angrily at the man behind the desk, her nostrils flaring as tried to keep her anger in check. “Could we talk for a moment?”

It was Kou's fiancée that broke the awkward silence that followed.

“We'll be waiting outside,” she said, getting up with the same grace and elegance she had shown upon her arrival.

Maya never thought she would be able to hate someone so much in such a short period of time.

And now her dear father wanted her to take her out for lunch?

_Sadistic asshole._

“Kou.”

When the girl’s soft, feminine voice echoed somewhere near the door, Maya realised that the designer was still sitting, his shoulders stiff as he stared blankly at a wall.

“ _Kou._ ”

When she finally gathered the courage to look into his eyes for the first time, she felt she was freefalling into a void.

The dark orbs darted back and forth so fast that it was almost as if he was trying to transmit some kind of message in Morse. Either that or he was about to have a stroke. Maybe both.

She couldn't blame him, really. She felt just as disoriented, moreso now that he had finally made his way to the door and left.

“What _the fuck_ are you doing?” she then asked, her hands curled into fists on top of the CEO’s desk.

“Language…”

“Fuck language!” she snarled. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

“I only see one joke and it's standing right in front of me,” the man replied, still looking completely unaffected by the circumstances even though a small frown had wrinkled his forehead. “Why are you tearing up?” he asked, and only then did Maya realize her eyes were indeed filling with tears. “If you want him, do something. I'm giving you the chance to remove the one obstacle standing in the way.”

The suggestion made her tears dry almost instantly.

So that was why he wanted her to take Kou's fiancée out for lunch? To… ‘remove’ her from the picture?

What the heck.

“Take what belongs to you,” he added, as if the shady line from moments prior hadn't been enough. “You'll have to learn to do so sooner or later.”

And with that, he walked out of the door as well, leaving her alone with her own thoughts.

_Get rid of the obstacle… take what's yours…_

Count on her old man to provide _that kind_ of relationship advice.

++++

It was way past eight in the evening when Kirishima let him know that Maya was still on the rooftop, after a very late lunch with Kou’s fiancee.

In his defense, his morning had been so busy he hadn’t even realized it was almost dinner time by the time the two of them had left his office. Not that time, of all things, would have made that meal any less tense, at least for one of the parts involved.

With a sigh, he looked out of the window before stealing a quick glance at his phone.

As expected, Akihito had not returned any of his calls, and even though Shinada had guaranteed the photographer was just running the usual errands around town, Asami couldn’t help but worry.

He knew Akihito well enough to suspect he was up to no good.

And then there was still Kuroda, Fei Long, Sachi, a pile of reports he had to review prior to the routine inspections he had to conduct at his clubs… Maya…

He had given most of his business affairs enough attention for the moment, though, he told himself as he took the private entrance to the staircase leading to the rooftop.

It was time to save a few moments of his day for the one matter that had gone unchecked.

“So?” he asked, retrieving his pack of Dunhills as he stood next to the girl looking at the city below.

“So what?”

“How did it go?”

With a quiet, bitter scoff, Maya continued to stare into the distance.

“She's... _great,_ ” she replied.

“What does that mean?”

“It means... That I couldn't do it. I couldn't break them up,” she said, before finally turning to look at him. “Was that a test? Because I clearly didn't pass.”

Now, it was his turn to avert his gaze to the neon signs and all the hustle and bustle of after-hours Shinjuku several floors below.

He had never fully understood such mundane matters of the heart, and so he could not show much sympathy for his own daughter’s misery. The reasons behind her decisions in life were just as unclear. All he knew was that if he had been in her shoes, he would have not run away after the misfortunes she had had to endure; he would have stayed, he would have had his revenge. He would have fought and he would have _won,_ he would have claimed what he wanted and he wouldn't be wasting time feeling sorry for himself.

But then again, Maya was not him. She looked like him, but looks were where the similarities between them began and ended.

Emotionally speaking, they seemed to be from different planets.

“Did you know that she has two older brothers?” he heard the girl say some time later. “She does, and they have kids, and she doesn't dig video games, but the boys do, and Kou hangs out with them a lot.”

“She doesn't know how to cook but she's learning,” she continued. “She wants to keep working when they have kids. They are already planning to have kids.”

Asami couldn't help but frown, even though he was beginning to suspect he knew where that conversation was going.

“When we left she… she stopped at a convenience store to get him his favourite candy,” Maya went on, and he noticed her voice was gradually becoming shaky. “I don't even know what his favourite candy is.”

“You can learn that, just like you can learn everything else.”

“But I can't give him the life he wants,” she replied, glistening eyes fixated on the ground.

“Because you can't have kids?”

His question made the girl whip her head, her eyebrows pulled together in an almost scared expression.

“How do you know that?” she whispered.

“I have access to all your medical files.”

“That's... _uh..._ kind of creepy.”

He watched as she cleared her throat, drawing in a long, unsteady breath as her eyes darted back and forth, thoroughly avoiding his face.

“When did you find out?” he asked quietly, noticing the signs of distress.

“After... what happened,” she answered, her knuckles going white as she squeezed her hands under her chin. “They tested me for pregnancy and... I don't know, something was off with the results and they asked for more tests.”

“There are treatments these days. Adoption…”

“I don't-- That's not it.”

When he realised the girl’s eyes kept filling with tears, he felt his own stomach drop to his feet.

“I-- I never wanted to have kids,” she explained, her voice slightly nasal as the first tears escaped the corners of her eyes. “But ever since they told me, I can't stop thinking about it. I see women with babies and I know it's never gonna be me.”

“I'm sure Kou would--”

“This is not about Kou!” Maya yelled in response. “This is about _me!_ ”

And that was his cue to shut his mouth.

Clearly, his approach was not being very successful.

“I don't think I want that kind of life. I don't think it's for me,” she went on, no longer screaming. “Maybe one day it will be, but it isn't right now.”

Once again, his daughter’s logic made absolutely no sense to him. If she wanted kids, there would be alternatives further down the road even if Kou was no longer in the picture. If she didn't want kids, then what was the problem?

He really was not very well equipped to deal with that kind of emotional turmoil.

“And I can't ask him to wait for me, not when he can have everything with her. T-That girl can make it h-happen,” she stuttered in between sobs. “And he is going to be happy, and g-get married, and have a family, just not with me.”

When she started bawling her eyes out, it was like he had been taken back to thirteen years prior. At that time, he had felt his heart had been ripped off his chest just because the girl had broken two of her teeth.

Now that nine year-old had grown up and her pain had a different source, but to him, it was all the same.

He just _hated_ to see her cry.

Even more, he hated the fact that time he couldn't just rush to someone’s office to have it fixed. There was no practical solution to a broken heart, after all, and practical solutions were what he specialised in.

Not… _that._

His fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to figure out a course of action, he saw an unexpected opportunity come to his aid.

A trail of snot dripping from his daughter’s nose.

“Here,” he said, finally feeling useful as he wiped the girl's face with a handkerchief and held it to her nose so that she could blow, wiping it one more time with surgical precision to make sure her face was rid of all phlegm.

“You're so stupid,” he whispered, eliciting a sad chuckle as he wiped one final tear with his thumb. “Heaven knows you did not inherit that from me.”

Despite the rough words, the corners of his mouth had curled into a resigned smile as he looked at the reddish golden eyes staring at him.

Those were the same reddish golden eyes of thirteen years prior, which had always looked at him as if he were some sort of superhero.

“One day, you'll look back and ask yourself, ‘what was I thinking?’,” he added, as images from a distant past flashed before his eyes.

Maybe it all happened for a reason, after all.

“Alas, I guess it can't be helped…” he muttered, straightening the collar of her shirt and patting her on the shoulder before stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “Go say your goodbyes, then.”

“Is he still here?”

“No. He left almost one hour ago, he must be home by now,” he replied, walking to the exit and holding the door open so that she could follow. “Come downstairs, I can give you his new address.”

“Heh,” she chuckled, her voice hoarse and nasal. “I thought you knew the addresses of your employees by heart.”

“I do. The most important ones, at least,” he said. “But I don't walk around with the copies of their keys, they're in my office.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see the girl’s jaw drop.

“You have… _their keys?_ ” she asked quietly. “That's… wow, do you make them sign their contracts with their own blood as well?”

He smirked.

Just like he had trouble understanding the things Maya did and why, his world seemed to be just as much of a mystery to the girl staring at him.

They still had a long way to go.

+++

The minutes elapsed between the receptionist announcing her presence and Kou finally showing up at the front desk were probably some of the longest, most uncomfortable moments of her life.

What exactly was she planning to say?

Kou had done nothing wrong. He had always treated her well, even when she had given him reason not to.

_'One day, you'll look back and ask yourself…'_

“What was I thinking?” she muttered quietly, staring at her reflection on a heavy framed mirror near the elevators.

Damn, she looked _hideous!_

Her jaw was still visibly bruised despite her efforts to cover it with makeup and her eyes… oh man, her eyes! No make up in the world would succeed in making them look less congested. Her eyelids had swollen so much with all the crying that her eyes were tiny and weird.

_Ugh._

“Maya?”

Kou, on the other hand, looked just as handsome as ever. Much as she had always enjoyed the designer’s casual style, she had to concede the suits he had to wear for work were now on a different level of stylish, and that was already taking into account the loose tie knot around his neck, the rolled up sleeves and the jacket he was no longer wearing.

And damn, did he smell good too…

“Hi,” she answered, faking a smile as she rubbed the clammy palms of her hands on her hips. “Let's go for a walk, yeah?”

His face showing all kinds of conflicting emotions, the designer assented with a quick nod before going past the gates to join her.

Unable to figure out a proper destination, the two of them went round the block, dodging groups of salarymen at the exit of restaurants, glancing at subway signs, staring blankly at their own feet, always in silence, always avoiding each other's eyes.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” she said at last, trying to break the ice and making it much thicker instead.

By her side, Kou looked like he was drowning.

“Are you happy?” she asked nevertheless.

“I thought--”

“Are you?”

His dull, confused eyes were enough of a response.

“Where were you?” he asked, stopping in front of a karaoke bar. “I waited for--”

“Hiding,” she answered, trying to ignore the joyful music and the enthusiastic screams coming from behind the doors. “I went to the village where my mother grew up. Thought I would… uh… I don't know,” she whispered. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

“What are you gonna do now?”

With a sad chuckle, she finally found it in herself to look at him in the eye again.

“I don't know that either,” she answered.

“Are you gonna stay in Tokyo this time?”

“If I convince my father to train me, yeah.”

“Train you?” he asked, frowning.

“Uh, yeah… like… management and stuff,” she said, unwilling to admit that at point her only clear goal in life was to become a freelance vigilante with a more decent set of skills.

“Right…”

And then there was silence again, and there were so many things they were not saying that Maya thought her chest would explode.

“Have you been watching any good shows these days?” she asked, in another feeble attempt to make small talk.

“No.”

“Bullshit,” she replied after a scoff. “What about The Good Place?”

A glance at the designer’s face revealed that his lips had curled up in a faint, saddened smile.

“Heh….”

“Yeah? I knew it,” she chuckled, relieved to see his expression brighten up for a moment. “Dude, you are so _forked._ ”

It was a lame impersonation, she knew it, but at the very least it succeeded in making the two of them laugh, even if only for a spare second.

“I missed you,” Kou then said. “Not just the…. You know, _that_ part.”

She rubbed the back of her neck, biting her lower lip as he spoke.

Yeah, she knew what part he was talking about.

“But I miss… laughing with you,” he continued. “Watching shows together, just… being together.”

“Yeah…” she replied, her gaze darting from his eyes to his lips, and then back to his eyes. “I miss that too.”

It happened in a heartbeat, and she would not be able to tell who started it because the two of them seemed to have moved forward at the very same time.

It was impossible to resist that pull.

Casting all good sense aside for a moment, Maya surrendered to the kiss and to the arms wrapping her waist, Kou's eager, warm hands moving up her back until one of them was cradling the back of her head.

How long had it been? She couldn't even tell.

If only she could make that moment last forever…

She couldn't, though, and when they parted for air her chest felt twice as heavy and constricted as it was before.

_Kou was no longer hers to keep._

“That was a stolen kiss,” she whispered into his ear. “Because now all of this belongs to someone else.”

“If you want… If you want, just say the word and I will--”

“The only word to be said is goodbye,” she said, her voice still firm even though each word was cutting through her skin as she used her thumbs to draw soothing circles on the back of his hands. “Emi is an amazing girl, and she is _so_ into you. That is the life you wanted.”

“That is the life I wanted with _you_ ,” Kou replied, his fingers now crushing hers as he spoke.

“I don't think you can have both.”

The realisation that that moment was really their farewell made the designer let out a heartfelt sob.

“I should have said something before you left,” she heard the designer say as tears started streaming down his face. “I wish I had said something.”

“I wish I had done many things, too,” Maya replied, wiping his tears with her thumbs with a shaky smile on her lips. “But it's fine. It's _fine_ ,” she went on, pressing a kiss to his forehead as his shoulders continued to shake. “And it's not your fault.”

Before she could say anything else, Kou pulled her into a bone crushing embrace that left her gasping for air.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.”

“There's nothing to forgive, what are you sorry about?” she said quietly, eyes closed as she enjoyed the heat of his body for what might as well be the last time. “I was the one that ran away.”

“You were not well. I should have stayed with you.”

“It's… don't do that to yourself,” she whispered. “I didn't give you that choice.”

Maya inhaled deeply before gently pushing the designer away to look into his reddish eyes.

He deserved a proper explanation, and she would try her best to make him see that he truly had nothing to blame himself for.

“I just… I feel like I've fallen into a hole, and I'm still trying to climb out of it,” she said, passing him a pack of tissues and tucking a strand of long black hair behind his ear. “And I can't. I don't want us to get back together like this, I'm not ready,” she explained, feeling her chest expand with relief for the first time that day. “But _you_ are. And you deserve to be happy. So make an effort, yeah?”

“Do you still have the ring I gave you?” Kou asked as soon as she finished speaking, giving her very little time to think of an answer.

“I felt it,” he said, the tip of his index finger touching the very centre of her chest, which was exactly where the ring was resting against her skin. “Here.”

“Do you want it back?”

“No, no,” he replied with a gentle, almost grateful smile. “Keep it.”

He looked like he was about to say something else, but if that was the case, she never got to find out what, because they had mindlessly gotten back to the reception of his apartment building and there was another person waiting for him there.

“Kou?” she heard Kou’s fiancée call out, her voice strong and calm although her face was showing a hint of suspicion.

“Yes, I'm on my way,” he replied, acknowledging her presence with a nod before turning to look at Maya again.

“You should...go,” the girl said.

“Yeah…”

“Take care, ok?”

“I will. You take care too.”

He gave her hand a final squeeze, brown locking with golden for one last goodbye before he turned away.

She didn't stay long enough to see him join the girl waiting for him, and in the rush to cross the street as fast as she could, she didn't even notice the black limo that had parked right next to her.

“Want a ride?”

The familiar voice made her jump.

“Gee, what the--” she muttered, hand over her chest to calm her speeding heart. “You've followed me?”

“No,” her father replied, his face showing no emotion despite the blatant lie.

“Right…” she scoffed, putting on her beanie. “I'm fine, I'll just walk.”

“Maya.”

“What?”

When she turned to look at him, there it was, the golden stare of death.

“Get in the car,” he said, his voice leaving no room for debate.

Muttering all kinds of complaints under her breath, she went around the limo and got in, saying a disheartened ‘hi’ to the blond man holding the door open for her and crossing her arms as soon as her body touched the seat across from her father.

To make it even clearer that she did not want to talk about anything that had just happened, she averted her eyes to the window and let her head rest against the partition.

“Here,” Asami said, passing her a silver suitcase as soon as the car started moving again.

“What is that?”

“Take it.”

With a defeated sigh, she picked up the suitcase and moved to sit next to her father.

Perhaps she didn't want to be left alone, after all.

“Go ahead, open it,” he said, when she made no effort to open the metallic object resting on her lap. “You don't think I gave you an empty suitcase, do you?”

“Maybe that's your way of welcoming me into the business world,” she replied, a tired smile curling the corners of her mouth as she flipped the locks open.

At that point, she would be delighted to find a hot chocolate and a sandwich inside. That way, she could simply crash when she got back to the hotel, her eyes felt so heavy…

...and yet, they managed to snap open when the contents of the briefcase were finally revealed.

“What the hell?” she asked, jaw slackening as she stared at the two pistols carefully arranged in velvet compartments, a shoulder holster neatly rolled between them.

“The twins,” her father replied as if it was no big deal. “A Česká Zbrojovka 75 and a Beretta M9, made to order.”

“Holy shit…”

Fucking _legends._

“Both are new generations, they have less recoil than mine,” the man went on, sounding very pleased with himself as she continued to stare at the guns in disbelief. “One reloads faster and makes more damage up close, the other has more precision for distant targets.”

“Is this my name in katakana?” she asked, noticing the small engravings on the grip of one of them, her fingers touching the barrel as if it was some kind of divine artefact.

“Yes. If you ever choose to go on a killing spree, try not to leave them in the crime scene.”

Her eyebrows shot up for a moment as she thought about yet another priceless piece of advice.

The benefits of having Asami Ryuichi as a parent…

“Huh,” she whispered. “You're weird…”

“Must run in the family.”

_Probably._

When she lifted her eyes to his face, he was already looking out of the window, lost in his own thoughts. She wondered if he collected anything other than guns, and if it made him happy or worried that she shared that same interest.

What did he do in his free time? Did he have a favourite kind of food, other than expensive mushrooms? What kind of music did he listen to, what made him laugh…?

After so many years living as strangers, it was not much of a surprise that they knew so little about each other, and that every interaction felt like an endless case of trial and error.

“The card gives you access to the shooting range at Sion and the dojo,” he said, eyes still averted to the city outside. “After Kirishima checks my schedule we can meet to discuss legal procedures, management... I will teach what you need to learn for... whatever it is you're planning to do.”

She was too busy inspecting the card she had retrieved from one of the compartments in the suitcase to realize he was now staring at her.

“On one condition, though,” he added.

His eyes were once again serious, and made her shrink a little onto the seat.

“You will go back to college,” she heard her father explain. “University of Tokyo or not, I want you to have a college degree.”

“Pretty old fashioned, aren't you?” she chuckled, before closing the suitcase.

Given the circumstances, it was a reasonable demand. It was not as if her old man had plenty of time to spare and the mere fact he was planning to pencil her in for some kind of guidance made her feel more confident, less lonely and incredibly grateful.

“Deal,” she said, smirking as she stretched her arm for a handshake.

++++

When the limousine parked in front of his condo, Asami instantly regretted bringing Maya along to spend the night.

If for any given reason the girl felt the need to vent again, he doubted he would have the energy or the patience to offer any kind of emotional comfort.

Not that he was that good at providing emotional comfort _ever,_ but still…

“I don't know why you're bringing me here, you could have dropped me at the hotel,” Maya said with a frown as they entered the penthouse.

“You can take the guest room. First door on the right,” he answered mindlessly, pointing to the hallway while thinking about how good it would feel to take a shower and go to bed, hopefully to find a naked Akihito waiting for him.

_One could dream._

“Dad.”

Before he could start fantasizing about what he would do to a naked Akihito waiting for him in bed, though, his daughter’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

In silence, he nodded in response and watched the girl walk to the hallway, going the opposite direction himself to fetch a bottle of whisky and a tumbler from one of the kitchen cupboards.

“Uhh…” he frowned when Maya reappeared in front of him not even a full minute later, scratching the back of her neck. “There is a… a woman in the guest room.”

Asami couldn't help but choke on his drink.

“ _A woman_?” he asked, discreetly wiping a drop of alcohol that had escaped the corner of his mouth.

As far as he could tell, no woman had ever had a free pass to show up at the penthouse unannounced.

Unless…

“Asami-san.”

He found himself instinctively narrowing his eyes when Akihito’s mother walked into the kitchen, her hair up in a neat, elegant bun even though she looked like she had just woken up.

“Noriko-san,” he then said, bowing politely after regaining his composure. “Where is Akihito?”

“He went out,” she replied, pulling her sweater together around her chest. “Said he was going to the drugstore but that seems to be taking him an awful lot of time.”

Only then did he notice the woman’s voice was slightly nasal, and that she seemed to be holding a small pack of tissues in one of her hands.

“My allergies are acting up so he told me to lie down for a while,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Silly boy.”

“If he told you to stay, by all means do,” Asami replied.

“There is no need, it takes more than a runny nose to bring me down.”

Part of him would have been more than happy to see the woman go, but at that point he figured he didn't need to give Akihito any other reasons to be mad at him.

“You can go back to the hotel tomorrow morning,” he said. “Spend the night in the guest room, Maya can take the couch.”

“Yeah…” the girl whispered, as if to remind him she was still I'm the room and probably very confused at that interaction.

“Maya, this is Akihito’s mother,” he finally said, initiating what was bound to be a somewhat awkward moment of introductions. “Noriko-san, this is my daughter, Maya.”

Even though the woman was good at keeping her cards close to her chest, Asami noticed the subtle flash of surprise in her eyes.

He was willing to _bet_ Akihito had not even thought about telling his mother that the man he was about to marry had a daughter that was almost his age.

The air still heavy with unasked  questions, Noriko finally bent forward in a polite bow.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

“Nice to meet you too.”

Maya, however, was not at as good at hiding her bewilderment at the situation.

 _‘Akihito’s mom?’_ , she mouthed, eyes wide with surprise and curiosity when the woman excused herself and headed to the sink.

His only reply was a resigned shrug.

He just wanted that day to end.

“You two look like you could do with some chicken soup,” Akihito’s mother then announced, retrieving a large pan from one of the cupboards.

“You should probably rest,” Asami was quick to say, shaking his head.

Last thing he needed was another weird family dinner.

“Oh no, you don't need to bother, I've already eaten,” Maya added, probably just as eager to avoid that meal.

Much to her dismay, though, her stomach chose that exact moment to grumble loudly.

“Well…” she whispered, blushing a fierce shade of pink.

“I can order dinner if you two want to eat, I have a meeting in an hour,” Asami lied.

“A meeting?” Noriko asked, forehead wrinkled in surprise. “This late?”

“Yes. Akihito likes sushi--”

He was getting ready to dial a number on his phone when the woman’s warm fingers touched his hand.

“Oh, no, not sushi,” she said, her voice amiable but carrying a silent warning that made him raise an eyebrow. “This kind of weather calls for _soup_.”

“Right…”

“Your daughter can help me.”

By his side, he could almost hear Maya’s eyes popping out of her head.

“Uh… I don't really know how to--”

“If you insist, sure,” Asami interrupted, fully aware he was throwing his daughter under the bus.

By his side, the girl let out a disheartened gasp.

If anything, it was all for the best. An idle mind was the devil's playground, so she would be fine as long as she kept herself busy, even if that meant doing something she didn't enjoy with someone she barely knew.

“Excuse me,” he said, ignoring Maya’s stare and walking towards the door.

“I thought he had said one hour,” he heard Akihito's mother say behind him.

‘He's… uh… a busy man… I guess…”

He let out a relieved sigh as soon as he closed the door and headed to the elevator.

That kind of domestic scenario did not sit well with him, so he would be more than happy to return to Sion, if only to give himself a chance to get back home late enough to find those two fast asleep.

_“Anyways… I would start by cutting onions but my son doesn't eat then, so here, chop some carrots.”_

Inside the apartment and entirely unaware of his meanderings, Takaba Noriko continued her dinner preparations.

_“Say… do you live here in Tokyo?”_

++++

Standing in front of a fancy house across from Ueno Onshi Park, Akihito fished his phone from his pocket when it started buzzing for the millionth time that day, declined the call and rang the doorbell.

"I don't wanna talk about it over the phone," he muttered to himself, after slipping the phone into his backpack. "Don't insist."

 "Takaba-kun," he heard Sachi say, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he showed up at the gate. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Hi. Is Wei Shen here?"

"He is."

"Can I talk to him?"

Instead of answering, though, the taller man narrowed his eyes, which Akihito noticed were no longer blue.

_'He's not wearing his contacts.'_

In fact, he didn't seem to be wearing anything under his dark purple kimono, and the fact he hadn't even bothered to tie it in the front left little to the imagination.

"Does Asami-sama know you're here?" he asked.

"I'm not one of his employees," Akihito replied, somewhat bothered by the procurer's condescending tone. "So no, I don't send him a report of my activities every few hours."

"You probably should," said the taller man, winking at him after taking a slow, long drag off his cigarette.

"Yeah, but I won't."

"So fierce... No wonder he's marrying you."

"Yeah. Crazy, right?" the photographer scoffed in response.

It was late, he was getting hungry, and he found it annoying how Asami seemed to count on an army to keep tabs on him wherever he went.

For once, he wished the man would not interfere in his decisions.

"So…?" he asked, after stuffing his hands into his pockets and carefully averting his gaze away from the semi-naked figure in front of him.

"You have trouble in those eyes..." Sachi replied, finally tying his kimono as he stepped outside and cupped his chin to look more closely at his face. "Hmm..."

After a very long five seconds, he clicked his tongue and walked back inside.

"Call him," he said, winking. "Tell him what you're planning to do, I don't want to get into trouble."

"What are you talking about, I don't need Asami’s permission to talk to Wei, I train with him almost eve--"

"But you're not here to train, are you?"

He had to bite the inside of his lip not to yell.

"Call your man, sunshine."

"You know what, never mind. Bye, sorry for bothering you this late at night," the photographer hissed, before turning on his heels and rushing back to the subway station across the street.

Just then, his phone buzzed yet one more time, and that time he decided to answer it.

"What _the hell_ do you want?" he yelled, just to be greeted by the most absolute silence on the other side of the line.

_"Aki... Akihito?"_

The unexpected female voice made him trip on his feet as he approached the escalator.

"Emi?!"

_"Yes. Sorry to bother you."_

"No, no, I--" he muttered in response. "I'm so sorry, I thought it was someone else."

_"Oh."_

"What happened, are you okay?"

 _"Uh, it's about Kou,"_ she replied, her voice filled with concern. _"He's not well, do you think you can go check on him?"_

"Sure," he answered without hesitation, even though he had just entered the train going on the very opposite direction of his friend's neighbourhood.

++++

_"Yes, sir, he showed up just like you said he would."_

Looking out of the window of his office, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his pants, Asami Ryuichi let out a knowing scoff.

Of course he had.

"Thanks, Sachi," he said, before ending the call and walking back to his desk.

At that point, he had no option but to prepare for the worst, since he appeared to be the only one trying to make a more coherent plan of action other than just breaking and entering.

To him, it was abundantly clear that there was a third party trying to instigate Wei Shen and his former triad against the Baishe, but whoever was pulling the strings was making a good job hiding in the shadows. So far, his sources in the field were working harder than ever to gather new, relevant intel; his associates infiltrated in the 14K hadn't reported anything unusual and the Snake Flower Triad, the only group with a personal reason to attack Fei Long and _him_ , was still far too weak to strike back after their raid in Cotai almost one year prior.

Without knowing exactly who had kept Patricia Shen as a hostage for that long and why, his instincts were telling him it would be a mistake to waltz into Yasu for a rescue mission.

If only he could make his stubborn fiancé realize that...

He glanced at his watch, wondering if the photographer had already gone back home, and his curiosity trumped the original intention to only return to the penthouse much later at night.

Akihito and him needed to talk.

After picking up his jacket from the back of an armchair, he walked out of his office in time to find Kirishima and Majima Makoto heading to the elevator.

"Working overtime?" he asked, watching with a proud smirk when his secretary took a timid step with the aid of a cane on one side and his personal physical therapist on the other. "Keep that up and you'll be running a marathon one of these days."

"A marathon..." the first assistant chuckled, after returning to his wheelchair. "Now that's a tall order..."

"If anyone can do it, it's you, Kirishima-san," the counsellor replied, swiping a card under one of the elevators.

"I would have to agree," said Asami, holding the door open so that the other two could go in. "Why are you leaving so late, I thought you were done with today's reports?"

"Ah, I was," Kirishima replied. "Actually, I was about to lock the office when I opened one of my drawers and realised the case you had asked me to keep was no longer there."

"I took it."

"I saw that, after checking the surveillance videos," said the secretary. "May I ask why?"

"I decided to give it to Maya, at last," Asami replied. "I was supposed to do so before she left Tokyo, but today might as well have been a good opportunity," he explained. "She was not having a good day."

For some reason, though, his answer was received with relative surprise by both his first assistant and the counsellor.

"What?" he asked, a small frown betraying his look of indifference.

"So your daughter," Makoto muttered quietly, "who happened to witness her own stepfather commit suicide with a firearm, was having a bad day so you gave her a set of... _firearms_."

He could use that moment to chastise Kirishima for telling the counsellor about the contents of the case, but his mind was far too busy analysing the implications of the woman's comment.

"She's not going to kill herself," he replied, his voice void of emotion.

"No one said she will," said the counsellor.

And those were the last words they exchanged until each of them went their separate ways, because after that Asami was far too busy _worrying_ to care for small talk.

The first thing he did when he got to the penthouse was walk into the guest room and retrieve the case that Maya had carefully arranged next to the bed.

"You're back," he heard the girl say as she stood by the door. "You look pale, are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Why are you taking them back?"

"You'll get them back later," Asami replied, rushing back onto the hallway and from there to the master bedroom to store the briefcase inside his own closet.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"You don't have a license."

"Right..."

It only took him a quick glance at the girl's face to realize she hadn't bought his rather weak explanation.

Not that he cared, but...

"Do _you_ have a license? Because as far as I--"

"Have you been having..." Asami interrupted, "... _thoughts_?"

"What kind of thoughts?"

"Suicidal thoughts."

The frown he got in response seemed to lift a burden from his shoulders.

"No."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you," the girl replied. "Is that why you're taking the guns back?"

He clenched his jaws, studying her face to reach a verdict as to whether or not she was to be trusted.

His annoyance, however, elicited a smile that left him feeling even more confused.

"Here," she said, passing him a small bowl.

"What is this?"

"Chicken soup. Try it."

Still frowning, he led a spoonful of the concoction to his lips.

"It's good," he whispered, after a moment of silence.

In fact, it was so good he wouldn't mind eating the rest of it if he were hungry.

Since he was not, he merely passed the bowl back to the girl standing in front of him.

"There is no meeting, is there?" Maya asked quietly, her eyes averted to the floor even though her lips were still curved up in a smile. "You just didn't want to stay here."

He was too tired to even try and deny it.

"Does she scare you?"

"Akihito's mother?" Asami replied, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure _scare_ is the word..."

"Well... it's okay, you don't have to join us if you don't want to," she said, taking her leave. "I'll save you some, you can heat it up if you get hungry later."

Before closing the door, he saw her turn around to look at him one last time.

"Night," she whispered.

Drawing in a long, deep breath, Asami closed his eyes for a moment.

He had fought all kinds of battles in his life, faced all sorts of enemies... surely he could handle having soup with a mother-in-law that didn't trust him and a estranged daughter that he had never bothered to parent.

Trying not to let his hesitation show, he walked into the dining room, took his seat between the two women, and exchanged a small, faint smile with the youngest of them when their eyes met.

Maybe those domestic things were not that bad, after all.

++++

“Hey,” Akihito muttered quietly, as soon as the soft click on the other side of the line confirmed the call had been accepted.

_“Hey.”_

It was way into the wee hours when he finally found it in him to answer Asami’s calls.

 _“How long are you planning to keep that up?”_ the man asked, and his hoarse, sleepy voice made some of Akihito’s anger at the day’s events melt away.

“To keep what up?” he asked.

_“Are you going to sleep elsewhere two nights in a row?”_

“No, I’m not.”

_“Why did you keep declining my calls?”_

‘Because I was mad at you, asshole,’ would have been the honest answer, but that would require a very long explanation and Kou was not exactly a lightweight when he was drunk.

“Is there…” he hissed through gritted teeth as he rearranged his friend’s arm around his shoulders and tried to keep the phone close to his ear at the same time. “Is there a chance you could open the door?”

Not even five seconds later, a dishevelled Asami Ryuichi wearing nothing but pajama pants materialised in front of him, bangs of dark hair hiding eyes that were somewhat surprised, annoyed and not yet entirely alert.

“I left my keys in the bedroom,” Akihito explained, blushing slightly. “Sorry to wake you up.”

“Is that Kou?” the other man asked, after the photographer finally capitulated and lowered the designer’s limp body onto the floor, his neck cranking in a strange, unnatural angle when his head touched the wall behind him.

“Yes. What was left of him,” Akihito replied, drawing in a long breath as he straightened his back. “Emi called me to say he had asked her to go home because he was not feeling well. By the time I got to his place he was so sloshed he tripped, fell on top of his coffee table and cut his head…”

As he spoke, his eyes shifted to the immovable mass of limbs sprawled on the floor.

“I brought him to spend the night here, I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

“You can’t bring him in,” he heard the man next to him reply.

“Why not?”

He noticed that Asami had just opened his mouth to answer, but a sleepy female voice behind him was faster.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” Akihito heard the other man reply, before stepping onto the hallway and closing the door behind him.

“ _Maya_?” the photographer then whispered, his eyes wide. “What is she doing here?”

“I didn’t want her to spend the night alone either,” he heard the other man reply, his low voice loaded with irritation. “But someone forgot to tell me their _mother_ was going to spend the night here as well.”

The meaning of those words didn't immediately register on Akihito’s brain, but when it did, his eyes went wide.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, tugging at his own hair. “Kaa-san… I forgot!”

Not only had he forgotten to tell Asami his mother would probably spend the night, but he had also failed to buy the woman’s medicine and to show up for dinner.

“Yeah. And now you’re bringing _him_ ,” Asami continued to complain. “Next time you think of turning this place into a hostel, at least let me know ahead of time.”

“You should have told me Maya was here,” Akihito retorted, trying to save some face.

After all, he hadn't been the only one to bring a guest over.

“I would have told you if you had bothered to answer my calls,” the man replied, and Akihito would have felt the burning glare accompanying those words from at least one mile away.

“I...I was busy.”

“Really? Talking to Wei Shen? All day long?”

“Your watchdog didn’t let me.”

Slowly but surely, he felt the familiar irritation at Asami’s attempts to keep him in the dark return.

The other man’s silence, however, threw him off his feet.

“Are you doing that to punish me?” Asami finally asked, almost a full minute later.

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because I think--”

“Look,” Akihito interrupted, raising a hand to try and stop the other man from going on a useless rant. “I’m not doing anything to punish you.”

It was the truth. Much as he didn't approve of Asami’s methods, at least the man had been honest in regards to his past misdeeds.

“I know you could have lied to me about my father, and you didn't, so I appreciate that,” the photographer went on. “I'm still mad, so yeah, it will come out every now and then but the point is… You didn't lie to me, and I’m not gonna lie to you either.”

Though, judging by the suspicious stare he was getting in return, telling the truth in that case was guaranteed to piss the man off even further.

“I’m going to Yasu,” he said.

“No, you're not,” Asami replied without missing a beat.

It was almost as if he had seen right through him, and knew exactly what he was going to say even before the words left his mouth.

“I’m going--”

“Even if I have to ask Shinada to--”

“Listen,” it was Akihito’s turn to interrupt. “Your job is to make things happen behind closed doors. My job is to open those doors,” he said, his voice showing no fear or hesitation. “It’s to tell people what really happens when they’re not paying attention and if I can save someone in the process, even better.”

He could tell, though, that Asami was not impressed. There were awkward, loaded silences, and then there was Asami’s brand of silence: a sequence of very scary seconds when his piercing eyes turned people’s souls into ashes.

After drawing in a long, shaky breath, Akihito continued.

“I’m not doing it to antagonise you,” he whispered. “But I can’t let all of this happen and become history without people knowing.”

And because he was not used to bowing to anyone, not even to the man in front of him, he tilted his chin up, his eyes just as determined and fierce.

“You do what you gotta do, I will do what I gotta do,” he said. “It’s a rogue subsidiary of the Baishe, right? So maybe it is good for you if they get exposed.”

“Akihito…”

“My mind is made up.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Not doing anything would be a mistake too,” the photographer replied. “At least, going in is a mistake I’m willing to live with.”

“Give me more time.”

The unexpected softness in Asami’s voice gave him pause, but he knew he had to resist. Going to Yasu was probably reckless and obviously dangerous, but that was the lifestyle they were fated to have and he would not back down.

However, he didn't want them to keep arguing either, so he did the only thing that sounded like a good option.

With one of his hands cradling the back of Asami’s head, he closed the gap between them and went straight for his mouth, waiting for the other man’s lips to part so that he could deepen the kiss, their bodies pressed together as their tongues engaged on a dance of their own.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Akihito panted a very long moment later, before the friction and the heat between them made his mind even fuzzier.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Kou’s.”

“You just came from there.”

“Yeah,” Akihito replied as he once again flung one of Kou’s arms over his shoulders to pull him up. “I didn’t want to spend another night away from you,” he said, his eyes shifting timidly to the man by the door, his face blushing a darker shade of red at the confession.

“Then stay,” he heard Asami reply as he pushed the elevator button. “Lock him in the secret room until he’s sober again, come to bed with me.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at the suggestion.

“Nah… That sounds like a bad plan,” he replied while entering the elevator. “Stay with Maya, she needs you.”

“What about your mother?”

“I’m sure you two will end up getting along,” said the photographer, before turning his head to look at Asami one last time. “ _Eventually_.”

The doors were about to close when a muscular arm made them open again.

“He looks heavy,” Akihito heard the other man say as he placed the designer’s other arm around his shoulders.

“He doesn't live that far, it’s not a big deal.”

“I can help.”

“You’re not even dressed,” the photographer insisted, raising an eyebrow when Asami lowered Kou onto the opposite corner of the elevator.

“Exactly.”

Before he had time to ponder why Asami was swiping a keycard under the small LCD screen next to the doors, the elevator came to a halt and his chest was being pushed against one of the mirrored walls, the heat and weight of Asami’s body squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“A-Asami… you’re--”

“Don't act so surprised,” the man grunted into his ear.

“B-But Kou…” Akihito mumbled as a very solid erection pressed against his backside. “What if… what if he wakes up…”

One quick glance at the designer snoring on the floor, though, and he could tell his friend was out of commission for at least another couple of hours.

“You should have thought about that before shoving your tongue down my throat,” Asami whispered, his voice thick with malicious intent. “Don't you think?”

 _‘Fair enough,’_ Akihito thought in response.

All things considered, he knew his moral dilemma was no match for the throbbing heat spreading across his body as Asami’s hands roamed freely over his skin, the corners of his mouth curling into a satisfied little smile when his jeans and boxers were unceremoniously pulled down to his ankles.

 

 


	74. Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell breaks in Yasu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018, everyone!! \o/
> 
> This is quite a chaotic chapter - think of a rescue mission gone wrong, _very_ wrong. By the way, not sure I mentioned this before, but Mine is a magnet for tragedy. And yeah, there is a tiny cliffhanger at the end but I promise Chapter 75 is almost 70% done so you won't have to wait too long!
> 
> Also, as the end approaches I am returning to events that happened in the very beginning (please refer to chapter 2).
> 
> For reference: _lingchi_ = death by a thousand cuts

After downing a glass of orange juice, Suoh Kazumi walked into the small room turned into gym next to his kitchen with his daughter still snuggled comfortably against his chest.

He figured he could add the infant to his workout routine, if only as a prop in his warm-up repetitions.

Indeed, the baby seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself as he moved her up and down, her big brown eyes following him when he placed her on her bassinet, took a step back and lunged forward, eliciting a delighted little squeal.

By the time he finally started his first set of deadlifts, the girl’s attention had shifted to the colorful barbells scattered around the room, and Suoh couldn’t help but smile, his headphones long forgotten around his neck.

His daughter's coos and goos had become his favorite type of music as of lately.

So much so that he would gladly continue his routine of bench presses, squats and bent-over rows for many more minutes inside that bubble of parental satisfaction, if only he didn't have a full day ahead of him.

In half an hour, he would be heading to Sion to pick up his boss and head to Yasu, and the events that awaited them there were bound to be anything but pleasant.

With a sigh, he picked up his towel and dried his face and the back of his neck while stealing a quick glance at his phone to check the time.

The name he saw flashing on the screen as the device started buzzing nearly made him choke on his own tongue.

“H-Hi,” he stuttered. “Hi.”

_“Hi.”_

Li Jiao.

How long had it been since he had last heard her voice?

No wonder he felt his heart was trying to burst out of his chest.

 _“I got your letter,”_ the woman said, breaking the awkward moment of silence.

“Right…”

The letter.

It had taken him at least two weeks to write it and another two weeks to find a way to have it delivered to wherever Li was living at the moment, and by then the words and thoughts he had poured on paper were already fading into some dark corner of his mind.

But he remembered the general idea, at least.

He missed her.

He missed her _a lot._

 _“Can I come over?”_ she asked.

The question made him wince. Just his luck to have the mother of his child finally decide to show up on the one occasion he had zero chances of taking a day off.

“I… I'm going out in half an hour,” he said, picking up their daughter from the bassinet and walking into the hallway. “Want me to call you when I get back home?”

_“Yeah.”_

As if to voice her own opinion on the matter, the little girl in his arms babbled something unintelligible.

“Was that her?” the woman asked, on the other side of the line.

“Yeah,” he chuckled in response. “She was… working out with me.”

_“Hi baby.”_

“Say hi to your mother.”

The baby, however, merely stared at the phone as if it was an object from another planet.

“Li, I--”

When he led the phone to his ear again, the call had already been disconnected.

In the shower, he tried not to linger on the bittersweet feeling of finally reconnecting with his old flame, over the phone, with a conversation that hadn't even lasted a full minute.

He had other things to occupy his mind with - business-related, time-sensitive things.

By the time he entered the “Higher Management Only” elevator at Sion, his thoughts were exclusively operational, and the quiet ding announcing the stop on the 31st floor barely made him move his eyes to the door.

When he did, though, it was to find an extraordinarily tall man in full body armour, combat boots and with an AK47 in one hand and cup of coffee in the other entering the elevator.

“Good morning, Sachi,” he said.

“Morning, daddy,” the man replied, after lifting the face shield of his riot helmet. “Is that vomit on your jacket?”

The question made his heart skip a beat.

 _‘It might as well be,’_ the bodyguard thought to himself, inspecting his own clothes with a worried frown.

It wouldn’t be the first time he left home with suspicious stains after Sayuri’s meals.

“Just kidding,” the procurer - and also their Head of Triad Combat Operations - replied, tilting his head to the side with a mischievous smile. “How's the little princess?”

“Fine,” Suoh replied, still frowning.

“Who are you leaving her with?”

“Babysitter,” he answered, inhaling deeply when the elevator stopped again, this time to allow Kirishima in. “Hopefully today's assignment won't take too long.”

“Yeah,” Sachi whispered back. “Hopefully not.”

“Morning,” they heard Asami Ryuichi’s first assistant say, sounding somewhat disheartened.

“Kirishima-san, you don't look pleased.”

“Why would I be pleased?” Kirishima replied, his eyebrows sinking down in an angry angle as he looked at the procurer. “This entire operation is just... reckless.”

“You didn't think your boss would just let his fiery kitten waltz into a battlefield without moving things around a little, did you?”

“A _little_? To summon one hundred tactical operatives overnight is not a little.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Suoh observed the exchange in silence, absorbed in his own thoughts. It had been a very long time since Sachi was assigned an operation that critical, but he had no reason to doubt the man’s skill. Given his experience as a Red Pole for the Baishe, his knowledge should not be taken for granted, but…

“I wonder what will happen if we get there and the girl is already dead,” the bodyguard said quietly, his eyes still fixated on the ground. “Then what?”

He would have to agree that an operation of that proportion was far too risky for their boss’s standards.

“Then Wei will kill Liu Fei Long, that's what,” the procurer answered, his devious smirk disappearing from his face for the first time that morning.

“You mean, he will _try,_ ” Kirishima countered.

“No...” Sachi replied, this time with a smirk that was bitter and malicious in equal proportions. “He will _succeed_.”

“But it's a rogue subsidiary of the Baishe,” Suoh argued. “Whoever is keeping the girl is not doing so on Fei Long's orders.”

“But it was Fei Long that took Patricia first,” the procurer continued, his voice once again void of any humour. “Got her hooked on opioids, made her work in a brothel to pay for her addiction. The kid she has now? Who knows under what circumstances he was conceived.”

And then there was that.

At the end of the day, Patricia Shen was Sachi’s family too, and if there was one thing their boss always told them to avoid was mixing private affairs with their professional lives.

Sounded a bit too late for that.

“If it was _your daughter_ ,” Sachi then whispered in response, his dark eyes boring dangerously into his, “... would you let him off the hook that easily?”

The mere thought of _his daughter_ growing up to become a sex slave filled him with dread and an inexplicable amount of rage.

Probably noticing his sudden change in posture, Kirishima decided to bring that conversation to an end.

“It looks like the stakes are way too personal,” he said. “We will all need to be very careful, that’s all.”

“Yeah.”

“Hopefully loyalties will not turn,” the secretary added, raising an eyebrow.

The implication of those words filled the air in the elevator with cold, unspoken animosity.

“I'm quite sure they won't,” Sachi replied calmly, even though the look in his eyes was as menacing as ever.

“Which reminds me…” Kirishima went on. “It was you that introduced Sudou Shuu to Asami-sama, weren't you?”

The procurer seemed to be chewing on his tongue for a long instant before speaking again.

“I gave him a recommendation letter, yes.”

“Ah…”

“Tsk…” Sachi then continued, rearranging the assault rifle by his side and taking a sip off his coffee with a careless shrug. “Back then I could have sworn he was the one. As in, _the one_ ,” he said, eyes wide to add even more emphasis to his words. “He was pretty, smart, determined, a boy with a somewhat tragic family life... The whole package. I thought our boss would be head over heels.”

“Head over heels over a _vengeful lunatic_?” Kirishima asked, eyeing the procurer over the rim of his glasses. “I don't think so.”

“He was not a vengeful lunatic,” Sachi replied, with his usual nonchalant demeanour. “But, yes, turns out I was a little bit... off the mark.”

“A _bit_. Sure.”

Suoh smiled quietly when Kirishima rolled his eyes.

“Do you think it was the earring?” Sachi asked, more to himself than to anyone else. “I told him to lose the earning, it made him look like a host,” he then replied, passing the empty paper cup to one of the operatives waiting for them at the parking lot when the elevator finally opened its doors. “Alas... it is what it is.”

After lowering the face shield, the procurer walked to one of the many black SUVs lined up a few steps ahead, leaving him and Kirishima behind.

“Do you really think he might go behind our backs?” he asked quietly.

Kirishima, however, did not answer right away, his eyes fixated on the first car leaving the building.

“I think he could if he wanted to,” the secretary then replied. “And if he did, that would probably be catastrophic.”

“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t, then,” Suoh replied, reaching for the car keys in his pocket when Asami Ryuichi walked out of the elevator on the opposite side of the parking lot. “We have enough problems as it is.”

“Good luck,” the secretary replied, before heading to another BMW himself. “I will be in our office in Shiga, in case you need remote assistance.”

With a silent nod, Suoh said his goodbyes, greeted his boss with an equally silent bow, and entered the car to start what was bound to be a very silent journey as well.

++++

Standing next to a window with a full view of downtown Yasu, the Dragon Head of the Snake Flower Triad, Lau Ka Long, listened to the man behind him with relative indifference, holding his hands behind his back as he studied his own reflection on the glass surface, his eyes lingering on the scar that stretched from above his left eyebrow to his chin.

A scar he had gained a year prior, in an occasion he was very close to avenging.

“...and that's all I know,” he heard the Omi officer standing next to the mahogany desk conclude. “Now, of course… I have a couple of operatives infiltrated in the Tokyo Police, and they heard something interesting…” the man continued, his greedy, treacherous eyes gleaming as he spoke. “But that kind of info will cost you more.”

Lau Ka Long and the other Chinese man in the room, Baishe’s Lieutenant Lee, exchanged a brief, yet meaningful look.

“How much?” Lee asked.

“10 million yen.”

“What the f--”

“I'm wiring it to your account right now,” the leader of the Snake Flower interrupted, retrieving his phone and tapping the screen to start the transaction.

When the transfer was concluded, the Omi officer smiled in triumph, and took his seat with an annoying, rat-like little squeak.

“Now talk,” the man behind the desk commanded.

“Asami Ryuichi is bringing 100 men to Yasu,” the man replied. “He should be here at any moment.”

“Is that all?” Lau Ka Long asked.

“Why, don't you think--”

Sengoku Hiroshi’s last living ally in the Omi Alliance never got to finish that sentence.

An unannounced gunshot had already opened a hole in the middle of his forehead, his limp body falling to the side as if he was an oversized puppet whose strings had just been cut loose.

“Insolent pig,” Lau Ka Long then whispered, holstering his pistol back under the silk of his elegantly embroidered black _cheongsam._ “To have the audacity to try and bribe me…”

He had put up with that undesired alliance with the Japanese yakuza scum for long enough.

“There was no use for him anyway, not anymore,” he went on, walking towards the Baishe officicer. “The Omi failed in the one mission I assigned to them. Maybe you can succeed?”

“Yes.”

Lau Ka Long scoffed quietly at the confident answer.

Either the man in front of him truly have an airtight plan under his sleeve or he simply had no idea how hard it would be to try and kill Asami Ryuichi.

That despicable Jap had probably traded his soul with the devil in exchange for invincibility.

“What then?” Lieutenant Lee asked. “With Asami dead, Fei Long dead as well when Shen gets his hands on him… Is the Snake Flower Triad strong enough to face the backlash?”

The subtle diss made the scarred lips curve up in a lifeless smirk.

“I think you've got the wrong impression, Lee,” the triad leader replied. “Those two idiots might have wiped my headquarters one year ago, but I've been working. Rebuilding,” he hissed. “Far from the spotlight, where no one could see me.”

Asami Ryuichi and Liu Fei Long had left his triad in shambles, but the time for reckoning had finally come.

“Now the two of them will fall,” he whispered.

“What happens to the Baishe?” the other man asked.

“Why, are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” Lee replied, after a very brief moment of hesitation. “The Baishe was fated to die the moment Fei Long took over,” he said. “He's not cut for the job.”

“Are you?”

“You should know the answer by now.”

He knew the answer already, of course. The dark, fearless eyes staring at him craved blood and destruction in a way that Fei Long’s eyes never had, and never would.

Before he could reply, though, a hurried knock on the door made the two of them stand up.

“Master,” a low-rank Baishe operative announced. “The Dragon Head is here to see you.”

Speaking of the devil.

“Very well. Get rid of Asami _today_ , and Cotai is yours,” said Lau Ka Long, getting ready to leave the premises before anyone could see him. “So is the Baishe, when all of this is over.”

++++

“Takaba-san, please wear your jacket,” Akihito heard Shinada plead for the tenth time that morning.

“No.”

“But--”

“I know they’re looking,” the photographer whispered in response. “That’s the point. Now move away or you’ll screw things up.”

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the bodyguard finally retreating into the opposite door of the train, leaving him alone to be ogled by a group of young men chatting on the seats not that far to his left.

Even though the announcements coming from the speakers and the hustle and bustle of people walking in and out made it difficult for him to follow their conversation, the words “ass”, “fag” and “bang” left little to the imagination, not to mention that he could literally feel their stare tearing a hole past the tight jeans and the fishnet top that revealed far too much skin, to Shinada’s despair.

One by one, he saw the men get up and leave, not without occasionally bumping into him to cop a feel, but none of them bold enough to make much of a move.

And then, just when he thought he would have to come up with a plan B, he felt someone move behind him, and in no time a very solid erection was pressing against his backside.

Good. Now all he had to do was pray for Shinada to stick to the plan and not beat the pervert to a bloody pulp too soon.

“Uhh…” Akihito whispered, the words he was about to say getting stuck on his throat as the stranger kept rubbing himself on his hip. “T-That’s… big…”

The only response he got was a disgusting, aroused grunt that made him wince.

To use his body like that, to let someone that was not Asami do that to him… it all made him want to throw up.

“W-Wanna fuck?” he stuttered, trying to focus on the task at hand and not let his own moral predicaments get in the way.

“How much?”

“Just pay my ticket back home.”

“Where?”

Now that was what he wanted to hear.

“I know a place…” the photographer answered, trying to calm his racing heart.

He had it all under control. He just needed a set up to walk into Baishe territory unnoticed, and if that meant dragging a pervert to a dark alley for a fuck that would never happen, then be it.

He knew how to take care of himself. Worst case scenario there was still Shinada.

He would be fine.

“Where?” the man insisted.

“N-Next station…”

In less than a minute, he was already out of the train with the faceless pervert following close behind, making his way down the main streets of Yasu, which looked as harmless and busy as every other city in Shiga.

Each step they took, however, led them closer to the headquarters where Patricia Shen was supposed to be, and that meant they were anything but safe in the maze of shady alleys that started unfolding with every turn.

“What the hell is this place?” Akihito heard the man behind him ask.

“Just a little f--”

“No,” the man snarled in response. “We’ve come far enough, it’s time to deliver what you promised.”

And with that, the photographer was unceremoniously shoved against a wall, one of his cheeks burning as his face was pressed to rough concrete.

Before he had the chance to put his self-defense skills to good use, though, he felt the stranger’s grip slacken, and turned around just to find him unconscious, with Shinada nearly crushing his neck in a powerful armlock.

“Motherfucker piece of shit perverted son of a cunt--” the bodyguard hissed through gritted teeth.

“Shinada, be quiet.”

“ _You_ be quiet.”

They both turned around at the same time to find the source of the female voice looking at them with both hands on her waist.

“ _Maya?!_ ” Akihito gasped. “What are you doing here? When did you get here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to get the girl’s image more into focus. “Why is your hair so… long?”

“The same as you. Last night. It's a wig,” Asami’s daughter replied, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one could listen to them. “Now keep walking, I think I heard someone say your name.”

 _Fuck_. He had barely gotten to the place, how was it even possible that someone had already spotted him?

To think he had told Asami there was no way he would run into Baishe operatives that had been part of his kidnapping years prior...

“You got here last night?” he asked quietly as the girl guided them further into the labyrinth of narrow streets. “But… how?”

“I woke up when you showed up at the penthouse, and then I couldn't go back to sleep. I waited until Asami went to bed and sneaked out,” Maya explained. “He must have been really tired because I accidentally knocked down a bottle of gin on my way out and he didn't even get up to check.”

“Ah… I see…” Akihito replied, rubbing the back of his neck as memories of the previous night filled his mind.

Oh yeah, he must have gotten exhausted indeed...

_‘Akihito… you feel so good…’_

_‘A… A-Asami... ‘_

_‘Just one more time…’_

_‘Ahhnn…!!’_

“You know what, I think he was right.”

Maya’s voice nearly made him jump.

“About what?” he asked.

“People here seem to be alert,” the girl replied, motioning for him and Shinada to hide behind a tree as they finally reached the area leading to a five storey building crawling with security guards. “As if… as if they were waiting for someone to show up.”

“Well, they're certainly not waiting for _us_ ,” Akihito responded.

The only one who knew he was going to Yasu was Asami, after all.

“No,” Maya whispered back. “Probably not…”

After a long moment of silence, in which the three of them merely watched the perimeter to figure out how and when to approach the building, Akihito spoke again.

“Have you seen her anywhere?” he asked.

“Not yet. But I've been scouting the main building, there seems to be far too many guys guarding the back entrance.”

“Right…” the photographer whispered, deep in thought. “We need to create a distraction.”

“Leave that to me,” Maya replied. “If I clear the area, think you can get in on your own?”

“I think so.”

“You’re not going in alone!” Shinada interjected.

“Sssshhh!”

“Whatever, go with him if you want.”

“Shinada, you would draw too much attention,” Akihito complained.

“ _You_ are drawing too much attention,” the bodyguard retorted. “If Asami-sama gets word of you going out in those clothes, he’ll-- T-Takaba-san!”

From the rooftop of one of the nearby houses, Akihito felt slightly guilty at the man’s desperate gasp.

“T-Takaba-san!” the man stuttered again, looking around frantically. “This is not funny, where have you gone?!”

Turns out his agility training with Minami had been more successful than he anticipated… That, in addition to muscle memory due to many years of parkour meant he had only needed a single moment of distraction to disappear from his bodyguard’s sight.

 _‘Sorry, Shinada,’_ he thought to himself as he silently made his way to the building ahead, _‘but you would only get in the way.’_

The sound of a violent explosion on the other side of the building, though, made him freeze on the spot.

_Was that the kind of distraction Maya was talking about?_

“Holy shit, what is with those people and mass destruction…” he whispered quietly. “Must be in the genes…”

At the very least, the comotion seemed to have left a small door in the back of the building relatively unguarded, so he wasted no time running towards his target.

“Hey! You!”

The thundering voice of a man behind him made him reach for the knife he had hidden under his belt.

Once again, he did not have the chance to use it, because once again Shinada had come to rescue with yet another of his trademark armlocks.

After letting the man’s limp body slide to the ground, the bodyguard inhaled deeply, and the photographer braced himself for the lecture to come.

Much to his surprise, however, Shinada made no attempt to follow him, reaching for his pistol and resting his back against the wall instead.

“Go,” he whispered. “I’ll stay outside.”

“Thanks…”

“Yeah, yeah…” the man replied, sounding less than amused at his shenanigans.

As he opened the door and walked into the building, Akihito let out a relieved sigh.

Other than meeting Maya halfway through it, his plan was going surprisingly well.

However, it would not be easy to find Patricia Shen in the endless sea of young girls and boys that crowded the corridors of what looked like an opium den, especially now that the physical and psychological strain of the first part of his mission was beginning to catch up with him and his eyesight was beginning to falter…

It was still good enough, though, for him to distinguish the tall, muscular shapes of Baishe operatives from the fragile frames of their slaves, if the chains on some of them were anything to go by.

They all looked so pale and thin that Akihito was beginning to fear what he would probably find when he descended into the lower levels of that hellish dungeon.

Driven by pure instinct, he headed towards the only wing that seemed to have reinforced security, and hid behind an old, decrepit door when a tall man walked past him and away from the only cell at the end of a dark, moldy corridor.

After perking up his ears to make sure there were no footsteps approaching, Akihito ran towards the cell to pick its lock and sneak inside.

The young woman sitting on the filthy mattress on a far corner barely lifted her eyes to look at him, and amidst a jumble of indistinct blurs, the photographer could notice her arms were covered in yellowish bruises.

_Drugs._

_'...sell you to old men… catch a disease and die young… what you’ll crave is the drugs…'_

He had to force down a sudden lump in his throat when Fei Long’s bitter, callous words echoed in his mind. Even though he wanted to believe the man had eventually seen the error of his ways, he couldn’t help but wonder how many young men and women had fallen prey to that exact fate, under his orders or not.

“Are you Patricia?” he asked quietly. “Patricia Shen?”

_Nothing._

“Do you know who Wei Shen is?”

For the first time, the girl raised her eyes to look at him.

“Wei? You know--- here,” he said, tapping the screen of his phone to open a picture. “Here, look, do you know who he is?”

After another excruciating moment of silence, her cold fingertips brushed past his to touch the phone.

“Wei,” she whispered, her voice weak and dull.

++++

“Master Fei Long.”

Through narrowed eyes, the Head of the Baishe watched when Lieutenant Lee bent forward with an exaggerated, almost mocking bow.

“What brings you to Yasu?” he asked, his greyish eyes gleaming with the usual insubordination.

“Let's make this quick, shall we?” Fei Long responded, his voice low and emotionless even though he felt like strangling the man standing in front of him. “Give me the girl.”

“What girl?”

The fake surprise in the lieutenant’s voice made his hands curl into fists by his side.

“I've told you before, Patricia Shen is not here,” the man calmly explained. “Why would I have kept her for so long, anyway? She didn't have that kind of value.”

A lie, an obvious lie.

Fei Long knew he was the only one to blame, though, for letting things get to that point. If anything, he should have made an example of Lee as soon as rumours of him plotting to take him down first came to his knowledge; he should have come to Yasu himself much earlier to eliminate the threat and return to Hong Kong with the man’s head on a spike so that the other lieutenants who might be planning to go down the same road could see it, could see what he was capable of.

Yet he had chosen to deal with the fractures weakening his triad in Hong Kong first, and that bad decision, _that single bad decision,_ was probably going to be his downfall.

“I see,” he finally replied, after a full minute of contemplative silence. “Let's do it your way, then.”

Following a discreet gesture of his hand, his security team pointed their guns to the man’s head all at the same time.

“I've been with the Baishe for longer than you,” said Lieutenant Lee, after a bitter scoff. “Is this how you repay my loyalty?”

_“Loyalty?”_

He was fully aware that the very visible pulse in his neck was giving away his anger, but he wouldn’t give a traitor the privilege of seeing him lose his mind.

“You really take me for a fool, don't you?” he said, his voice as calm and collected as ever. “I believe I will have to remind you of what happens to those that betray their Dragon Head.”

Another gesture, and this time one of his operatives took a step forward to pat the lieutenant down and confiscate his two pistols.

“Search the entire building,” Fei Long then commanded, picking up a spear and urging the man in front of him to do the same. “Retrieve the girl, kill anyone that tries to get in the way.”

When his men left the room, he lunged forward, immediately striking the lieutenant with the spear and opening a deep cut right above his eyebrow.

The man was still stumbling backwards, his face covered in blood, when he charged again, this time to kick the back of his knee and slam his face into a wall.

“I will make this very painful for you, Lee, you can be sure of that,” he hissed into the man’s ear, after grabbing a handful of his short, jet black hair.

His plans for a _lingchi_ , though, would have to wait.

An explosion outside made the floor under their feet shake, and in the few moments he lost his balance and let go of the man’s neck, the lieutenant made a run for it and disappeared past the door.

The persistent buzz in his ears almost prevented him from hearing his cell phone ringing inside his pocket.

_“Fei Long.”_

“Yoh,” he panted. “What happened?”

_“They've spread landmines around the complex.”_

“ _Landmines_? Are you sure?”

 _“Yes,”_ he heard the other man reply. _“I'm actually surrounded by them.”_

++++

“What kind of distraction was that?” Maya heard Akihito ask when she finally managed to join him in the basement.

“It wasn't me,” she responded, slightly out of breath. “Something exploded near the main entrance.”

“We need to get out of here, fast.”

“Is this…?”

“Yes.”

Right next to the photographer, stood a girl who didn't look much older than either of them, wearing a faded green dress that made her look even paler and sadder than she already was.

Ugly bruises tainted the skin inside her elbows, and the purplish dark bags under what must have been beautiful brown eyes at some point made Maya's heart sink.

“Hi, Patricia,” she whispered.

The friendly greeting was not reciprocated.

After bearing her canines, the girl started cursing under her breath, eyes darting madly to the corridor behind them.

“She only speaks Chinese,” Akihito explained. “I don't--”

“It's okay, we'll get you out of here,” Maya then said, in the girl's native language.

The response only came after a very long moment of confused silence.

“Who are you?” the girl asked.

“A friend.”

“Why are you here? Where is my son?”

“I didn't know you could speak Chinese,” Akihito whispered, apparently oblivious to the content of that brief exchange.

“We need to get out of here first,” Maya continued, ignoring the photographer for the time being. “When we get outside, you show us where he is and we'll look for him, ok?”

She saw the girl’s eyes shift from her face to Akihito’s, and from there to the corridor.

After an energetic nod, Patricia finally led them to an exit at the opposite side of the basement, the three of them holding hands not to get lost in the twists and turns of the dark hallways.

They had just reached a tiny door leading to a humid, pitch black tunnel when the sound of approaching footsteps made her heart race.

“Shit,” she muttered. “We gotta hurry. How far--”

Before she could finish her question, though, the girl pushed her and Akihito backwards, and the two of them rolled down a small staircase just to land headfirst onto a pool of muddy water.

Shortly after the door closed, an angry make voice echoed in the hallway.

“There you are, you stupid bitch!’

“What is he say--”

This time, it was Akihito who didn't get to finish his question, silenced by the foreboding sound of three gunshots that made their hearts stop for long, painful seconds.

++++

On the road to Yasu, the occupants of a silver sedan hummed quietly to a song playing on the radio.

Mine, for one, felt slightly embarrassed by that small, carefree moment between them.

Chances were it wouldn't last, anyway, if not for the nature of their mission, then certainly for his legendary lack of luck when it came to the matters of the heart.

For the moment, though, he would try not to think much about it.

Instead, he might as well revisit the sweet, sweet memories of that morning: of waking up to find the table set with all kinds of breakfast food he couldn't eat, of blowing the other man in the shower not much later, of sipping tea together in the balcony, watching the sun rise...

“What?” Tanimura asked, the corners of his mouth curved into a little smile.

“What, what?”

“What you staring at?”

“I'm not staring,” he lied in response, averting his eyes to the window to hide his contentment when the cop gave his thigh a gentle squeeze.

It took him far too long to decide whether or not to squeeze his hand back, and by the time his mind was made up, Tanimura was already frowning, his eyes fixated on the city far down the road.

“Is that… smoke?” he asked quietly.

When Mine looked ahead, he couldn't help but frown as well.

“What the--”

“What time is it?”

“08:35,” Mine replied, after stealing a quick glance at his phone.

“But we are almost half an hour ahead of time, what the fuck...”

The plan, after all, was for them to gather with Asami Ryuichi’s forces at the entrance of the city at nine.

From the looks of it, though, the entire operation had begun - and perhaps even ended - without them, if the hellish scenario they found upon walking into the city was anything to go by.

Blood, debris, fire and random body parts covered one of the entrances to the complex, men in dark suits engaged in combat in front of another, constant explosions made the ground vibrate.

“Tanimura!”

The familiar voice made Mine turn his head with a mixture of surprise and jealousy.

What was Takaba Akihito doing there, of all people?

“They shot her,” the photographer panted, grabbing Tanimura by the arm while Shinada stood behind him with his gun firmly secured in his hands. “They shot her, I don't know if she's still alive, she's in the building, the kid, I don't know where he is…” he went on, tripping on his own words, “in the basement, we were in the basement…”

“Akihito, slow down,” the cop replied, trying to hold him by the shoulders just to have his hands shoved away.

“We have to find the kid, her son!” the photographer insisted, turning to walk towards a small house tucked behind the main bulding before a bullet to his leg made him lose balance and fall.

_“Takaba-san!”_

_“Akihito!”_

“Get him out of here,” Mine told Shinada, passing him the keys to the car parked near the train station. “Get out of here _now!_ ”

He had to scream through the crossfire to be heard, and he could see Takaba Akihito trying to do the same, even though the pain seemed to have made him lose some of his usual spunk.

_“Mine!”_

This time, it was Tanimura’s turn to yell, his gun already secured in one of his hands.

“Go check the basement!”

He assented with a quick nod, running to the entrance the cop was pointing at.

The situation inside the building was no better than the chaos outside. He could tell smoke grenades had been dropped at some point, the resulting fumes making his eyes sting.

Covering his nose and mouth with the collar of his shirt, he collided with another body and brought his gun up, ready to shoot, just to realize the person standing right in front of him, with a Beretta loaded and ready to blow his brains as well, was none other than Asami Ryuichi’s daughter.

“Holy shit, Mine, what the fuck!” the girl wheezed, her chest deflating audibly as she brought the gun down. “What the fuck, man, I could have killed you!”

“Same.”

“When did you get here?”

“Just now,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh, that’s--” Maya whispered, her pale lips getting even whiter. “I ended up losing Akihito on the way out, I think I’m going round in c--”

“He got shot.”

_“What?”_

“He’ll be fine, he’s with Shinada,” the bodyguard was quick to add, noticing she seemed to have shrunk even further into herself. “Just take the first staircase on the left and make a run for the car you’ll see parked in front of the train station, you should stay with him.”

“OK,” she whispered. “Will you be fine?”

When he answered with a slow nod, the girl finally turned on her heels and headed to the exit.

Once again bringing his gun up, Mine searched every corner, every hidden nook of each hallway, but they were all deserted, and the only signs there had been people there were the stains of blood scattered all over the place.

When he finally managed to exit the building, the battle outside seemed to have come to a strange, uncertain end, with Tanimura standing in the middle of the small backyard behind a construction site, his eyes vacant and haunted.

“She’s not in the basement,” Mine announced, but to his concern, the cop didn’t even blink.

He only understood why when he walked into the backyard himself.

Hanging from a hook, chest torn by at least three gun wounds and a deep cut to her stomach, Patricia Shen’s hands had been tied above her head, fresh blood still dripping from her dead body to an increasingly large pool of blood under her feet.

It was almost as if time had stopped.

Around him, sounds faded into the distance as he blinked, his eyes slowly moving from the scarlet fluid on the ground to Tanimura’s face.

He knew, though, that the other man was not even aware of his presence, his thoughts many miles away, his eyes dead to the rest of the world, at least until a group of women with children in their arms ran past them, screaming in a multitude of different languages that the detective did not seem to have a problem understanding.

“The house is on fire,” he muttered. “The house where they kept the children.”

In no time, the two of them had reached the small construction where a handful of men and women tried to contain the flames with small buckets of water, uselessly.

Without a single moment of hesitation, Tanimura bolted in, covering his head from the falling debris, and even though he suspected the heroic gesture was a dumb move that would probably end up killing them both, the bodyguard ran in as well, quickly locating a family trapped in a staircase, and then another.

He was about to go in for a third time when the rooftop collapsed, and he allowed his knees to sink onto the ground, his lungs congested with all the smoke, throat burning every time he inhaled the hot, toxic air.

“T-Tan… Tanimura…” he gasped, his heart beating erratically inside his chest as he tried to locate the other man amidst clouds of smoke and destruction.

But the relief of spotting the cop kneeling next to a little boy further down the cobblestone road was short lived.

“...fifteen, sixteen, eighteen…” Mine heard him count, his hands pressing down the child's chest. “He has no pulse. Call an ambulance.”

During the entirety of the short call, the bodyguard kept his eyes on the scene unfolding in front of him: the boy still unconscious, face covered in soot; Tanimura’s quiet voice growing more desperate after each failed attempt of rescue breathing.

“...five… six...seven… come on…”

Oblivious to everything happening around him, the detective made no motion to move when the paramedics arrived.

“How long?” one of them asked.

“Almost twenty minutes,” Mine replied.

“Did he have a pulse when he started?”

“No.”

“Sir, please move away.”

Tanimura, however, didn't seem to have heard the request.

“Sir.”

“Tanimura,” Mine whispered, kneeling next to the detective to touch his arm. “Move, they will use the defibrillator.”

With a startled gasp, the other man finally moved away, his eyes darting back and forth in the most absolute panic.

He watched as he paramedics used the defibrillator once, twice.

Three times.

There was no fourth attempt, and the paramedics lowered their heads in silence.

“No, no, no no, no, no…”

In a heartbeat, Tanimura had pushed them away to restart CPR.

“One… two… three…”

“Sir.”

“ _No._ Four… f-five… six…”

It was Mine’s turn to try and get the detective away from the kid’s lifeless body.

“Tanimura--”

“ _Don't touch me_ ,” the man hissed in return, breaking free from his grasp. “One… two…”

The tears that had started running down his face made Mine’s chin tremble.

“... t-two…” he sobbed, his hands no longer applying any pressure to the small, cold chest under his fingers.

“Sir, please let go,” the paramedic insisted.

“He's just a child…”

“I know…”

To hear Tanimura cry, Mine realised, was like having his own heart carved out of his chest. The pained sobs, the shaking hands, the voice drowned by tears as the cop lowered his head onto the kid’s chest… it was all magnified by the distance that had settled between them, now that the other man rejected his attempts to comfort him for the second time.

He had no option but to watch Tanimura stand up on his own and walk away, hands resting on his hips as the crying subsided.

“The door to his room was locked,” he then said, his voice nasal and hoarse as he stared at the ground. “They left him there to die.”

When the light brown eyes finally moved up to look at his face, they were so hollow that Mine felt his heart sink even lower.

“Tch, I don't…” Tanimura chuckled shakily, his eyes once again filling with tears. “I don't think I can do this anymore, Mine.”

For the third time, he tried to reach out, and for the third time, the cop avoided his touch.

“I gotta call Wei,” he said.

“You don't,” Mine replied, his gaze averted to the place where the man’s sister had been found.

“Welł, someone does.”

“No,” the bodyguard whispered, his eyes resting on the figure of a despondent Wei Shen standing a few feet behind the detective. “Turn around.”

++++

"Now this is the first time I'm late for my own party."

Despite the choice of words, Asami noticed that the voice echoing through the Bluetooth system of his BMW lacked Sachi's usual humorous tone.

There was no reason to laugh, anyway.

Ahead of them, hell was already breaking lose. Shinada had just called to report Akihito had been shot but was out of danger and far from the conflict zone, but was unable to give him details as to why the conflict had started without him in the first place.

"Don't tell me Tanimura chose to go in alone..." he muttered. "This level of destruction is unprecedented even for an idiot like him."

"He might have," Suoh pointed out, tilting his head towards the train station. "That's Mine's car."

Asami narrowed his eyes, his Beretta already firmly secured in his hand.

What was the point of gathering a tactical team if people were unable to stick to the plan?

When he and his bodyguard finally got out of the vehicle, the two of them had to hide behind the remains of a fountain not to be caught in the crossfire, and a look to his left showed that the surprises of that morning were far from over.

"Of course you'd be here, of all people," he heard Yoh scoff. "What's your angle?"

"I'm here on Asami Ryuichi's behalf," Sachi replied, face nearly touching the ground at the other man's feet.

"Sure you are."

"Was that supposed to be sarcasm?"

"You can try and leave a triad, but the triad never leaves you."

"Very deep," the procurer snorted."I guess that being about to blow up has awakened the philosopher in you."

"I don't trust you."

"Well, maybe you should, since I'm the one who's supposed to disarm the land mines surrounding you."

"Where's Fei Long?" Asami yelled, before the two of them engaged in yet another round of untimely bantering.

"Inside the main building," Yoh yelled in response.

"Sachi, how many landmines?"

"Enough to blow all of us up if you come this way, use the door in the back," the man replied. "Looks like Fei Long's men already detonated them all in that area."

Now _that_ explained the bloodied body parts amidst the debris.

With Suoh giving him cover, he finally made a run to the building, taking down at least three men that tried to stop him.

Whether they were Baishe, Korean Mafia or else, he really did not care.

For all he knew, he could as well have turned around and left as soon as Shinada told him he had removed Akihito from the scene, but he was a man of his word and now that he had committed to that stupid rescue, he wouldn't go back home empty-handed, especially now that Fei Long was apparently getting his ass handed to him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were planning to set this place on fire?" he hissed through gritted teeth when the man appeared at the top of a staircase, after sending an attacker flying past the rail with a roundhouse kick.

"Because it wasn't me," Fei Long planted in response.

"You should have let me handle it."

"This is _my_ territory."

"So?" Asami asked, using the unconscious man who had just fallen at his feet as a shield to protect himself from the bullets flying in their direction. "I fail to see the advantage in making a move knowing I'd be coming in as well."

"With a tactical team?" the leader of the Baishe asked, reloading his pistol while Asami gave him cover. "Whatever happened to infiltrating one of your associates?"

Blinking rapidly, Asami frowned and let the dead body he was holding slide to the ground, checking the cartridge of his own gun if only to buy himself some time.

"There was a... change in plans," he muttered, unwilling to admit he was somewhat at fault as well.

"Yeah. Thanks for letting me know ahead of time," Fei Long replied, preparing to run towards the next room. "We can't let Lee escape, he's working for someone else, I can tell."

"Cover the right wing, I will go round the building."

As soon as they parted ways, though, a cloud of white concealment smoke left him disoriented for a precious moment, and an unexpected kick to his hand made his gun fly from his fingers, two of his knuckles snapping painfully at the impact.

His reflexes made him each for his other pistol, but that got kicked away as well.

"Fight me like a real man."

When the smoke began to let up, he finally saw the face of his opponent.

"Lieutenant Lee," he scoffed. "I was expecting someone more important than you."

With a grimace, the man threw his weapon of choice at him.

"Broadswords, really?" Asami replied, inspecting the heavy - and deadly - blade with little enthusiasm. "No wonder the Baishe is going down the drain..."

There had been a time in his life when he was really into swords, but the more he used them in fights, the more he realized he liked his semi-automatic pistols much better.

He dodged the man's first strike, and then the second, charging forward and kicking his opponent in the stomach.

After regaining his balance, it was Lee who made a move, his blade cutting Asami's jacket from his waist to his armpit, but that was pretty much the farthest he got before the CEO struck once more, this time sending his sword flying and knocking him to the ground with a sweeping kick.

"Looks like we are both going to hell today," Lee chuckled, his teeth covered in blood as Asami immobilized him on the floor.

"I won't let you die that fast."

 _'Not until I find out who you're working for,'_ Asami added mentally.

His plans for a very painful interrogation would never come to fruition, though.

One gunshot later, and his face was sprinkled with Lieutenant Lee's blood - and brains.

He immediately raised his eyes to the corner of the room where the shot had come from, and rolled to the side to get his gun in time to prevent the shooter from killing himself.

"Don't shoot, I need him alive!" he yelled, after shooting the man in the hand to disarm him.

His tactical team had already knocked the target down, but once again, fate was not by his side.

When the crowd dissipated, he saw the man was no longer moving.

"What happened?"

"Poison," one of his operatives replied. "That's Korean Mafia, they carry a ring with poison and kill themselves before they get captured."

Feeling his body heavier than usual, Asami leaned against a wall and dragged himself to the closest exit.

That operation... was turning out...

_...not..._

_...good..._

_"Asami!"_

There was someone calling his name, but the sounds around him were growing distant.

" _Asami!_ What happened to you?"

When Akihito materialised in front of him, he reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder but his fingers touched nothing but air.

"Why... you here..." he wheezed, each word making his throat burn. "Shot..."

"It's just a graze."

By then, though, his sight was far too blurry for him to see anything.

That was when he felt something warm dripping down the side of his leg.

Blood?

And then he didn't feel anything anymore.

++++

"Asami!" he heard Takaba Akihito scream. _"Asami!"_

"Shinada, get him out of here."

"Takaba-san--"

"Hell no, don't even try! What's wrong with him?!"

"He's having a seizure," Suoh replied calmly. "Takaba-san, please stand back, you are making it hard for him to breathe."

That was not necessarily true, but at least it made the photographer let go of the man's body.

"He's been poisoned," the bodyguard replied, noticing the weird color surrounding a long, deep cut on his boss's side. "Shinada, call Kirishima, we need to take him out of here _now_."

It was the truth - they had no time to waste. Not only because the man's blood pressure dropping much too fast, but also because a new wave of screams and gunshots had restarted somewhere near the backyard.

With his boss unconscious, Shinada with a broken arm and Takaba Akihito limping, they were in no conditions to get into a fight.

"But Mine--"

"Keep going."

"Where’s Masa, he should come with us!"

“He needs to be alone for a while.”

"Hayashi-kun!" Suoh exclaimed. "What are you--Mine, what is going on?"

Dragging the girl by the arm, Mine looked like he had been to hell and back. His face was covered in soot, his clothes stained with blood; what made him look really miserable, though, and in a way Suoh had never seen before, was his swollen, reddish eyes.

As a helicopter descended onto the ruins of what was once a fully functional Baishe complex, all explanations had to be saved for later.

Once inside, none of them seemed inclined to talk. All of them - saved for the two young people perched on Asami Ryuichi's right side as the man’s doctor tended for the wound on his left - were staring out of the window, watching as a single man continued to fight, killing whoever got in his way with whatever weapon fell into his hands.

"Suoh..."

It was Takaba Akihito who broke the silence.

"Did... did they find the boy?"

After stealing another glance at Wei Shen and the pile of corpses he was leaving in his wake, he feared there was no good answer to that question.

Mine opened his mouth to respond and ended up closing it not much later, his eyes dull and distant as he too stared out of the window, but to look at another man - one who was morosely walking back to the train station.

"I don't think so..." Suoh whispered, his thoughts taking him back to the very beginning of his day to give him something to look forward to amidst the dark, thick clouds that had surrounded them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: Takaba Senior, at last!


	75. Retreat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, at last! A few notes:
> 
> 1) The Sexy Santa Christmas Card Takaba Senior mentions in this chapter is taken from YA's character book, more specifically that page where we see said card with Akihito's explanation: "damn, I hadn't realized my balls were showing! Ugh, so embarrassing!" (please note that he sent the card to friends and family anyway - such a keeper!);
> 
> 2) This chapter contain an intimate moment between Yoh and Fei Long, so if that does not float your boat, feel free to skip it, but beware of the little interaction at the end of that scene; and,
> 
> 3) yosenabe: a Japanese hot pot, cooked at the table, and the diners can pick the cooked ingredients they want from the pot. This type is usually pretty big, with a lot of stuff in it: meat, seafood, egg, tofu and vegetables in a broth made with miso.

The soothing sound of the wind chimes near the window made Akihito’s eyelids grow heavy, but before his eyes fluttered closed, he looked around one last time, noticing that snow kept falling outside the small cabin they were in.

_Snow in May…_

Where _the fuck_ had Kirishima brought them?

“Akihito?”

He hadn't even had the chance to ask.

“ _Akihito._ ”

When a warm, small hand gave his shoulder a little squeeze, his tired eyes snapped open.

“What?” he groaned, his body resenting the interruption to his nap. “What?”

“The doctor is here.”

As soon as the woman left the room, a tall, elderly man approached the bed.

“Takaba-kun.”

“Kimura-sensei...” Akihito replied, reciprocating the bow and watching as the doctor placed his suitcase on top of the dresser behind him.

His eyes shifted back to the bed and the man resting on it when he realized his voice had come out quiet and reticent, as if he were about to ask a question and changed his mind somewhere along the way.

Everything had happened so fast that his brain had barely had time to process it.

One minute he, Asami and everyone else were inside a helicopter, and then out of it as a team of doctors rushed the man into his private clinic to patch him up. Luckily, the cut had been superficial so chances were there would be not much of a scar, but the poison...

In the jigsaw puzzle of his vision, he could see pieces of Asami, his tanned skin covered with a glistening layer of sweat, his veins bulging as if fighting an invisible, silent enemy…

“How is he?” he whispered, once again forgetting to ask why after leaving the clinic, he and everyone else had had to board the jet and landed… _there._

“He’ll pull through,” the doctor replied. “It’s not the first time he gets poisoned.”

That explained the prolific inventory of antidotes Akihito had seen him unpack as soon as he was told of Asami’s latest misadventure.

“And, as I said the last time he got poisoned…” the man continued, pushing his glasses farther up his nose to check Asami’s IV, “... _‘hopefully, this will be the last.’_ ”

His compassionate chuckle was probably meant to lift Akihito’s spirits, but the photographer continued to sulk.

“His fever is still high,” he whispered. “Is he in pain?”

After adjusting the drip, Kimura-sensei let out a sigh.

“Have you ever had kidney stones?” he asked.

“No.”

“But you have been kicked in the testicles, I assume?”

“Who hasn’t…” Akihito said quietly.

“Exactly,” the man assented. “Very well. So imagine trying to expel a… _no-so-tiny_ crystal through your urethra while someone kicks you in the testicles.”

The mere thought made Akihito wince.

“That's his level of pain at the moment,” the doctor concluded, after closing his suitcase. “I administered the antidote quick enough to prevent any cardio respiratory complications, but his full recovery will take a while,” he explained. “Don’t be surprised if he throws up at times, or if his body temperature oscillates. We just need to keep him hydrated and comfortable, his body is doing what it can but it's still a lot of damage to take care of.”

“Okay…” the photographer whispered in response, pulling the blanket up to cover the Asami’s chest when a strong draft blew past the room’s old, wooden window. “When will he be able to eat again?”

“In a few days. But I calculate it will be at least one week before he makes a full recovery.”

“ _One week_?” Akihito asked, his eyes wide. “Gee, what kind of poison did they use?”

 “Chinese triads like experimenting with all kinds of poisonous plants, so it’s a kind of toxic miscellany,” the older man replied. “What we found in the lab tests seems to indicate that water hemlock and angel wings are the great villains here.”

“Oh…” the photographer whispered, nodding slowly to hide the fact he had absolutely no idea such plants even existed. “Right…”

“You should try to get some rest, it’s not as if he will get out of that bed anytime soon.”

After another polite bow, the doctor excused himself, and left.

Once again, it was him, his thoughts, and a very ill Asami in the snowy mountains of doom, Akihito thought, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he tried to hide his nose under his scarf.

He was not big on cold weather, let alone in places with no heating.

Count on Kirishima to send them all on a… winter camping vacation.

“What the hell was he thinking…” he muttered, turning to look at the door when footsteps approached, again.

“Akihito?” he heard his mother say quietly.

Rubbing his arms as he stood up, the photographer walked slowly towards the door to open it, a decision followed by immediate regret as the draft seemed to get even stronger.

“Everyone is already at the table,” the woman whispered when he closed the door behind him. “Do you want to join us or should I bring you a dish?”

Behind her, he could see two male nurses waiting for him to leave so that they could enter the room to check their patient.

 _‘Asami would probably want some privacy…’_ he pondered, nodding towards the men in uniforms after stealing one more glance at the man on the bed.

“O-Ok…” he finally replied. “I’ll join you.”

++++

In the tiny living room of the cabin, Suoh Kazumi approached Kirishima for an announcement of his own.

“I need to go back to Tokyo.”

“What happened?” the first assistant asked.

“It’s uh- it’s a long story. I—“

“Actually, I don’t need to know,” Kirishima interrupted, taking off his glasses before speaking again. “He probably won’t be up before the end of this week, so try to be back by then.”

With a knowing look, the secretary put his glasses back on, gave him a discreet nod, and exited the room.

Less than three hours later, Suoh was already opening the front door of his apartment, just to be greeted by the babysitter in the night shift, the same one who had texted him the previous day to warn him that a woman had broken into his apartment and locked herself in his daughter’s room.

He figured he could at least have calmed the girl down by letting her know said woman was the baby’s mother, who happened to have an extra key to the place, but he had been far too out of himself with the sequence of events that had followed to think straight.

With his heart racing, he knocked on the door leading to his daughter’s bedroom to announce his presence, but did not wait for a response.

After months that had felt like years, he finally saw her again.

Dark eyes fixated on an undefined point outside the window, Li Jiao seemed to be in a world of her own with their child in her arms, rocking back and forth in the chair Suoh had bought but never used, since it had never been meant for him, anyway.

“So he told you,” the woman said quietly, without averting her gaze from the window. “Asami.”

“Yeah.”

When silence once again settled between them, Suoh realised he would need to be the one asking the big questions.

“Why did you come back?”

He only knew why she had left, after all.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said simply, her voice showing no emotion. “I wanted to go with Wei to Yasu.”

Only then did she turn to look at him, and he knew right away that he would end up forgiving everything even before she asked him to.

Even if she never asked him to.

“But he didn’t let me,” Li Jiao went on, getting up to put the sleeping baby in the crib.

Suoh watched as she paused, her chest rising when she inhaled deeply to gather her thoughts.

“I saw it. A shadow behind him,” she whispered, and he couldn’t help but be proud of the fact he was one of the two people that woman felt comfortable talking about her… _ability_ to foresee death. “I think he knew too, that she was not going to make it.”

To the untrained eye, her face was just as void of emotion as ever, but Suoh noticed a slight crease on her forehead and the pronounced tension in her jaw.

It was like watching a tiny crack in a solid concrete wall, but it was there.

“I was there when she was born,” she said a full minute later, her lips curving up in a melancholic smile. “My aunt and her husband had come to visit. I was still a teenager, but when she went into labor... there was no one else to help. We wouldn’t get to the hospital in time,” she explained. “So I did it.”

At a certain point, Suoh had the distinct impression she was talking to herself and that she would continue her monologue even if he were not there, but when their eyes met again there was a hint of connection, even if it was a very faint one.

“That’s when I realised I wanted to go to medical school,” the woman concluded, after drawing in an uneven, shaky breath. “But yeah... Patricia Shen was the first child I helped bring into the world. And now she’s gone,” she whispered, jaw clenched even tighter. “She and the kid…”

“Was it really him?” he asked, watching as she nodded the response.

“He had, uh... he had the same birthmark she did, in his left arm,” she said, her voice still low but not as steady as before. “It was him.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Everything is so fragile,” she went on, her gaze once again averted to the window. “One minute they’re there and then... it’s over.”

Suoh pondered that perhaps it was an advantage to have no family members other than a estranged older sister he hardly ever got to visit - not considering, of course, the two other people in that room.

Fewer people to care for meant fewer losses in the long run.

“Wei told me to... to go back home, and hug my daughter while I still could,” she said, her eyes dropping to the crib with a mixture of fear and wonder. “I shouldn’t have left. Even if it scares me, I—I should have stayed.”

When their eyes met again, he realized he had waited a very long time for that moment, and now that it had finally come, he didn’t really know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s okay.”

“ _Okay?_ ”

“Okay.”

Her incredulous little smile made him feel like an idiot for his less than eloquent response.

But it didn’t matter, really.

What mattered was that she was back.

++++

Clearly, the cabin they were in was not meant to host that many guests.

Akihito’s mother - whose presence among them was just one of the many unexpected things that had taken place in the past 24 hours - was the definition of intrigued resignation as she took her place at the table after preparing a meal large enough to feed a small army. To her right, Akihito looked like he had been run over by a bullet train, the dark bags under his eyes a testimony to at least two nights of no sleep, his elbows almost touching Shinada’s arms as the man took his place at the table as well.

Sitting next to the photographer's bodyguard and his broad, muscular shoulders, Mine looked even more slender and boyish than usual, although the gloomy, serious look in his eyes made him look almost as old as Kirishima, who was sitting to his left.  

Given her father's penchant for luxurious real estate, Maya had to wonder _why on earth_ the secretary had brought them all to that place, which seemed to have been designed to provide comfort for two, three people tops.

Despite the lack of personal space, she would have to admit she was happy to feel the familiar cold weather of the mountains in Hokkaido once more.

They were far from Sapporo, the place she still considered home, but they seemed to be close enough to Rikubetsu and that fact alone was enough to elicit many memories of hiking trips during fall, memories from a less complicated portion of her life.

“Kirishima…” she asked at last, when everyone had already taken their first vegetables from the _yosenabe_. “Why are we here? What is this place?”

“Because it's not safe to stay in Tokyo,” the man answered simply. “Your father can tell you more when he wakes up.”

And that, apparently, was all she was going to get.

“Okay…” she said quietly, turning to look at Akihito. “How is he, by the way? The doctor said he will get better but he didn't say when.”

“One week,” the photographer replied. “He said we should keep him hydrated and comfortable.”

“Oh…”

Understandably, not even him seemed to be in the mood for talk.

“Did they confirm it?” he asked, after a long moment of silence. “The boy... was he really—”

“Yeah,” his bodyguard replied.

“I need to call Wei.”

“That is out of the question,” Kirishima interjected.

“Why?”

“It’s not safe,” the secretary explained. “The whole point of us being here is to reorganize and stay under the radar as Asami-sama recovers. This area is a blank spot on satellite maps, phones don’t work, there is only one computer with Internet connection - _mine_ \- and I have no intention of creating a cyber security breach.”

“We can go incognito,” Maya argued. “Create an untraceable connection, proxy jumping, shifting VPNs…”

“No Internet activity is completely untraceable, you know that.”

“Yeah, but we can get pretty close,” she insisted. “You’ve been using the Internet everyday to check things at Sion.”

“Sion is different. We follow very strict anti-leak guidelines.”

“Where’s Suoh?” Akihito asked, finally realizing they were short of one man.

“He had to go to Tokyo but he’ll be back before this week's over,” Kirishima replied, and his tone, once again, made it clear the topic was closed.

Before averting her eyes back to her food, upon which they were bound to remain until the end of the meal, Maya had time to notice Mine morosely poking a piece of carrot with his chopsticks, his eyes vacant and sad, as if his thoughts were several miles away.

++++

Four days had gone by, and by then Akihito could barely remember what it was like to have a decent night of sleep.

The bed was far from being as comfortable and spacious as the one they had in the penthouse, but then there was also the fact he felt cold despite the heavy blankets, and when it was not the cold weather keeping him up at night, it was the concern that maybe the man next to him had stopped breathing.

He didn't know what was worse, really. To have Asami tossing and turning and hitting him in the face in the process, or to find him cold and immobile by his side.

“Here.”

His mother's voice made him jump on his seat, even though he was not surprised to see her standing next to his chair.

The woman did not even bother to announce her presence anymore, but it was not as if she needed to, anyway. Regardless of time of day, the scenario was always the same: Asami in a state of restless sleep on the bed, and her son dozing off on the chair by his side.

She had stopped knocking on the door on the third day.

“What is this?” Akihito asked, when she passed him a small bowl.

“Curry rice.”

“Kaa-san, stop bringing me food…”

“If I don’t, you’ll go to the kitchen to get it yourself.”

“That’s true,” he admitted quietly, picking up the chopsticks with an expression of guilt. “But you don’t have to say it.”

“You always overeat when you’re worried,” his mother continued nevertheless. “Just like your father.”

“Yeah... but I shouldn’t,” he said with a frown, already munching on a piece of chicken. “I’ll have to work out twice as hard when he wakes up to burn all these extra calories.”

“I’m sure he will help.”

The implication of those words made him choke on his food.

“Uh…y-yeah…” he stammered, trying to catch his breath after a few moments of loud coughing, “...t-there’s a gym where he works,” he said feebly. “Maybe he will take me there.”

“Of course.”

The knowing little smile on his mother’s lips only made him feel even more embarrassed, so he used that brief pause to steer the conversation in another direction.

“The nurses tried to give him food today but he threw up,” he said, putting down his bowl of curry for a moment. “He looks so pale…”

“Here,” his mother replied, handing him a folded, humid piece of cloth.

“What’s this?”

“Cold chamomile compresses,” she answered, as Akihito brought the soft fabric closer to his nose. “Put them behind his neck, it helps with the nausea.”

His eyes drifted from the cloth in his hands to Asami’s face. He had honestly thought the man would be up by now...

“Also, try giving him some ginger tea,” his mother added. “It used to help your father.”

“Did he ever get poisoned?”

“Not like that, no,” the woman explained, shaking her head with an amused frown. “But he once ate two pounds of shrimp I had forgotten to put in the fridge and he almost died.”

“I don’t remember that!”

“Oh, you were just a baby.”

Akihito had to chuckle at his father’s antics. Now that he thought of it, his mother really must have had to put up with a lot, considering the fact the old man seemed to have a natural flair for trouble…

That thought made the hazel eyes once again drop to the sleeping man next to him as he held the compresses behind his neck, watching the pained expression slowly soften as the soothing effect of the chamomile began to settle in.

“His hair is getting long,” he whispered, holding a lock of jet black hair between his fingers.

“Is it? Looks the same to me.”

“It's longer,” the photographer replied, lips curved in a quiet, small smile. “His hair grows fast.”

Asami Ryuichi had his own set of remarkable peculiarities, and he took pride in the fact he had become very intimate with them over the years.

The warmth of his skin… the texture of his hair… his smell…

Akihito would be able to recognise the man in a crowded room with his eyes closed.

“He gets a haircut every week,” he said.

“Every week?”

“Every week,” he repeated, chuckling at his mother’s surprise. “Yeah… He says that the best-groomed men never really look like they've had a fresh haircut.”

As he spoke, his eyes languidly moved from the man’s hair to his long, dark eyelashes, and from there to his pale lips.

“And it's true. His hair always looks the same…” he whispered, “... _because he gets a haircut every week_.”

“Heh…”

When the back of his fingers slid across one of Asami’s cheeks, he was glad to realize that the fever seemed to have finally broken.

“I'm glad that you found him.”

His mother’s comment made him frown.

“ _Eh_?”

“If he matters enough to make you look that happy when you talk about his hair, then I'm glad that you found him.”

For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the intermittent clatter of the window’s wooden boards and the wind chimes attached to it.

“Even if it's ... _him_?” Akihito asked quietly.

His mother had no reason to like Asami, not if she knew what he had done to his father…

He figured she would like him even less if she learned about half of the things that had happened in the course of their relationship.

“As long as he treats you well,” the woman replied just as quietly. “Even if it's him.”

Perhaps he should tell her?

At least he could do so on his terms, and giving Asami credit where it was due… That would be much better than her finding out from someone else, in a more crude reveal later down the road.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you, son?”

He felt the corners of his eyes prickle when the woman spoke again.

Mothers…

What was with their ability to read minds?

“I think we all have,” he replied with a quiet chuckle.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“Nah…”

“You were never good at keeping secrets, Akihito.”

And that, unfortunately, was the most absolute truth.

“Fine,” he finally conceded, taking a very deep breath as he braced himself for what was bound to be a tricky conversation. “But please don’t tell my father.”

++++

“What is the point of having an advisor…” Yoh asked as he retrieved another handful of bandages from a drawer, “...if you refuse to do what he advises you to do.”

“The point is... I know he is a very competent man but there are…” Fei Long replied, wincing when the other man pressed a cloth soaked in alcohol to one of the wounds on his chest, “... _things_ about triads he simply does not understand,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Yoh asked, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. “Like what?”

The grave, low voice and the piercing dark eyes studying his face made the corners of his mouth curl into a satisfied smirk.

“Let’s not dwell on it for the time being,” he answered, shifting on the chaise so that Yoh could finish changing the bandage on his left shoulder. “Also, I chose to have an advisor because... he’s very good at patching me up.”

“You could have died.”

“You too. And yet here we are…”

But it had been a close one - that he would have to admit. His untimely run in with Wei Shen when he had already been shot by one of Lee’s minions nearly resulted in disaster.

“How many of ours survived?” Fei Long asked quietly as his eyes dropped to the many bruises on his chest.

“Eight.”

“How many did we take?”

“Fifty-two.”

The answer made his eyes dart back and forth nervously.

_Forty-four men, dead._

In times like those he really had to ask if his adversaries were right after all, and the Baishe would be better off without him.

What would his father have said?

“May I ask you why you chose not to consult with Asami-san before going in?” he heard Yoh ask quietly, putting away ointments and other first aid paraphernalia.

“What kind of leader would I be if I depended on Asami Ryuichi to fix my own organisation?” Fei Long replied, bending over to reach a half-empty glass behind the other man. “You’ve been with me long enough, Yoh, you know what triads are all about. We are not Yakuza,” he went on, pausing to wash down the two painkillers his advisor had given him with a large gulp of water.

“The Baishe has no sense of unity. We live in a battlefield,” he added, grimacing as he stretched one of his arms to put the glass back on the table. “Why do you think everything is crumbling?”

Yoh, as expected, remained silent at the rhetorical question, glancing at him with his usual contained expression as he leaned back on the chair.

“Because people perceive me as a weakling for relying on him, among other things.”

“If you rely on him, you can crush the people that betrayed you,” the advisor pointed out. “Sometimes a person can be a problem, and the only solution to it.”

Fei Long had no choice but to scoff quietly.

Funny that Yoh, of all people, would say something like that. He had to wonder if the man knew people still talked about them behind their backs, that the mere fact he had been appointed advisor after openly betraying the organisation was something most of his officers frowned upon.

And yet… even though he knew Yoh himself was one of the reasons his leadership kept being questioned, he couldn’t bring himself to let him go, not again.

“Yes…” Fei Long answered quietly, letting his eyes travel from the man’s face to the rolled up sleeves of his shirt and the lean muscles of his forearms. “You’re right… You’re absolutely right.”

When their eyes met again, he was not surprised to see the dark orbs staring at him still showed no emotion.

They hardly ever did, but he knew exactly what to do to make that facade shatter.

“Spend the night with me,” he said, and as expected, the words elicited a brief, yet very noticeable flash of surprise in Yoh’s eyes.

“As your advisor, I should say that’s not a good idea.”

“It’s not, I agree.”

And so, there would be no debate.

There was a moment of hesitation when his tongue slid past Yoh’s lips, but the same hands that threatened to push him away at first were quick to wrap around his waist to help him off the chaise and onto the bed.

The dark black eyes watching him as they undressed were concerned at first, but there was no complaint when Fei Long took him into his mouth.

There was no complaint ether when he climbed on top of him, riding him until the usually distant, cold eyes were glistening with pleasure.

He had missed those eyes, he had missed that warm feeling inside him as they both reached their climax.

Many minutes later, when Yoh was already fast asleep, he realized _he had missed that too_ , and his fingertips inadvertently moved to one of the many scars on the other man’s naked chest.

The soft touch was all it took for the advisor’s eyes to snap open.

“Go back to sleep,” Fei Long whispered.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he answered, omitting the foreboding feeling that was beginning to fill his chest. “I’ll just go get myself some tea.”

“Let me—“

“Don’t be stupid,” Fei Long replied, one of his hands pressed to the man’s chest to prevent him from getting out of bed. “You’re not my servant.”

“Take your gun, at least.”

For a moment, Yoh’s suggestion sounded beyond absurd. It was his house, after all…

 _But in times of mutiny,_ he pondered, _it was better to be safe than sorrow._

And that was how he found himself walking to his own kitchen with his pistol in hand, eyes scanning every corner as he made his way past dark, deserted hallways.

The worst threats, though, came from where you least expected.

“Evening, sunshine,” he heard a male voice say from inside the living room. “Put down your gun, will you?”

And after that, there was only the familiar feeling of a muzzle being pressed to the back of his head.

++++

They had finally reached the one week mark.

Contrary to popular expectations, Asami was not up and running, ready to approve the new cyber security plan Maya had prepared for Sion, or to sign the many reports Kirishima had been working on.

 _‘Or to… do other more fun stuff,’_ Akihito complained in silence, shifting on the small stool next to the bathtub as he gently scrubbed the man’s arm.

It had been a while...

With a sigh, he rinsed it off and adjusted his bandana, reveling on the scent of lemongrass and the familiar texture of Asami’s skin against his fingertips.

_So warm…_

Ever so lightly, his fingers travelled further down his elbow and from there to his hand, feeling every vein, every minor scar along the way. His eyes were closed but he could see everything: from the shape of his nails to the rougher skin covering his knuckles, and guided by pure instinct, he led one of the man’s fingers closer to his lips, and then another…

 _Those fingers…_ the first part of Asami’s body he had gotten to know intimately, for a number of reasons…

Memories from distant encounters mixed with the very present, very warm feel of Asami’s hand against his mouth, and he shifted on his seat again when a persistent throb made his underwear much too tight.

Perhaps he could treat himself to some quick relief? It was not as if Asami would complain anyway, what with still being out of commission… Plus he hadn’t masturbated in a really long time, he deserved a break.

Wishing that the fingers he was pressing against his mouth were actually in and out of another part of his body, he gave his semi-hard cock a gentle squeeze before pulling his shorts a little lower.

Only then did he realize that the warm fingers he was holding were actually moving and to trying to sneak past his lips.

Lifting his gaze to Asami’s face, he saw his eyes were open, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and lust.

“Take your clothes off,” he whispered, voice low and throaty.

“N-No,” Akihito replied, a fierce blush spreading across his cheeks when he realized that hearing Asami’s voice again had just made him ten times harder.

“Why not?”

“You need a warm bath, your fever was getting high again.”

“Then take a bath with me.”

“No…”

His response sounded weak and unconvincing even to his own ears, but what could he do? Kimura-sensei had been adamant about Asami not getting into any kind of strenuous activity, and if he entered that bathtub… well…

He felt like a horrible person when his eyes fluttered closed and he parted his lips to let the man’s fingers slide past his lips, licking and sucking them slowly, intently. Heck, he had just said they shouldn’t be doing it… but he really couldn’t help himself…

“No…” he groaned again, when Asami retrieved his fingers from his mouth and sat up to grab his shorts. “Asami... You’re still too weak…”

“Who are you calling weak?”

“Your doctor... said... no… sex…”

By then, Asami’s deft fingers had already found their way to the one part of his body that refused to follow any kind of medical advice.

“No…” he whimpered, tilting his hips up to increase the friction between his body and Asami’s hand.

“Yes…” the man whispered into his ear, and his hot breath against his ear only made things more complicated. “Your ass is throbbing for me.”

Well, _obviously._

When the man leaned forward to kiss him, he was too far gone to keep resisting. Tongues clashing, weird little sounds escaping his throat as he clumsily tried to take his T-shirt off without breaking the kiss, Asami’s hands pulling him closer… before he knew, he was falling into the bathtub with a loud splash, his shorts and underwear still dangling from one of his feet, his bandana covering one of his eyes.

_“Akihito.”_

His mother’s voice made his heart stop.

“Fuck,” he cursed quietly.

He had not locked the door.

_“Akihito?”_

“Eh, h-hold on!” he screamed, scrambling out of the bathtub.

He didn’t even know where his T-shirt had landed, and he wouldn’t have the time to look for it, anyway.

Pulling up his soaked shorts, he grabbed a towel and opened the door, trying to look as dignified as the circumstances allowed.

“What is it?” he asked, pressing the towel to his crotch as he uselessly tried to get his wet hair away from his eyes.

“Kirishima-san is looking for you.”

“Right.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I was just giving him a bath,” Akihito replied.

After stealing a quick glance towards the bathtub behind him, Takaba Noriko raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t see anyone,” she said.

He whipped his head around so fast that his eyes took a moment to adjust, but when they did, Akihito felt like screaming.

The man was completely submerged in the tub, not a single bubble on the surface to show he was breathing.

“Shit. _Asami!_ ”

++++

“What part of “no sex” don’t you understand?” Kirishima snarled, when his boss was already breathing again, this time under fluffy blankets, his peaceful slumber finally giving everyone a breather after the momentary bathtub scare.

“We were not having sex,” said a very disturbed, and still very wet Takaba Akihito.

“He was _erect_ ,” the secretary hissed in response, after making sure they were the only ones left in the small bedroom.

“So?” the photographer replied, trying to sound casual as he shrugged. “Sometimes people get like that when they are... I don’t know, dreaming.”

“So you let him fall asleep in a bathtub? That’s even worse.”

“Come on, give me a break...!”

Before Kirishima had the chance to respond, the door opened behind them.

“What happened to him?” Maya asked, moving closer to her father’s bed.

“His blood pressure dropped while he was… _taking a bath_ ,” the secretary replied, after casting a suspicious glance towards the blond man to his left. “But he’s already coming to.”

“What did you call me for, anyway?” the photographer asked.

Ah, _that._ Given the latest events he had lost forgotten.

“We figured out how to guarantee a safe connection,” Kirishima explained. “You can call Wei Shen if you want.”

“Okay.”

“I would like to stay, though.”

“What for?” Akihito asked, his voice just as suspicious as the expression on his face.

“I need to talk to Sachi.”

Whereas that was true, it was not the only reason why he wanted to stay. Given how disastrous their operation in Yasu had been, it was crucial for him to understand if and when Wei Shen was planning to make a move, why, and with or against whom.

“Fine…”

“Can you ask him if he knows where Tanimura is?” Maya whispered. “I think Mine tried to call him all week long but he won’t answer his phone.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks,” she replied, pressing a kiss to her father’s forehead before walking towards the door. “I’ll... leave you alone, then.”

“And I’ll change into some dry clothes, hold on,” said the photographer, rushing to the door as well.

 _“What the hell happened to you?”_ Kirishima heard the girl ask when they both were already outside the room. _“Wait, don’t tell me that the two of you were—“_

_“It’s not what you’re thinking.”_

_“Right…”_

The secretary clicked his tongue at the exchange, taking off his glasses with a semi-amused chuckle. Perhaps at some point of his life he had been that adventurous, but if so it must have been a very long time ago because he honestly could not remember much of it…

“Ok. I’m ready.”

His thoughts were interrupted not even a full minute later, with the photographer walking back into the room with his hair combed back and a new set of clothes.

“Let’s do it,” he added, taking his seat next to him and rubbing the palms of his hands on his thighs as the secretary pressed a button on his laptop computer to start the call.

When the video on the other side of the line finally appeared on their screen, they both gasped at the same time.

“Sachi…!” Kirishima muttered quietly. “What in heaven’s name happened to you?”

 _“Heaven?”_ the procurer replied, a bitter smirk curving his thin lips. _“Interesting choice of words.”_

His usually shiny, sleek red hair looked like it hadn’t been washed for days, carelessly arranged in a bun on top of his head. The dark bags under his eyes didn’t make him look any better, and he was so pale Kirishima had to wonder if he had been eating at all.

“Have you been eating?”

 _“No. Yes,”_ Sachi responded, shifting on the chair. _“Maybe.”_

“I believe you und—“

 _“Now look at that scarf, cute,”_ the man interrupted, pausing to light up a cigarette. _“Where are you holed up at, Alaska?”_

“Our current location is confidential.”

 _“Really? Even to a member of staff?”_ the procurer asked, with narrowed eyes. _“Or have I been fired already?”_

“Your current status will be decided by the boss, when the time is right.”

_“My current stat— have I ever told you navy is not your colour?”_

“Sachi…”

_“Ocean breeze…”_

Kirishima watched as the eyes staring at him from the other side of the screen suddenly grew vacant, pupils dilated as the procurer drowned in his own thoughts.

_“The colour of dreams…”_

“Sachi, I need you to focus.”

 _“If you wanted a coherent conversation, you should have called two rows of cocaine ago,”_ the man replied, his voice sounding low and robotic before his eyes regained its usual glow. _“Wait, is that Takaba-kun sitting next to you?”_

“Yes, that’s me,” the photographer replied, raising a hand.

_“Hi, beautiful. Are you okay? I heard you got shot, yeah?”_

“Yeah, but nothing serious,” the younger man replied quietly. “How are you guys holding up?”

 _“Who says we are holding up?”_ the procurer responded before letting out a high-pitched chuckle.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

_“Me too. B-But… uh… hey, we have to keep going, yeah? We still have a wedding ahead of us.”_

“Yeah.”

_“Will you let me help with the final details?”_

Noticing that the procurer’s chin had begun to tremble, Kirishima frowned. Whether he would still continue as a wedding planner was not Takaba’s decision to make, but since it wasn’t his either, he chose not to interrupt.

“Of course I will.”

He could tell that the photographer was just surprised as him at the breakdown that followed.

 _“T-Thanks,”_ they heard Sachi stammer, tears streaming down his face. _“You’re a good man, Takaba-kun, you really are… And I’m so, so—“_

_“Sachi.”_

Whatever the man was about to say next, they never got to find out, because Wei Shen had entered the room and whispered something in Chinese that Kirishima could not understand.

 _“I shall be going now,”_ the procurer said at last, wiping his face on the sleeve of a very old-looking sweater before getting up. _“Kirishima-san, Takaba-kun, excuse me.”_

And with that, he exited the room and it was Wei Shen’s turn to sit on the chair in front of the camera.

Differently from the man they had just talked to, Shen was the very definition of calm. Not a single hair out of place, tattoos peeking out from under a black tank top that drew even more attention to his bulging biceps, he seemed to be fully in charge of his nerves, without a single gram of drugs in his system.

“Hi, Wei,” Akihito said, after he and the secretary had switched places.

_“Hey kid. How are you doing?”_

“Fine. I mean—”

_“It’s okay.”_

“I’m so sorry. I was so close.”

From the corner of his eye, Kirishima could see the photographer was tearing up.

 _“No. Don't do that, don't apologise,”_ Shen was quick to respond. _“If there is anyone to blame... it's not you,”_ he said, eliciting a quiet sob from the man by his side. “ _Definitely not you.”_

“Thanks,” Akihito said quietly, after the secretary had passed him a box of tissues.

 _“Damn…”_ Shen continued. _“Out of everyone you and the girl were the only ones that actually got to Patty,”_ he whispered. _“How was she?”_

Now that was something none of them had talked about much, perhaps because they had all been far too worried about Asami Ryuichi’s current condition to give much thought to the other victims of that disaster.

“Not that well,” the photographer answered, after a sniffle. “But she remembered you.”

_“Did she?”_

“Yeah. Her eyes lit up when she saw your picture.”

For the first time, Shen looked vulnerable. Covering his mouth with his hand, his eyebrows were pulled together and his eyes seemed to be glistening with many unshed tears.

“She was very brave,” Akihito went on. “When they came in, she pushed us down a staircase and closed the door.”

At that point, Kirishima could say he was the only one not getting emotional.

“To save us,” the photographer whispered, his voice somewhat nasal. “I wish she hadn't.”

 _“If she hadn't, it would have been three dead bodies instead of one,”_ Shen responded, regaining some of his usual detachment. _“But... I do wish we had done things your way,”_ he said, staring at his own hands for a very long moment. _“I wish we had given you more time instead of... just... forcing our way in with men in body armour and assault rifles and knives... and bombs…”_

After a moment of silence, the man continued.

 _“You would have been fine without us, you would have probably gotten out of there just fine,”_ he said. _“Who knows how many men with enough guns to turn half a city into smoke. If anything they just... fucked things up.”_

“Asami was just try--“

 _“It's not about him. I mean, not_ only _him,”_ Shen interrupted. _“It's the way people like us do things. We take what we want by force. Shoot first, talk later. And we think that's how it needs to be done, but…”_

He paused once more, his eyes fixated on some unseen part above the screen.

“What are you gonna do now?” the photographer asked, and Kirishima squared his shoulders.

Now _that_ was a part of the conversation he really needed to pay attention to.

 _“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,”_ Shen replied.

“You’re going after Fei Long, aren’t you?” Akihito insisted. “For revenge?”

_“One day you will understand why—“_

“Understand what? Revenge is not the answer,” the photographer interjected. “Whatever happened to the way of the Shaolin? Everything that you taught me…?”

His words, or perhaps the desperation with which they were said, made the man on the other side of the screen let out a saddened smile.

 _“I hope you won’t forget it,”_ he replied.

“Yeah, but you—“

_“Triads can’t afford to observe the way of the Shaolin.”_

“Tria-- You're not in a triad anymore.”

 _“Yes, I am,”_ Shen responded, before averting his eyes to Kirishima. _“I was reinstated as enforcer for the Sun On Yee.”_

The secretary could tell that was not merely a piece of public information.

It was a _warning._

“When?” Akihito asked.

 _“Does it matter?”_ the other man replied, rubbing his hands on his jeans before looking at the camera again. _“Look, I need to get going.”_

“OK.”

Kirishima saw Shen open his mouth to say something, just to close it two seconds later.

 _“Yeah,”_ he said instead. _“Take care.”_

“You too,” the photographer replied, somewhat frustrated with the abrupt end to their conversation. “Ah, Wei!”

_“Hm?”_

“Have you been with Tanimura?”

 _“No,”_ the man replied. _“He’s not answering his phone, but my guess is that he’s holed up in Little Asia.”_

“Ok. Thanks.”

_“Bye.”_

And then, the screen went dark.

++++

“What you’re planning to do is madness.”

Sachi was the first one to speak when Wei exited the bedroom to join him in the living room.

“Yeah,” he answered, before helping himself to a glass of gin. “Do you have a better plan?”

“Any plan is better than that.”

“Yeah, but _do you have one?_ ” Wei asked, before the glass finally touched his lips. “A better plan?”

There was no response, though.

His lover of almost twenty years was still staring out of the window, looking profoundly at odds with the entire world.

He knew that if they really went through with it, Sachi would be the one to carry the heaviest burden of all.

The burden of _betrayal._

And he knew the man well enough to know he was not a traitor.

“No,” the procurer answered quietly.

“You don’t have to do it. I can find someone—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sachi interrupted, finally averting his eyes from the window. “You need me. I’m the one who has access to the wedding venue, and the guest list,” he said. “No one else.”

“Yeah.”

“He will never forgive me. He will hate me, forever,” the procurer went on, eyes once again vacant as he spoke. “And the kid will hate _you._ ”

“He will understand.”

His response made the red-haired man next to him smirk bitterly.

“No,” Sachi replied, his sad eyes boring into him. “He won’t.”

++++

Even though he had been able to hear the entire videoconference that had taken place in his bedroom, Asami’s eyes were far too heavy for him to follow the visual cues of the participants, which left him with a considerable gap in knowledge.

 _One thing at a time, though._ Kirishima would fill him in later, anyway…

He winced when rays of sunshine greeted him, waiting for his eyes to adapt and make sense of his surroundings.

Everything around him looked, sounded and smelled strangely familiar, memories slowly making their way to the front of his mind when his gaze fell upon the painting of a Chinese garden hanging on the wall.

“Did you bring me to Rikubetsu?” he asked, trying to sit up after spotting Kirishima on the other side of the room.

“I did.”

“I thought we had agreed this place should only be used in extreme emergency cases.”

“Well, you were poisoned, Takaba-san was injured and a triad war was about to break,” the secretary explained calmly, making his way to his bed. “I thought the situation qualified.”

“We've been through worse,” Asami replied, ignoring the slight nausea that hit him when he finally managed to stand up.

“Don't go too fast.”

“I'm not going too fast.”

But just to taunt him, his body found it funny to make him lose balance as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Should I ask Suoh to bring you my extra wheelchair?”

“No need for that.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a long, deep breath before opening the small wardrobe next to his bed to retrieve a sweatshirt.

“Where is Akihito?”

“Cooking,” his first assistant replied. “But he hasn't left your bedside ever since we got here.”

“I know,” Asami replied with a satisfied smirk. “And you should probably know that I was the one who tried to have sex with him in the bathtub, not the other way around,” he said. “You lectured the wrong person.”

“Oh, I assumed so,” he heard the other man reply, lacing his fingers on top of his lap and looking thoroughly unsurprised. “But he gets flustered so easily, it is always amusing to see him trying to defend himself.”

“It is very cute, indeed…”

His mind was already drifting to the _other very cute things_ his fiery photographer used to do when a  strange sound coming from the room next to his made him frown.

“What is-- is there a _baby_ crying?”

“Yes.”

“ _Here?_ ” Asami asked, his eyes wide.

“Yes. Suoh’s daughter’s here.”

“Wh--”

“And the mother.”

“Whose mother?”

“The baby’s,” Kirishima answered. “And Akihito’s, she’s here too.”

“ _Akihito’s_ mother?”

“Yes.”

After drawing in another long breath, Asami spoke again.

“How many people are here exactly?”

“Including staff?”

“Including _everyone_.”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixt-- where are they staying?”

“In the adjacent cabins.”

Perhaps later he would find it in him to ask Kirishima to explain, in greater detail, why exactly he had turned the place into some sort of winter resort, but for now he had more urgent matters to take care of.

“Fine. It looks like I have a lot to catch up on,” he said quietly, looking at the pile of reports resting on the small desk by the window.

“Yes. And we need to talk about Sachi too.”

“We do… But not now,” he responded, and his first assistant knew him well enough to understand what his priority was at the moment.

They exited the room together but, as expected, only one of them entered the kitchen.

After one week in bed, he had earned at least those few minutes of privacy with his fiancé, who seemed to be too busy cutting carrots by the counter to notice him walking in his direction.

“He’s right,” Asami announced, loud enough to make the photographer let out a startled gasp.

“Gee, Asami, you scared me!” he heard Akihito complain, knife still firmly secured in his hand. “What are you talking about?”

“Shen. What he said is true.”

“You were listening?”

“Yes,” Asami replied, leaning against the counter. “We should have done things your way.”

His words, apparently, were not enough to lift Akihito’s spirits.

“I don’t know if it would have mattered,” he whispered. “It was all a trap, like you said.”

“But you got to her. You were on your way out when things went to hell.”

“I think that things going to hell was what gave me a chance to sneak in, in the first place. So I don’t know. I really don’t,” the photographer replied, after a disheartened sigh. “You and Fei Long know how their minds work. I don’t. So who knows, maybe... Ah, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Asami frowned at the other man's discouraged tone. Now he really wanted to destroy every single person involved in the events that had resulted with him in bed for a week, not so much for the physical damage done to him, but for the emotional burden they seemed to have placed on Akihito's shoulders.

“Why don’t you come to bed with me?” he whispered into the photographer’s ear, hugging him from behind.

Since he had not succeeded in making his fiancé feel better with words, he would have to use _other_ methods.

“Kirishima will bite my head off if I go to bed with you,” Akihito replied, with an annoyed frown wrinkling his forehead.

“Since when do you care about Kirishima?”

As he spoke, he ground his hips harder against the other man’s butt, just to hear him groan in response.

He knew Takaba Akihito far too well. If earlier that day he had been horny enough to try and masturbate while giving him a bath, there was no way he would resist his advances now.

And in all honesty, they didn’t even need to go to the bedroom if he didn’t want to.

He wouldn’t mind taking him right then and there, on that counter, in the middle of pots and carrots and pans and everything else.

“What have we here…” he said, giving Akihito’s soft stomach a gentle squeeze.

“Stop it.”

“Here too,” Asami chuckled again, this time kneading the photographer’s rounder than usual butt.

He found those newfound curves pretty sexy.

 _“Stop, Asami!”_ he heard a less than amused Akihito yell in return, after slapping his hand away. “Do you think that's funny?”

“What?”

“ _'What?'"_ the photographer repeated, making a face. _"_ Stop making fun of me, I know I've put on weight, but it is your fault that I'm overeating!”

“I'm not making fun of—“

“One week, holed up in that room with you, waiting for you to get better!” Akihito continued to rant. “And I haven't exercised. Or slept!”

“I'm not—“

“Shut up. It's not funny.”

Asami had to bite his lower lip not to laugh, because at that point he was confident the photographer would not hesitate in smacking him with a strainer if he opened his mouth to make any other comments.

“Hey,” he said quietly, hoping for a less inflamed reaction.

“What?” Akihito replied, his voice much more amiable even though he still had a fierce frown on his face.

When Asami turned his face to the side and kissed him, though, the wrinkles of annoyance quickly vanished.

“Put down the knife,” he whispered, when they broke for air a full minute later.

“Oh... yeah…”

And then Akihito turned around and they were kissing again, hands sliding under items of clothing that were doing nothing but getting in the way, the deep, slow kisses making their bodies vibrate as the photographer opened his legs to receive him…

“Don't mind me, I just want a glass of water.”

Whoever had walked in on them had made Akihito freeze on the spot, and he was forced to turn around to check who he would have to lecture for the untimely interruption.

The man he found standing near the fridge, though, was not one of his employees...

++++

_**Half an hour prior…** _

 

Up to his knees in snow, Takaba Yoshiro put down his suitcase to wipe a layer of sweat off his forehead before it froze.

According to his compass, he should be getting to his wife’s location soon, but seriously, what was she doing in that corner of Hokkaido? Such heavy snow, _in May!_

After shaking his head in silence one more time, he drew in a long breath, squared his shoulders and prepared for the final stretch of his hiking trip, making sure his mind was far too busy with other thoughts to remind him that he was tired and cold. And hungry. Very hungry.

So his only son was going to marry another man.

_‘Dear mom and dad… yadda yadda… something you should probably know… yadda yadda… his name is Ryuichi and we’ve decided to get married…’_

Count on Akihito to tell such news over a one page letter!

“That kid…” he muttered under his breath, icy droplets of sweat forming above his upper lip.

And then there was his wife, tiptoeing around the entire revelation, leaving him yet another letter urging him not to lose his mind. They had travelled all over the world and lived in Manhattan for almost three years, did she really think he would be fazed by the fact his son was gay? Their neighbors were gay. The owner of the coffee shop he always went to was gay. His coworker George at The Times had abandoned journalism to become performer _La Georgette_ at the local nightclub, and his beloved wife still thought he would shun his own son, _his only son_ , for being in a relationship with another man?

True, a part of him was disappointed by how unlikely it had become for him to ever have grandchildren… but he would gauge his future son-in-law’s expectations about that.

Life was full of surprises, after all.

Still entertained by his own ideas for the future, the head of House Takaba frowned upon seeing two heavily armed men guarding a small gate a few feet away.

Noriko had not mentioned anything about him breaking into a military facility or anything of the sort…

“Although that would be fun…” he quietly told himself, with a mischievous smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he straightened his back and walked towards the gate.

“May I help you, sir?”

Yoshiro glanced at the man over the semi-frozen rim of his glasses.

“Yes, I’m Takaba Akihito’s father,” he replied, stuffing his chest to show he was not intimidated by the significant difference in height between him and the blond giant looking at him. “Takaba Noriko is waiting for me.”

After staring at him for a very long moment, the man finally spoke again.

“One minute, please,” he said, turning away from the gate as he pressed his earpiece. “Kirishima, I’m with a visitor at the front entrance…”

What he said after that, though, Yoshiro could not hear.

_“Ah, it’s my husband.”_

_“How did he get here?”_

_“Let’s save that question for later. Let him in.”_

His wife’s voice was barely audible among the stronger, louder voices of the other two guards walking with her towards the gate, but her open arms and welcoming smile made him forget his worries for the time being.

“Noriko-chan!” he said, pulling the woman into a hug that his Japanese parents would have found beyond scandalous. “Ah, it’s so good to see you…”

“So you've found it.”

“Of course I did,” Akihito’s father replied. “Very ingenious of you, to send me the coordinates in a letter. But couldn’t you have sent an email instead?”

“We have no Internet here.”

“What _is_ this place?” he asked, looking over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow as they walked towards a small cabin on top of a hill. “I feel like I’m being watched.”

“You probably are.”

His wife’s words made him stop on his tracks.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I will, I will, but it’s a very long story,” the woman replied, opening the door and stepping into a pair of fluffy slippers in the _genkan_. “Come, give me your bag.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“I think Akihito is in the kitchen, let me get him.”

When she walked out of the room, Yoshiro finally had a moment to look around. Now that was a cosy, quaint little cabin, but he had to wonder _why on earth_ such an inconspicuous place had so much manpower guarding its gates...

“No,” he heard Noriko say, not even a full minute later. “I thought he was in the kitchen but I was wrong, he’s… _not._ ”

Her voice was relatively calm, but the usual small tics - fidgeting with the hem of her sweater, tucking her hair behind her ear - gave her away.

“I know that look. You’re _lying_ ,” he said, with a knowing little smile. “He’s there, isn’t he? With that… what's his name…”

“Ryuichi.”

“Ryuichi.”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine,” Yoshiro responded, waving an impatient hand. “Honestly, you don’t need to be so worried about me seeing our son with another man. It took me a while to process everything but… We always knew,” he said, with a shrug. “Sooner or later, I knew he would introduce a boyfriend to us instead of a girlfriend, but… Getting married? It’s all so sudden!”

His wife had just opened her mouth to speak when he continued to rant.

“And to tell us about in a letter, what was he thinking? We might not follow tradition to a T but even so!” he complained. “Is that Ryuichi a good kid, at least?”

“About that, we need to talk.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“Let’s sit for a while and have some tea, shall we?”

The woman’s constant attempts to dodge those basic questions were beginning to make him suspect his son had gotten engaged to some freeloading Joe Schmoe.

“Fine, fine…” he replied, after a resigned sigh. “Let me go to the bathroom first, the trip was a very long one.”

On his way out of the bathroom, though, he remembered he was still very thirsty, and that before having tea he could probably do with a glass of water.

Off to the kitchen.

By then, he had already forgotten Akihito was supposed to be there as well, but the young man’s shameless moans as soon as he opened the door were a sobering reminder.

Oh well… what could he do?

At the end of the day, that was still the same Akihito that had sent the entire family a Sexy Santa Christmas card with his balls in plain view.

 _‘Just take your water and leave,’_ he mentally told himself. _‘Don’t look, don’t say anything.’_

And he would have done so, if only he hadn’t been under the impression Akihito had turned his head to look at him.

“Don't mind me, I just want a glass of water,” he said, trying to mitigate the damage.

Much to his dismay, though, his words seemed to have triggered a rather awkward chain of events, with his son nearly falling off the counter with his pants down his ankles, and a very tall, very handsome man turning around to shoot him a death glare.

Those eyes…

He remembered those eyes!

_Wait…_

“Ryuichi…” Takaba Yoshiro whispered, his eyes going wide as realisation finally sank in. “My son is getting married to _Asami Ryuichi?!?”_

  



	76. The one at the sail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people fight, and a protective Akihito gets rewarded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am so glad you guys were intrigued about the Fei Long/Wei/Sachi imbroglio, and that some of you are already putting two and two together and kinda guessing what will happen on Asami & Akihito's wedding day! Spoiler alert: Mine will involuntarily become a part of it and (as usual) things will not go well.
> 
> More on Mine (and Tanimura!) on the next chapter, by the way.
> 
> Last but not least: Wow, I can't believe I actually finished this chapter in the middle of a 14-hour workday, but there you go! This part of the story is one I've been working on for quite a long time, and it was very interesting to explore Asami's very peculiar code of conduct (while listening to 'Believer' by Imagine Dragons - hence the title!). His view on apologies is a result of his own morality (or lack thereof) and I wanted his encounter with Takaba the Father to be a reflect of that. Also, I could write an essay about why the last scene of this chapter was so intimidating to write, lol, but after everything Akihito's been through in this story, he totally deserved a treat. ;)
> 
> Enough rambling. I hope you enjoy it!

Kirishima observed the three ring circus that followed with a mixture of alarm and mild curiosity.

Standing near the counter, Takaba Akihito looked as pale as a ghost while murmuring something to his boss, who looked strangely distracted despite all the commotion. Behind the kitchen door, operatives worried about the sudden screaming inside the small cabin were more than ready to use their guns to try to contain a very loud, very angry man whose voice only seemed to get louder as time went by.

 _“What is_ that man _doing here?”_

_“Yoshiro, this place belongs to him.”_

_“Then what am **I** doing here? Noriko, that man is Asami Ryuichi!” _

_“I know, I was going to tell you… I told you not to go to the kitchen!”_

_“You didn’t, actually.”_

_“Yes, I did.”_

_“You did not!”_

“How did he get here?” Akihito asked the secretary as soon as he approached the kitchen table.

“Apparently your mother sent him a letter with the coordinates,” Kirishima replied, resting a hand on one of the chairs as he inhaled deeply.

Those small walks were not as difficult as they used to be months prior, but still demanded enough energy to leave him slightly out of breath.

“A letter? When, h-how?” the photographer asked, his eyes darting from his face to his boss, and then to the door behind them. “We never even get to leave this place.”

“She did, once. To shop for food,” the first assistant explained, before turning his head to the side. “Nakamura.”

In a matter of seconds, a tall, broad-shouldered bald man joined them in the kitchen.

“Yes, sir?”

“What happened the day you and Takaba’s mother went to the store?”

“Nothing much,” the man replied. “She asked me go get some sea bass next door while she shopped for vegetables,” he explained. “That took me a while, but… when I got back she was there, waiting for me.”

“She probably went to the post office while you were gone,” Kirishima explained, after a moment of consideration. “There’s one, two houses down the street from the fish market.”

Security operative Nakamura let out a quiet, startled gasp.

He had obviously underestimated the woman he had been assigned to protect, but if anything, Kirishima knew he was the only one to blame. Things had happened so fast and so disorderly he had barely had the time to give the man a crash course on how to handle the antics of the Takaba clan.

“I’m surprised she managed to send him such… precise coordinates,” the secretary whispered when his eyes dropped to the letter, all written in code except for what was clearly a six-decimal place annotation for latitude and longitude.

“She used to help with the navigation when there were no maps available during our summer vacations,” Akihito replied quietly.

“So she knows about navigation, encrypted messages, and also how to lose her own bodyguard,” Kirishima responded, folding the pierce of paper he had confiscated during the very beginning of Takaba Senior’s temper tantrum. “Is there anything else I should know about your mother?”

“That’s pretty much it.”

“Right... What did she do again, before she left Japan?

“She taught home economics,” Akihito replied with a casual shrug.

“You don’t say…”

As he spoke, his mind traveled to his school days in a melancholic flashback. Ah, he really liked _katei-ka_... that was when he had had his first lessons on budgeting and bookkeeping...

But the memories from a very different time of his life were cut short by Takaba Akihito - always him - unceremoniously reaching into his own pants.

“I’m not even going to ask why there was a piece of carrot inside your jeans,” he said, voice void of emotion as the photographer buckled his belt after throwing the carrot into the sink, prompting his boss to finally turn to look at them.

“Yeah, please don’t,” Akihito replied, a second before his mother walked into the kitchen.

“I told him not to go into the kitchen!” she said, raising both hands with an exasperated look on her face.

“I should go talk to him,” the photographer responded, just to be discouraged by the two people who were closest to him.

“No,” the woman whispered as his boss gently held his arm, shaking his head. “Let him… wrap his head around everything. Let’s finish lunch, shall we?”

And with that, Takaba Noriko put on her apron, smiled her kindest smile at the bodyguard she had managed to dupe, and turned her attention to the vegetables scattered on the counter.

 _‘Wrap his head around everything…’_ Kirishima mentally remarked. _‘That might take a while...’_

The few seconds in which he and Akihito’s father had managed to look at each other had been more than enough to make him realize he had already seen that face before up-close, many years ago.

Judging by the glare he had gotten in response, the man had recognised his face too.

 _Oh well._ He would think about the repercussions when the time for them finally came, even though he suspected it wouldn’t be that long until they did.

For now, he could afford to worry about making sure that when lunch was ready, none of the carrots in that stew actually got to his bowl.

++++

Asami was vaguely aware of Akihito whispering something into his ear, but his head felt way too light for him to make much sense of it. Someone had walked in on them, someone who looked familiar and not, at the same time, and just as he was about to try and remember where and when he had seen that face before, the man had turned on his heels and left.

And then there was screaming, people rushing to the living room, Kirishima babbling about maps, or maybe it was Akihito, he really didn’t know.

He needed the blood that had rushed to his penis to return to his brain, or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he should just ask Kirishima to leave so that he and Akihito could continue what they were doing - whatever damage they were talking about had already been done anyway, so he might at least see the whole thing through.

A quick look to his side, however, showed that his fiancé would probably turn him down, given the dejected expression on his face as he removed a piece of carrot from inside his jeans and threw it in the sink behind them.

As if to show that things could get even stranger, it was Akihito’s mother’s turn to enter the kitchen, her eyes dropping to his groin and then shifting back to his face with the kind of look that said it all.

Good for him that he had at least managed to pull his pants up before she showed up, or she would have been even more shocked.

When his first assistant finally excused himself, the woman and Akihito turned their attention to the counter and the contents of their meal, and Asami took the chance to walk out of the kitchen as well, feeling significantly more alert when a gust of wind blew past the windows and onto his face.

It didn’t take him long to see Akihito’s father across the hallway, pacing the room as if waiting for news of his firstborn or some other serious affair.

It was him, then. Now his sluggish brain had finally put two and two together, probably making sense of everyone’s panic for the first time that morning.

In a way, the similarities between father and son were obvious. The same taste for vintage jeans, the same nervous tics, the same expressive face. It was easy to imagine that later in life Akihito would also choose a similarly stylish maxi square pattern blazer and a colour scarf that conveniently hid his round belly, if he ever grew one that big.

Maybe gaining weight after retirement was a fate he would not be able to avoid, if his father’s shape was anything to go by.

The thought of Akihito throwing yet another temper tantrum if he ever brought that fact to his attention made him chuckle, apparently loud enough to make the older man turn around to look at him.

Before his future father-in-law had the chance to speak, though, Asami took the initiative.

“Who did Akihito get his eyes from?” he asked, skipping all the usual formalities.

It was clear from the get-go that the man disliked him far too much to endure a formal round of introductions and small talk, but at the very least he felt he should try and be as civil as he could.

Plus, he was really curious to know the answer to his question.

“From his great-great-grandfather,” the man replied, averting his dark brown eyes to the window after a long moment of silence, during which he seemed to have considered each of his options very carefully.

Asami was glad he had chosen the most civilised one. Hopefully, for Akihito’s sake, the two of them would be able to come to some sort of ceasefire now that they were about to become part of the same family.

“Takaba Akitoshi, he was one of the leaders of the Meiji Restoration.”

“I don’t recall there being any Takaba Akitoshi in the leadership of the revolution,” Asami replied, raising an eyebrow.

“He used an alias,” Akihito’s father explained, taking off his glasses to clean them with his scarf. “Kido Taisuke.”

“Kido Taisuke?” Asami repeated, his voice showing a very noticeable hint of surprise. “Akihito is the great-great-grandson of _Kido Taisuke?_ ”

Now, having studied the Meiji Restoration in great detail while he was in college, and seen numerous pictures of its leaders, he could not recall any of them that looked even remotely similar to Akihito…

“Here,” the man said, retrieving a cell phone from the pocket of his jeans to show him what looked like a very old picture of a young man in western clothes, his hair tied up in a bun and his hazel eyes filled with the kind of fire and defiance that had been unequivocally passed down to his fiancé.

So his troublesome photographer was actually related to one of the most significant names in Japanese history...

_What a most delightful bonus._

“I see…” he then replied, trying to sound unimpressed.

He then watched the man put the phone away, his forehead slightly wrinkled as he let out a sigh, his gaze once again averted to the window.

He could tell that Akihito’s father was tiptoeing around that conversation just as much as him.

“What else does your first assistant do,” he asked, “other than torturing people?”

When Asami looked at the window himself, he finally understood why the other man wouldn’t stop staring at it.

Kirishima and Suoh were sitting on a bench just outside the front door, talking, the sharp eyes behind the glasses shifting to the living room every now and then.

“He's an accountant,” Asami replied casually.

“I said, _other_ than torturing people.”

The unexpected joke made both men freeze on the spot. One, because he was not expecting to hear one; the other, noticing that there couldn’t have been a worse time to tell it.

“Never mind, it's not… funny…” Akihito’s father mumbled, allowing another moment of awkward silence to fall between them before he spoke again.

“You were not the first man to torture me, by the way,” he said, before pointing to a scar on his left temple. “See this? I was hit with a concrete block, tied to the back of a truck and dragged around town for two miles the last time I covered a drug dispute in Brazil…”

His rambling about adventures in foreign lands made Asami lose his interest for the fraction of a moment, which was enough time for his eyes to shift back to the window, this time seeing things much farther ahead.

Near the trees but far enough from the house to draw relatively little attention to herself, a girl wearing a heavy woollen coat, a winter hat and boots dug a hole in the ground, big enough for someone her size to fit.

_Maya._

With a concerned frown, Asami kept watching his daughter carry out the task at hand with so much energy that he couldn’t help but wonder if she had murdered someone on one of the days he had been out of commission. If that was the case, she had chosen a most inappropriate time to bury the body - one more attentive look at the woods and Akihito’s father would surely come to the conclusion that everyone in that place was just a bunch of dysfunctional psychopaths.

“... but I went through worse in Serbia back in the day,” the man finally concluded, apparently far too absorbed in his own monologue to notice anything strange happening outside. “Guess sadists can be found everywhere…”

“And so can people looking for trouble.”

Asami’s response was met with a silent, yet very meaningful glare. He felt like he was staring at a rabid dog who had been chained to its own house - he would be fine as long as he kept his distance, but if he took one step further than necessary...

“Say…” Akihito’s father began, his narrowed eyes announcing the next subject would not be as pleasant as his adventures in photojournalism. “How did you and my son meet?”

Without breaking eye contact, Asami tilted his chin up.

As it was, he would have no choice but to expose himself to the inevitable bite, but at least he would do so on his terms.

“Maybe you should ask him yourself,” he answered, his voice just as calm as ever.

“I don't need to, I think I already know,” the man replied, showing the same amount of stubborn determination Asami had grown used to seeing in his son’s eyes. “He was investigating you. I have a couple of friends in the force, plus I had pulled some strings so that Akihito could get a job at the local newspaper.”

 _His future father-in-law had balls_ , that he had to admit and appreciate. To address him with such confidence, showing absolutely no signs of being intimidated by his presence despite what had happened the first time they had crossed paths…

“Was it because of his pictures?” he asked. “Did he capture you in his viewfinder?”

“Yes.”

“I would like you to answer my next question with honesty,” the former investigative photographer continued, pinching the bridge of his nose after a long pause. “I already hate you so you gain nothing by lying. At least prove you are a man who owns up to his actions.”

Asami held his head up high even though he knew what was coming next.

If the man was determined to see him as some kind of demon, then he might as well show him a glimpse of hell.

“What did you do to him?”

“I confiscated his camera.”

“And then what?”

Asami opened his mouth to respond, but his parted lips closed quicklywhen he realized he did not actually know how far he should go with that answer.

“Answer.”

“I tied him up,” he finally responded, his voice still calm and unaffected, “and then I played with him.”

“ _‘Played?’_ ”

With a sigh, Asami averted his eyes to one of his wrists, smoothing a small wrinkle on his sweatshirt as he put his best psychological warfare techniques to use.

He did not want that first encounter to be more melodramatic than it should be. Even though he was not proud of how things between him and Akihito had begun, at that point he could only conclude he had done much worse later in their relationship and therefore he saw no reason to try to justify himself, not to the man in front of him, anyway.

“I'm not sure you want to hear the details…” he replied, and the mild reticence at the end of his sentence made the brown eyes staring at him gleam with murderous intent.

There it was, the wrath of a father.

When the man grabbed him by the collar of his sweatshirt and slammed him against the wall, he refused to counter attack even though his target would be a very easy one to take down. The punches he was receiving were clumsy and lacked technique, hitting him in places that caused little to no pain, until the short arms finally swung with enough strength to jab him right under the chin, making his brain shake inside his skull for very long, very uncomfortable seconds. He could taste blood, probably because he had bitten his tongue thanks to the blow, but his eyes were still open, his hands, still.

_He deserved it._

Even when the plump knuckles connected to his side and made his stitches pop, he forced himself to blink his pain away and continued to stare at the other man’s livid face, accepting his punishment without complaining.

He would have continued to do so if only the room around him hadn’t started to sway, making him lose his balance and take a wobbly step to the side, which resulted in the two of them landing on top of the coffee table with a loud crash. Asami, of course, had to deal not only with the pain of his back hitting the solid wooden surface, but with the weight of the older man, who had fallen on top of him like a sack of potatoes after Asami had tried to hold on to his scarf.

“What happ— _Asami!!”_

_“Yoshiro!”_

He saw Akihito and his mother enter the room at the very same time Kirishima and his other security personnel stormed past the front door, guns ready to be used.

“Boss!”

“Put your guns… down…”

Covering the bleeding wound on his side to stop Akihito from worrying and Kirishima from shooting, Asami raised a hand to try and put a stop to the commotion.

Apparently, though, it was too late for that.

He had time to see Akihito try to rush towards him, only to be intercepted by his still very angry father, who had managed to get back on his feet surprisingly fast.

“ _What kind of man are you?!?_ ” the older man hissed, after backhanding the photographer with enough power to make him stumble backwards. “Have you no pride? No _self respect?_ ”

“If you're talking about what you saw in the kitch--”

“No, Akihito, it's not the-- Before. _Before!!_ ” the man continued, his anger making him trip over his own thoughts. “That man... he... he... after what he did to you!” he spluttered. “He tied you up and…and...”

The terrified look Akihito cast towards him made Asami realize he had miscalculated the repercussions of his interaction with the photographer's father.

He was more than ready to be yelled at, hit, looked down upon, but he should have imagined that at least some of the man’s fury would end up harming Akihito as well.

“And now you are _marrying_ him?!?” the man continued to vociferate. “I have never felt so ashamed in my entire life, so... _disgusted!_ ”

Even though his head felt ten times heavier and the bleeding on his side seemed to intensify as he moved, Asami brought himself to a standing position and was already walking towards the photographer when Kirishima barred his advance.

“Sir, you need to sit down.”

“I’ll sit down later.”

“But--”

Unfortunately, when it came to Takaba Akihito, Kirishima’s voice of reason had to be ignored.

As if sensing that things were going to get even worse if Asami succeeded in getting close to her husband, Akihito's mother rushed the older man into the kitchen and closed the door behind them.

“Akihi--”

“Are you hurt?” Akihito interrupted, his eyes darting back and forth as he spoke.

“No, I'm--”

“Good.”

Other than the recurrent interruptions, the pulse throbbing madly on the photographer's neck was the most glaring evidence of his agitation, and it made Asami realize that any comments about what had just happened would probably do more harm than good.

Against his will, he remained silent, hiding the stain of blood on his sweatshirt as he watched Akihito frown, his expression changing from confusion to anger.

Before Asami had the chance to hold his arm and bring him closer to inspect the reddish, swollen marks under his eye, the photographer turned on his heels and stormed out of the room, blasting the kitchen’s door open with a kick.

 _“You know what?”_ Asami heard him scream. _“You're right. I'm not proud like you. I don't hold grudges like you. You don't get to lecture me!”_

Sitting on a chair near the fridge, Takaba the Father looked profoundly distraught.

 _“You think I don't remember? I broke your camera when I was 15 and you never let go!”_ Akihito went on, his face glowing a fierce shade of pink. _“You never said thanks to my mother for putting up with your stupidities! You never thanked her for dropping everything to follow you!”_

Asami automatically averted his gaze to the woman standing by the counter, her face also pale and extremely tense.

_“You are still mad—“_

“You—“

The older man had stood up but didn’t get a chance to speak.

 _“You are still mad,”_ Akihito repeated, his voice so loud and angry Asami suspected it could be heard even by the villagers residing in the other side of the mountains, _“that Asami sent his goons to rough you up even though it's been almost ten years!”_

And then, as if that last bout of anger had drained him, the photographer let his shoulders drop, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

“You don't know how to forgive,” he then said, much more quietly.

“Why would I bother forgiving a man like him?”

“Because _you don't know him!_ ” Akihito replied, his voice still low but filled with passion. “You don't know _anything_ about him!”

When the photographer turned his head to look at him, his hazel eyes were both a mirror and a shield - in them, Asami could see who he truly was, but also a better version of himself, one that Akihito seemed intent on protecting at all costs.

That silent exchange between them was interrupted by Akihito’s father letting out a bitter scoff.

“Just because you sleep with him,” he said, “doesn't mean you know him either.”

Asami didn’t know exactly how many pairs of arms had been necessary to hold him back when he tried to lunge forward, hands ready to strangle the man near the fridge.

“Please don't show up at my wedding,” Akihito replied, trying to sound just as cold and detached even though his eyes were glistening with tears.

“ _I wasn't planning to!_ ”

“ _Fine!_ ”

“ _Fine!_ ”

Another round of screams, and then it was all over - the older man collapsed on his chair and Akihito once again stormed past everyone and out of the cabin, without looking back.

++++

Kirishima could tell his boss was about to snatch the gun from his hands to shoot whomever had just grabbed his arm to stop him from following Takaba Akihito.

He was also convinced that he would gladly have gone through with his plan, if only the person holding him back was not Akihito’s mother.

“Stay, stay,” she said, her voice firm and apologetic at the same time. “Let him be, he needs to cool down.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Not now, you don't,” the woman replied. “Come, you’re bleeding. I’ll change your bandages.”

Kirishima, who had been waiting patiently by the man’s side to do exactly that, raised his hand in a very polite gesture to hide his discontentment.

That was _his_ job.

“That will not be necessary,” he said.

“With all due respect, this is a _family matter_.”

“Indeed, if you consider that it was your reckless husband that caused the stitches to pop in the first place,” he promptly responded, unable to ignore the very obvious dis.

 _So what_ if he was not an official family member? His status as first assistant was nothing to be diminished.

“Right. Yet another reason for me to take care of it, not you.”

Kirishima gasped at the woman’s cutting comment.

_The nerve!_

“Kirishima stays,” his boss whispered in response, an annoyed frown showing he was not in the mood for such petty arguments. “With all due respect, he has taken care of my injuries more times than my own mother.”

With a triumphant little smile, the secretary narrowed his eyes to reciprocate the woman’s glare.

At last, he had been avenged.

“Your husband will not be pleased,” he heard his boss say some minutes later, when the three of them were already in another room, far from everyone else’s prying eyes. “Shouldn’t you be with him instead?”

“I know my husband,” Akihito’s mother replied, holding an ice pack to the man’s chin as Kirishima cleaned the wound on his side. “And my son. They both need to be alone right now.”

Luckily, most of the cut had already healed, so the stitches were bound to have dissolved anyway.  The small portion of it that had bled moments prior was already closing on its own, but just to be safe, he should probably cover it with a more resistant bandage to prevent further damage.

As it was, he suspected it wouldn’t be much long until the man got himself into some kind of strenuous activity _again._

“Are you not mad at me?”

His boss’s question was not aimed at him, that he could tell. He could also tell that the woman’s eyes were piercing the back of his neck, as if cursing him for being in the room at that moment, listening to a conversation that was certainly not meant for his ears.

_If only she knew the kind of thing his ears had had to endure in those past few years..._

“For what?” she asked, her voice audibly strained.

“You heard what your husband said.”

“Akihito had already told me,” the woman replied. “He told me everything, while you were asleep.”

Without realizing, Kirishima had raised both eyebrows, so the expression on his face when his eyes met the golden ones looking at him was probably pretty revealing.

Had Takaba really told his own mother what had happened that day?

No wonder the woman had been giving all of them the stink eye...

“Of course I’m mad at you,” she went on. “I would be mad at anyone that hurt my son.”

Kirishima took pride in the fact he hardly ever commiserated with strangers. An innate lack of empathy helped him do his job, after all, and taking other people’s dramas personally was something he could not afford to do.

But in those particular circumstances, he couldn’t help but feel somehow _remorseful._ He knew he had not necessarily been the kindest person to Takaba Akihito in the course of his relationship with his boss, but what was making him feel even worse was how he had completely failed to see his mother’s bravery in the face of the past events.

Agreeing to flee to a mountain retreat with no notice at all just to stay by her son’s side… cooking for people she probably couldn’t stand to look at… helping take care of the man she had all reasons to hate… All of that, and he had still treated her with obvious disregard.

He felt the tip of his ears had go red with embarrassment.

“That being said…” she added quietly, retrieving a fresh sweatshirt from the man’s wardrobe and passing it to him when Kirishima finished the bandage. “He also told me everything _else_ you’ve done for him, so I’m also grateful.”

One quick look at his boss’s face and he knew the man was also doing some reevaluations of his own. The golden eyes seemed just as cold and expressionless as always, but the soft angle of his eyebrows made him look thoughtful, almost melancholic.

“Either way, this is not about me, is it?” she said at last, her voice louder and more energetic. “It’s about Akihito. It’s his life, and I just want my son to be happy.”

The fierce expression on her face, though, made it clear she would be watching the two men in that room with renewed attention, now that she knew of their past misdeeds.

“And since _his_ happiness seems to be connected to _your_ well being…” she concluded, patting his boss on the shoulder with a resigned, almost invisible smile. “Try and get some rest, I’ll bring you something to eat later.”

“I can help you,” Kirishima quickly replied, just when she was about to leave the room. “Finish lunch, that is,” he explained, “if you... would like me to.”

After staring at him for a long moment, the woman finally nodded in response.

“Of course,” she said. “Help is always welcome.”

++++

Asami watched as the two other people in the room excused themselves, before repeating yet one more time that he should probably try and get some sleep to recover.

Much as he wanted to prove them wrong, his eyes felt heavy after the morning events, especially after the meal Akihito’s mother brought him almost one hour later.

Sleep was not in his list of priorities, but… at that point, he would gain nothing by fighting it.

When he opened his eyes again many hours later, it was to see the silhouette of his fiancé in the small balcony of the bedroom, wearing a robe, his hair combed back.

“You’re back,” he whispered, joining Akihito outside, his voice still low and throaty.

“Yeah,” the photographer replied, eyes fixated on the trees ahead, his warm breath floating out of his lips like small clouds in the cold afternoon air.

“Isn’t it too cold for you here?”

“They say it helps the immune system, to get some cold air after a warm bath.”

“Who’s _‘they’_?” Asami asked, eliciting a shrug.

“I don’t know, Finns?”

“ _Finns_?”

“Yeah.”

“From Finland?”

“No, from China,” Akihito replied with a scoff. “ _Duh_.”

Takaba Akihito...

Bathed by the amber light of the last rays of sunshine, even his sarcastic little smile looked like a work of art.

“That’s not how the Finns do it, though,” Asami responded, after a long, deep sigh.

“Oh?”

“They have a full sauna session, and then they plunge into freezing cold water, butt naked.”

“Ah… Right…” Akihito muttered in response, his eyes still fixated on the trees ahead.

“There’s a small sauna in the cabin over there…” Asami whispered, pointing to a cabin next to a narrow flight of stairs to the their left, “...and the river is somewhere behind us. I’m game if you are.”

His suggestion made the other man chuckle quietly and shake his head.

“I’ll take a rain check…”

Now that they had exhausted the possibilities of that particular topic, there was really only one other subject to address, but it was almost as if their peaceful surroundings demanded that they didn’t and instead, just enjoyed a quiet sunset side by side.

“What?” Akihito asked not even a full minute later.

“Nothing.”

“I'm fine,” he replied, but without looking at him in the eye.

As if trying to understand what was really going on inside the other man’s head, Asami kept staring at him, looking for signs of distress but finding none. His voice had been steady every time he spoke, his overall demeanour as he leaned against the wooden railing showed confidence as well…

“Seriously, I am,” the photographer insisted. “I guess I... I feared his reaction for so long that now I don't even feel bad,” he explained. “Just relieved.”

“Look at me.”

When Akihito looked away and raked his fingers through his hair to get some of it to cover his face, Asami finally understood.

“I know it looks ugly but I’m fine,” Akihito said, after drawing in a long breath and showing him the deep purple circle that had formed around one of his eyes.

With a frown, Asami touched the bruised skin as softly as he could, his other hand curling into a fist on top of the railing when the image of the photographer getting backhanded flashed before his eyes.

He had not deserved any of that. Not that physical injury, let alone the emotional ones.

“My father is like a loose cannon when he gets angry…” he chuckled quietly. “I'm sure he didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“Had he hit you before?”

“No. That was a first.”

“He did it because he was mad at me,” Asami explained, tucking a strand of blond hair behind Akihito’s ear. “He was mad at me, for what I did to you.”

“Why did you tell him?” the photographer asked, but contrary to what Asami had expected, there was no anger or resentment in his voice.

Apparently, they had both come to the same conclusion: that sooner or later the truth would come out, so they might as well just rip off that bandaid and get it over and done with.

“Because he asked,” he answered. “I felt it was better to just... let him unleash his anger on me, but apparently it backfired.”

“What are you talking about, he messed you up real good too,” Akihito chuckled in response, in a clear attempt to stop that conversation from getting more depressing than it should be. “He must look like an angry T-Rex fighting with those little arms and the big belly.”

“He has a pretty decent right hook for a man his age.”

“He's not that much older than you, you know?”

The comment made Asami raise an eyebrow.

_Had that brat just called him old?_

“I'm just kidding,” Akihito replied, after sticking his tongue out. “He's almost 60.”

“Heh…”

If he hadn’t been so captivated by the honest, wholehearted laughter that seemed to be rattling inside Akihito’s chest, Asami would have answered with his own brand of snark, but as it was, he felt content just watching the other man smile.

And then, the photographer spoke again.

“You never told me anything about your parents.”

Indeed, he hadn’t. Not to him, not to anyone: his family life had always been a part of his life he avoided thinking about.

And if that comment had been made a year, a month, even a week prior, he probably would continue to dodge such questions, but after everything Akihito had endured because of him, sharing the truth about his past was the least he could do.

“Huh,” he muttered, after clearing his throat. “That's because I never met my father, and my mother…”

He paused, his eyes falling upon a small, lonely cabin by the trees.

“I can take you to meet her,” he whispered.

The happiness in the hazel orbs filled his chest with a strange kind of warmth.

“Really?!”

“Really.”

“Can we wait until the bruise fades?” the photographer asked, trying to cover his eye with a strand of hair.

 _So cute…_ The man’s genuine concern about what his mother in law would think of him made Asami want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“We won't need to,” he responded, the words coming out of his mouth much more strained than he had wished, a sharp pain in his chest making him clutch his sweater as he spoke.

“What's wrong?” the photographer asked, with a concerned frown.

“I-I might have cracked a rib.”

A lie, obviously, but just because there were pains that he honestly could not explain very well.

“No way!”

“Yeah…”

He inhaled deeply, taking one final look at the trees ahead before turning his attention to the one thing that really mattered, to the source of that soothing, intimate heat he would never be able to walk away from.

“I think it’s time to go back inside, don’t you?” he whispered into Akihito’s ear, his lips slowly moving to his neck so that he could give it a long, wet kiss as his hands explored the soft skin still covered by the robe, his fingers sliding past the elastic band of the man’s underwear and slowly pulling it down to his ankles.

++++

“What am I doing with my life?” Takaba Yoshiro asked, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose as he put the binoculars he was holding on the table.

“That is a good question, _what are you?_ ” he heard his wife ask, her voice full of disdain.

“I’m quite sure I just saw that… _man…_ ” he said quietly, making a face as memories of what that abject human being had told him hours prior, “...take off our son’s underwear. What a nightmare.”

“That’s what you get for spying on them. With binoculars, of all things…” his unforgiving, beloved wife retorted. “Plus, they are a couple, what did you expect? That they would spend the night playing cards?”

Her sharp reply as she shuffled the deck for their next round of Koi Koi - and the glare that accompanied it - made his shoulders droop.

That was not how he had envisioned his first night with his wife after months of separation, but what could he do?

“I had a strange day, Noriko,” he murmured, pulling a chair with a defeated frown. “Cut me some slack…”

“You didn't cut Akihito any slack.”

The woman didn't even wait for him to be properly seated before slamming the cards on the table, her furious eyes once again tearing a hole right through him.

“The things you said…” Noriko went on, pursing her lips. “And his face is bruised, did you know that?”

“I… I didn't mean to hurt him…”

“And why are you telling me that? I'm not the one you'll have to apologize to.”

Yoshiro shifted on his seat, clicking his tongue as his chest gradually filled with remorse.

“I just want what's best for him,” he said quietly, to try and justify the unjustifiable.

“What if _that man_ is the best thing for him?”

He had to gasp at such an unhinged suggestion.

“How can he be? Noriko…” he replied, leaning forward with his eyes wide. “He said he _played_ with our son, surely you understand he was not talking about videogames? Or… games, for that matter.”

“Yes, Yoshiro, I know what that means.”

“So how can you _still defend him_?” he found himself squeaking.

Honestly, he couldn't really understand the woman’s reasoning under the circumstances. His wife had always been very protective of Akihito - too protective, even - so to see her feed him to the wolves like that made absolutely no sense.

“He is _Asami Ryuichi_ ,” he insisted, in yet another attempt to make the woman see that devil for what he truly was. “You know what he does for a living.”

“Yes.”

“You know what he did to me.”

“And that is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?” he heard his wife ask, her voice soft and calm as she dealt the cards. “What he did to you ten years ago, even if in the meantime the man had started fighting for world peace.”

Takaba Yoshiro led both hands to his head, tugging at the dark strands of hair his fingers caught along the way.

That was it, he was doomed. That monster had brainwashed his family, put them all under some kind of spell. So now he was the villain instead, and Asami Ryuichi, the drug lord, the weapon smuggler, _the abuser_ , was the knight in shiny armour?

Talk about a catastrophic inversion of values.

“But he hasn’t been fighting for world peace, has he?” he sighed in response, clutching the cards with so much strength some of them bent in half. “And, granted, he might have more positive attributes, I mean, he has to, since you seem to think so highly of him,” he scoffed. “Probably Hitler’s relatives would find something positive to say about him too but that doesn’t change the fact he was a murderous tyrant.”

He spent very long seconds staring at the table when his wife remained silent after his response, knowing that the moment he raised his eyes to the her face, she would be glaring at him again.

And indeed, she was.

“Are you really comparing Asami Ryuichi to Adolf Hitler?” she asked in an alarmingly unhappy tone.

“No,” he quickly replied, aware that he had said something tremendously stupid and disproportionate, and not for the first time that day. “I mean… Maybe…”

The woman’s scowl was so intense, though, that he had no option but to admit his stupidity.

“Yes,” he muttered quietly, head lowered in defeat.

And then he saw it: that one look of hers that meant she had had enough of his shenanigans.

“Good night, Yoshiro,” she announced, after putting her cards down and walking towards their bedroom.

“Nori--”

The door, however, had already been unceremoniously slammed.

“But where am I going to sleep?” he asked, and not a full minute later, the door opened again so that a pillow and a blanket could be thrown in his direction.

++++

Even though a contented purr had made his chest vibrate when Asami slowly pulled his briefs down to his ankles, the shivers that followed were a bit too uncomfortable to handle.

“What did you take my underwear off for?” Akihito complained quietly, despite the eroticism of the whole thing. “My balls are freezing…”

“I already told you to go back to the room.”

“But I want to see the sunset…” he whimpered, stepping out of his briefs and parting his legs when Asami prompted him to. “The sky is different here…”

It was, it really was, even though he couldn’t see it as well as he once would have been able to see. Or maybe, now more than ever he saw the sky as it was truly meant to be seen, with all of its sounds, mixed orange and bluish watercolour blotches and a smell of clouds, something that he really couldn’t explain.

“Then I guess it can’t be helped,” he heard Asami whisper into his ear as he pressed his body against his back, his warm hands sneaking under the robe to keep his hips in place.

And then there was _him,_ that presence, that scent, that _heat,_ enveloping his body and making his mind go blank, everything around him turning into sensation and electricity.

“Asami…”

When the name fell from his lips, his eyes had already fluttered closed, surrendering to that overwhelming attack on his senses.

He felt he was floating, even more so now that the other man’s fingertips had started dancing around his nipples and then lower, from his chest to his stomach and ever so slowly to his testes, teasing the sensitive skin covering them, rubbing a thumb gently across the tip of his cock…

“Ah…”

“Keep your eyes open or you will miss it.”

Akihito blinked, finally remembering he was there to see the sunset, after all.

He had nearly forgotten.

The loud, strong beating of his own heart seemed to open his ears to the other sounds around them: the rustling of leaves as wind blew past the trees, little paws running on the snow below, Asami’s breath deep and slow against his ear, and an ever-so-low groan…

“A-Asami…” he moaned back, when the man’s fingers started tracing soft circles around his entrance.

Far ahead, the sun had almost disappeared behind a mountain, tainting the sky with a vivid reddish glow, and he was there, that far, that high, his soul soaring above as waves of pleasure continued to ravish his body.

He welcomed the fingers Asami had taken to his mouth, bathing them thoroughly since he knew their final destination perfectly well.

And, indeed, when the digits wet with his saliva slipped inside his body, he couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment and hiss, because he had missed those fingers and it felt way too good to be reminded of the magic they could perform.

Twisting… rubbing… teasing…

“Ah!”

His breath hiked into the back of his throat when Asami’s fingers finally touched that one spot that made his knees go weak, his legs shaking as he struggled to keep his balance, his hands closing tightly against the wooden railway as if those were the only thing separating him from the abyss below.

“Let go…”

The warm, sultry whisper in his ear made him open his eyes again, just in time to see the last red spots in the sky fade into a dark, starry night.

One of Asami’s hands was covering his on top of the rail, trying to get his fingers to relax and move to cradle the back of his head, and as usual, he couldn’t find it in him to refuse, even if that meant he would fall into that void, and fall fast.

“Feels...so good…”

The nudging and bumping against his prostate, combined with the wet, open mouthed kiss Asami was giving his neck made his brain short circuit, and if it weren’t for the man’s muscular arms holding him up, he was sure he would have collapsed when climax ripped through his body, his insides melting with each contraction, each spurt.

The aftermath of his orgasm left him on a state of blissful disorientation, and the moments that preceded the two of them heading to the bedroom were nothing but a blur. He was vaguely aware of Asami picking him up, one of his hands still dripping with his come, but what happened between that and him being laid down on their bed, he really couldn’t tell.

What mattered, at that point, was the raging erection pointing at him when Asami climbed on the bed as well, fully undressed, his predatory eyes sending a new wave of shivers up and down his spine.

He sat up and tried to touch one of the strong, tanned thighs in front of him, licking his lips in anticipation, but apparently Asami’s plans did not involve receiving a blowjob.

“Lie down,” he commanded, his voice low and grave as he pushed Akihito further towards the headboard.

“But I want to touch you too,” the photographer complained.

“You will,” Asami whispered in response, the corners of his mouth curling up in a diabolical smirk. “Only, not now.”

The soft clicks above his head made him avert his gaze to the headboard.

“No…” he groaned, noticing the had just been handcuffed to one of the wooden slates.

“Yes,” Asami replied, sending him into complete darkness as he blindfolded him with a scarf. “Trust me, you will like this.”

“Ugh…”

He wished he could argue otherwise, but the violent throb between his legs made a case of its own. Of course he would like it, he could feel his cock getting hard already, his ass twitching anxiously as he writhed on the bed, the comforting, soft feel of the cotton linen rubbing against the back of his thighs making him even more aroused.

“Look at you… so lewd…”

As if to prove a point, Akihito spread his legs wider and tilted his hips up, knowing that in that position he was as exposed as he could be.

His lips curved up in a satisfied little smile when Asami cursed quietly, the springs of the mattress creaking loudly shortly afterwards.

“Ahhh!!!”

He let out a loud, high-pitched gasp when the man’s tongue suddenly flicked against his hole, teasing all the nerves at once, its tip sneaking past his entrance as his legs were forced even wider apart.

“A-Asami… Nnng!”

And then his mouth had moved up and he was swallowing him whole, the tip of his cock pressing against the back of his throat as his tongue swirled around his shaft, licking, sucking, tightening around it.

When the inside of his thighs started throbbing, Akihito gulped.

He was not going to last.

Luckily for him, he was not the only one to recognize the signs of an impending orgasm. After a quick, final lick, Asami finally moved away from him and he let out a relieved sigh, even though the excitement of not knowing what was going to happen next made his cock harden even more, stirring against his lower stomach after an agonizing twitch.

“Don’t bend your knees, and keep your legs closed,” the baritone voice commanded once again.

With a confused frown, Akihito did as he was told, smirking at the familiar sound of a bottle of lube being popped open.

They had tried all sorts of positions, but lying on his back with his legs closed... that one was new, as far as he could remember.

But well… he was all for trying new things.

After some long seconds of waiting, he frowned again. It was all way too silent, and Asami had not yet returned to the bed.

“Asami?”

“Wait…” the man responded, his voice slightly more strained than usual.

After the quiet clattering of something being put down on the dresser, the mattress creaked again, and Akihito arched his back when his cock was once again enveloped by the wet warmth of Asami’s mouth.

“Fuck…” he hissed, parting his legs a little to tilt his hips up.

“Legs closed,” Asami immediately replied, one of his hands wrapped around the base of his shaft.

“S-Sorry…”

After another couple of very thorough, very long licks, Akihito heard the other man move on the bed again, this time to place his knees on either side of his hips, covering his body as he leaned forward to kiss him, the tip of his heavy erection rubbing against his stomach.

When they broke for air, Asami moved again, the smell of his skin making his head spin as his lips brushed against the other man’s Adam’s apple.

“A-Asami… what are you doing?” he asked quietly, when Asami once again wrapped his hand around his dick, this time to angle it not towards his mouth, but into an equally warm part of his body. “A-Asami...?!?”

“What do you think?” the other man replied as Akihito finally realized, in shock, where the lube had been applied. “Move up a little or you won’t be able to enter me.”

The words made the photographer bite his tongue so hard he could swear he tasted blood.

_‘Enter me…’_

Was that really happening?

The answer came quickly, when he moved up on the bed and felt the tip of his cock finally slide past the first ring of muscles, the flesh around him so tight and hot he forgot how to breathe.

“There…”

 _“Uuhhh…”_ Akihito could do nothing but groan in response, his chest and face getting impossibly flushed as his brain finally processed what was happening. “But I-- I've never... I've never…”

“Fucked anyone in the ass?”

Again, the man’s lustful voice almost made him come right then and there.

“N-No,” he replied, biting his lower lip and clenching his pelvic floor muscles as hard as he could to get some of his excitement under control.

“Not even one of your girlfriends?”

“N-No…”

When the flesh surrounding the tip of his penis finally yielded to receive the rest of it, Akihito dug his nails into the palms of his handcuffed hands.

“You’re all in,” Asami whispered into his ear, making him shudder even harder.

“I-Idiot,” he complained. “You don’t have to say it, _uhhh…!!!_ Fuck…”

The chuckle that his rant elicited made Asami’s body vibrate, and he could feel it from the inside, from Asami’s very core and that unimaginable intimacy made his heart race.

“Ah… Ah, Asa… mi…” he panted, trying to catch his breath when Asami started moving, the weight of his body on top of him only adding more to the intensity of the act, their hands tangled together above his head, bangs of hair falling on his face as their voices and breath mingled in a hot mist between them.

“Don’t move your hips,” Asami commanded, and he gladly complied, throwing his head back when the tight muscles around his cock contracted and pulled him in even deeper, just to release him and let him slide almost entirely out before pulling him in again.

There was no doubt whatsoever that even in that position, it was still Asami who was in control, but he didn’t care, and honestly he would not have had it any other way. He knew he was probably being treated to a fancy meal he would not get to taste again anytime soon, so he just wanted to enjoy those sensations for as long as he could.

“No… no…” he then whimpered, gritting his teeth as a new layer of sweat covered his body, making his butt stick to the bed sheets.

“What?”

“I don’t want to come… I don’t-- yet-- _ah!!_ ”

But it was too late.

In his eagerness to savor every second inside that man, he had ignored his point of no return, and now there was nothing he could do.

Instead of moving away, though, Asami ground his hips down even harder, taking as much of him as he could when his cock started twitching, sending spurt after spurt deep into his body.

“Uncuff me,” Akihito muttered, his chest heaving up and down as he spoke. “Asami, uncuff me, quick.”

As soon as his hands were free, he lifted the scarf from his eyes and reached out to touch the other man’s body, ignoring the fact that everything ahead of him was in and out of focus.

When his fingertips finally reached their destination, the photographer felt his entire body throb with the most honest, obscene delight.

“I came inside you…” he whispered, smearing his come around the soft, warm flesh and smiling when it twitched after his touch.

“What, you had to see it to believe it?”

“Sort of…”

Asami cupped his face for one last kiss before turning him on his stomach and swiftly tilting his hips up, one of his fingers entering his ass without much preamble. And again, as always, it didn’t take much for him to find his sweet spot, making his legs all wobbly as a heavy string of precum fell from the tip of his cock to the sheets.

“You’re hard again,” he hissed into his ear, before biting his shoulder. “Good boy.”

More like he was _still_ hard - Akihito had the very strong impression he had not gone totally soft since his first orgasm.

He hadn’t had the chance to, anyway, and he most certainly would not get soft now that Asami was entering him all at once, filling him so completely he couldn’t help but scream at the pain and the pleasure that inevitably followed.

“Yes… let your voice out…” Asami grunted, and Akihito could tell that the lewd sounds escaping his throat only turned him on even more.

As if it was remotely possible, the man’s cock seemed to be getting even larger as he thrust in and out of his ass, his thumbs digging into his hips so hard it hurt.

“P-Pervert…” Akihito teased, squeezing his muscles as tight as he could although at that point it was really hard to keep his body under control.

“Yes… Pull me in…”

The trouble with that, though, was that by pulling him in he also forced his prostate harder against the man’s shaft, and before he knew he was screaming again, the sheets under him a complete mess of sweat, drool, tears and now, a new stream of semen.

“Aki...hito…”

By the time Asami laced his fingers with his and grunted his name to announce his own orgasm, almost crushing his hand in the process, Akihito was already too out of himself to react properly, coughing profusely as he tried to catch his breath.

In times like those, he actually wondered if it was possible for someone to die of pleasure...

Just in case it was, he should probably ask Kirishima to leave an eulogy ready.

It was still with that thought in mind that Akihito smirked as Asami rolled onto his back and helped him do the same, his chest also covered in sweat as he stared at the ceiling for a moment, before averting his eyes to his face.

“Why?” he asked quietly, eyes tired but pleased as he looked at the golden orbs that had just shifted to his face.

“Why not?” the man replied, eyebrow raised as he rested one of his arms behind his head. “I found it hot when you defended me earlier today.”

“Hah… Was that a prize for my yelling at the old man?”

“Maybe…”

“Remind me to thank him tomorrow, then,” Akihito replied, letting out an exhausted chuckle before throwing an arm over Asami’s chest and tucking his head under his chin.

“Did you like it? Topping?”

“Yeah,” he answered, and even though he was not sure he had done _that much topping_ with Asami basically setting the pace all the time, his eyes were glowing when he lifted his head to look at the other man. “Did you?”

“I'd give it a 4 out of 10,” Asami replied, smirking after a careless shrug.

“Pfff.”

“Clearly that's not your forte.”

“Jerk...” Akihito whispered in response, his voice low and sleepy.

Perhaps later he would find it in him to protest against such a low score, but at that point he just really wanted to sleep.

“Night, kitten.”

“Night.”

And then, while Asami was still kissing the top of his head, his eyes fluttered closed, and remained like that until the next morning.

 


	77. Mending Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiking with a displeased father-in-law, singing karaoke in Sapporo, hunting after the storm.
> 
> Asami Ryuichi has 17 hours to try and mend some bridges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fists on desk* I failed you all! This chapter was supposed to **finally** contain some Mine and Tanimura but Takaba Senior talks too much. Waaayy too much! So, please don’t be mad at me: next chapter will not be the wedding yet. Yeah… I know. Disappointing, but please bear with me!
> 
> *The story Asami mentions about hats and angels is taken from _Cannis: Dear Mr. Hatter_ , and when Maya mentions a certain 'He Tian', yeah, it's the He Tian from _19 Days_. Fictional universes collide!
> 
> **For the purpose of this story, the distance between Rikubetsu and Sapporo was reduced from 4 to roughly 2 hours by car.
> 
> ***For a delightfully tacky music experience, [make sure to check Asami’s voice actor singing MachineGun Kiss](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0leAFUSmYz8).
> 
> ****And also: I am aware sex in saunas is not a good idea (and not culturally acceptable in Japan), but then neither is having a thressome in an onsen. Finder does not subscribe to the general rules of good sense, so who am I to oppose it? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
>  

**_Mending Bridges_ **

_Hour 1_

When Asami woke up the next morning, it was still dark.

Unable to go back to sleep, he kept staring at the ceiling, trying to silence thoughts that he did not want to have. Being back in the place where he had been born and raised made him feel strangely restless, but at the very least he could take comfort in the warmth of the slender body draped across his chest, his thumb drawing soft circles over Akihito’s shoulder as the younger man continued to sleep.

It was only when his other arm began to go numb that he moved, carefully sliding off the bed and placing his pillow under the photographer’s arm, watching him stir and groan with his eyes still closed.

Outside, the sky looked like a painting, with the first rays of sunshine cutting through the dark, bluish violet behind the clouds. Despite the cold, he stepped out of the cabin wearing nothing but sweatpants and a robe over his T-shirt, if only to feel more awake, more alive when the freezing wind made his skin burn.

Standing by the bridge, another person seemed to be immersed in her own thoughts.

“Early start?” Asami asked, approaching his counsellor.

“Always.”

“Were you here yesterday? I don’t think I saw you.”

“I arrived just before lunch, I had to go to Tokyo in the morning,” Majima Makoto replied, her fingers laced on top of the wooden railing. “I’ve been assisting the Tojo from a distance but certain affairs are better dealt with in person.”

“Certainly,” he said. “Was it Kirishima that told you to come?”

“Yes.”

Asami chuckled quietly, drawing in a long, deep breath as he looked at the frozen river below. Of course, Kirishima was one of the very few people that knew how much that place affected him.

“I'm not sure I like being here,” he whispered.

“Not fancying the weather in the mountains anymore?”

“Oh, the weather is fine.”

“Memories?” she asked, her tone casual even though they both knew that was a loaded question.

“Ghosts.”

“Ah… yes. I know the feeling,” the counsellor whispered back, turning around to rest her back against the railing. “But we can't run from them forever, can we? I mean, technically we could, but that's a lot of psychic energy gone to waste, don't you think?”

“Maybe,” Asami replied, eyes averted to one of the cabins on the other side of the river and accidentally falling on the one where his daughter was staying. “At least it sounds like a more logical way to waste energy, when compared to digging holes in the middle of the snow,” he whispered, memories of the day prior filling his mind. “Is there a psychological meaning for that?”

“Many. Very few of them good,” the woman responded. “But if you're talking about your daughter, you'd be relieved to find out she is trying to get Shinada to fall into one as payback for pushing her down the hill earlier this week.”

“Shinada pushed my daughter down a hill?” Asami asked, frowning.

“She had challenged him to a race, and then she cheated.”

“Still, his behaviour was very inadequate.”

“They were just trying to have some fun,” Makoto pointed out. “Look around, can you blame them? For the ones without a companion, there's nothing to do here but eat, sleep and listen to the wind, so don't take her ‘digging holes’ so literally.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Yes. She seems to be a very interesting young woman, I'd love to get to know her better.”

If he was honest with himself, he wanted that too. As to how he would approach his own daughter to suggest that maybe she could do with the help of a counsellor, he did not know - he was not good at that sort of thing. At least he could offer to pay for all of her expenses, but to make things worse, he suspected Maya would refuse financial help, just like a certain stubborn photographer he knew.

“What's worrying you?” the counsellor asked, clearly noticing there was something off given his long, concerned silence.

“Is she suffering? I can't tell,” he admitted, eyebrows arched in a slightly melancholic angle. “I can usually get a good read on other people but with her… I don't know. I don't know her.”

“What's holding you back?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don't know who she is, why don't you try to find out?” he heard the woman ask, as if that was the most obvious course of action to ever exist.

But how could he do that? How to start mending a bridge he had successfully burned so many years ago?

“I wouldn't know where to begin…” he whispered.

By his side, the counsellor continued to stare blankly at his chest, her lips curved in a soft, friendly smile.

“Try to begin from the beginning.”

++++

_Hour 2_

When Takaba Yoshiro first opened his eyes the next morning, the first thought that came to his mind was that there was a real chance his butt and his left leg had frozen during his sleep, due to him tossing and turning so much during the night that part of his body had slipped off the improvised futon he had made using a handful of pillows and a tablecloth.

The second realization that assaulted his senses as he sat up on the cold ground was that… well, he needed to apologize to Akihito.

He had given his own son a black eye, what had he been thinking?

Still shaking his head, hair in complete dishevel as he blindly felt around for his glasses, Yoshiro held on to a small table near the wall to pull himself up, pushing back the blinds to look at yet another white morning outside.

“So cold…” he muttered, hands randomly moving over half-empty cups, Hanafuda cards and keys until his fingers brushed against his binoculars.

Before taking them to his tired eyes, though, a more reasonable part of himself reminded him there was no point watching things from a distance.

And that was how, after wrapping his scarf around his neck and pulling his coat as close to his chest as possible, he found himself walking on the fluffy snow to close the gap between the cabin where he was staying and the one where the events of the previous day had taken place.

After knocking quietly on the kitchen door to announce his presence, the older Takaba stepped inside just to see his only son near the counter, wearing nothing but slippers and a sweater far too big to be his.

When Akihito turned around to look at him, a fuming mug of coffee firmly secured in his hands, his eyes were still sleepy.

“What do you want?” he then asked. “Another glass of water?”

“Watch your tone,” Yoshiro replied, frowning at the very obvious defiance in the younger man’s voice. “You might be mad at me but I’m still your father.”

“There is a kitchen in the cabin where you are staying, in case you don’t know,” Akihito replied, his gaze averted back to the counter as he spoke, face clouded by a mixture of sadness and irritation. “No need to come all the way over here.”

The clipped tone made the older man lose his train of thought for a moment. He should have imagined Akihito would be upset, but it had been so long since the two of them had had a fight that his son’s rejection stung more than he wanted to admit, even though he was fully aware he deserved it.

“Very well,” Yoshiro finally replied, fumbling with his scarf as he prepared to take his leave. “If you will excuse me.”

He stood by the door to see if the younger photographer would even bother to look at him before he exited the room, but Akihito remained immobile, indifferent, still staring at his mug, responding with the kind of silence that was even more uncomfortable than the cold breeze blowing past the trees as he walked back to the cabin where his wife awaited.

++++

_Hour 3_

“Are you sure you’re gonna be fine?” Maya heard Mine ask for the eleventh time that morning, finally making his way to the place’s main entrance.

“Mine, look around,” she replied, after a semi eyeroll. “There’s security everywhere. Worst thing that can happen to me is getting my ass frozen out there.”

Despite her very convincing argument, the bodyguard still did not look comfortable abandoning his post.

“Just go, it’s an order, OK?” she said, gently nudging him forward. “Someone needs to check what Masa’s been up to.”

When they were about to walk past Akihito’s bodyguard, though, Mine stopped on his tracks.

“If you lie a finger on her again…” he told the taller man.

Maya had to bite the inside of her lower lip not to laugh. Shinada looked mortified, ready to apologize once again even though he had technically done nothing wrong. Their collision during a race down the mountains had been entirely accidental, but the man’s wide shoulders had generated enough of an impact to send her flying downhill, much to everyone’s despair.

“Mine...” she said, a mischievous smirk curling the corners of her mouth as she imagined what other prank she would try and get Shinada involved in. “It was not Shinada’s fault.”

“He should know how to control his instincts,” Mine retorted, an eyebrow still raised as he walked towards the gates.

“I agree.”

The voice coming from behind them made Shinada let out a disheartened gasp.

“Asami-sama, sir, I—“

“Don’t, or you’ll only make things worse,” her father replied, looking incredibly intimidating with a dark grey overcoat and a very cold, very menacing glare.

“Yes, s-sir,” Shinada stuttered in response, excusing himself with an exaggerated bow.

When the two bodyguards finally left, each going in opposite directions, Maya shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, and waited for the man next to her to speak again.

“Want to go out for a while?” he asked.

“Sure.”

She should have asked if Akihito was coming with, or at the very least where they were headed, but the man was walking so fast towards the gate that she couldn’t find it in her to stop and bother him with questions, not when he was looking so… _serious,_ jaws clenched and all.

Was he going to lecture her because she had been spending time with his security personnel? If not that, she was willing to bet it was something along those lines…

Much to her surprise, though, her father remained silent until they got to a black SUV parked at the foot of a small road, and showed no intention to engage in conversation even after they were both inside the vehicle, slowly making their way to the city below.

“So…” she started, holding her hands on top of her lap. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. You?”

“Good. I like the mountains.”

And then again, silence. Not the nice, peaceful one, but the kind that made people uncomfortable and fidgety.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly, turning to look at the man’s face even though he continued to stare at the road ahead as if there was no one in the car with him.

“You’ll see.”

And that was all she would get for the next two hours or so.

++++

_Hour 5_

When the car finally stopped in front of the old building where she and her mother used to live, Maya unconsciously clutched the hem of her coat, the palms of her hands covered with a thin layer of cold sweat.

“It’s been such a long time…” the man next to her whispered.

“Not that long for me.”

For a while, she had wondered what it would feel like to be in Sapporo again, and now she finally knew.

She felt like there was a void right in the middle of her chest, one she had been unable to notice until she found herself once again standing by the door leading to what used to be her bedroom.

The place looked exactly the same, and at the same time, completely different. There were no pictures on the wall, no furniture in the living room, all the cupboards in the kitchen were open and empty.

It was a home without a soul.

When her eyes finally dropped to the small rack near the front door, two boxes caught her attention.

_'Previous tenant.'_

So those were the things they had probably left behind… Cables, plenty of them; a remote control, DVDs, their karaoke set, leaflets, a jar of cookies and--

“My hat!” she exclaimed, holding a dusty yellow knit hat close to her chest.

“Looks too small to be your hat.”

“I used to wear it when I was a baby,” she explained. “My mom loved it, she was devastated when we got to Tokyo and she couldn’t find it. She thought we had lost it during the move,” the girl whispered. “But it was here all the time...”

She was still revisiting sweet, very distant childhood memories when her father took a seat next to her, after spending a long minute looking at the walls himself.

“When you were small, you had a thing for hats,” he said, taking off his scarf. “I think it was because Mirai had told you the story of an angel that would come and touch people’s heads… and then they’d die…”

“Yeah, I think I remember that,” Maya chuckled.

“And then you would make paper hats for me, for her, all your plushies, to protect us.”

“Yeah…”

How long had that man spent in that apartment? Days, months, _years_? How much of her childhood had he seen? Her mother had never told her much about it, and she had never asked because she knew she would be poking at an open wound. Still… his voice was somewhat nostalgic when he spoke, so she couldn’t help but wonder what kinds of memories he had of her, of that place, of the life they once had together.

Chances were she would never find out, and even if she did, it was no longer the same.

“You were right when you told me that I would regret going to Tokyo,” she whispered, still clutching the small hat as if her life depended on it. “I do regret it.”

Out of all the things that had happened to her, nothing hurt more than knowing that she might have been somewhat responsible for the events that led to her mother’s death.

“Maybe she would still be with us if we had never left this place,” she said, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes.

“You ended up in Tokyo because your mother was relocated,” Asami replied, his voice quiet but firm. “It was not your choice.”

“But my choices affected hers,” Maya replied. “The night she died… Maybe it would have never happened if I had done things differently.”

“Maybe it would have happened _even if_ you had done things differently,” the man responded, and she could tell he was staring at her even though her eyes were still fixated on the ground. “It was not your fault.”

“I know.”

“No. I mean it.”

Maya let out a quiet chuckle, forcing herself not to remember how much she missed her mother, or how lonely life had become without her, or how guilty she still felt despite her father’s words.

Maybe one day it wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe, if only she found other things to think about.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, fumbling with the contents of another box. “Our karaoke stuff, I almost forgot…”

“Do you like singing karaoke?”

“Yeah…” she replied, navigating through the multitude of cables and silently thanking for the distraction. “Mom liked it too.”

“She wanted to be an idol, did you know that?”

“She told me, but I honestly cannot imagine it,” she chuckled in response, turning on the TV to reveal a screen with the top 10 scores their system had saved. “Voilà!”

“Who’s _‘He-chan’_?” Asami asked, clearly starting with the name that appeared the most on the list.

“Me.”

“Why _‘He-chan’_?”

“There was a boy I liked at school. His name was He Tian, so…”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen, I think.”

“You had a crush on him for a long time, huh?”

“Kind of,” Maya shrugged, just to see her father raise an eyebrow, full of suspicion.

“Did your mother like him?”

“I never brought him home. We never dated or anything, it was more of a… platonic thing.”

“What was the name of your first boyfriend?”

The question made her heart skip a beat. Of all things to ask, really… What a time for the man to take an interest in her rather unsuccessful love life.

“K-Kou,” she answered, voice slightly shaky.

“Kou? Akihito's friend?”

Ignoring the man shocked tone, she merely nodded in response, pressing random buttons in the remote control and looking away to hide her blushing face.

“He was your first boyfriend?”

“What's with those questions, gee?” she scoffed, standing up to pick up the bag filled with snacks they had brought into the house. “I'll go make a sandwich, want one?”

“Sure.”

“OK.”

++++

Asami saw his daughter disappear behind the kitchen door so fast he had no doubt whatsoever he had touched a raw nerve.

 _First boyfriend at age 21_? From what he could remember from the few times he and Mirai had met to discuss the Maya’s delinquency, one of woman’s main concerns was how early the girl had started having encounters with the opposite sex, and how often she was seen with boys - and men, much older than her - that were far from reputable.

Not that he was against casual sex, on the very contrary. Denying oneself what one desired was not something he could get behind, but at that point he was left wondering if the girl’s escapades had less to do with desire and more with lack of self-esteem.

If that was the case, he suspected his neglect as a father had certainly contributed to it.

_A lot._

But there was no point wasting time with those assumptions. He would accomplish very little by letting feelings of guilt dictate how the rest of their day would go, and if anything Maya deserved better than revisiting parts of her past she clearly did not want to talk about.

“Who's _‘MoshiMoshi’_?” he asked, when the girl returned with a tray full of tuna sandwiches.

“Mom.”

“That explains the low scores…”

The woman had always been tone deaf, after all. Still, the fact she had finally made it to the top ten - albeit with only two entries - proved that her persistence was commendable, and that her lack of vocal skills was easily compensated by her childlike enthusiasm.

“And _‘Kazzy’_ was… Oji-san,” the girl whispered, making him avert his eyes back to the screen.

“Kazuki… He had a good voice,” he said, noticing that the man had the highest scores of the three, with a respectable 990 points in MachineGun Kiss. “Did the three of you use to sing together?”

“Every now and then. It became more complicated when I started working, by then we were almost never home at the same time…” Maya replied, looking at the microphone with a mixture of sadness and contentment. “Good times…”

Indeed, at some point they had been.

In a very, very distant past, he too had taken his chances at karaoke.

“OK, when are you going to say it?” the girl then asked, putting down the microphone to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Say what?”

“The score no one could beat?”

“What about it?” he asked, the corners of his mouth involuntarily curling up in a smirk.

“ _‘Lil’Dragon?’_ ” the girl whispered, her low voice filled with outrage. “What kind of username is that?”

In silence, he averted his eyes back to the screen.

Right above Kazuki’s score, there it was, his perfect 1000 in the very same song.

“I wanted to sign up as Dragon,” he explained, when the girl was already choking in laughter. “Your mother changed it just to taunt me.”

“Right…” Maya replied, wiping away happy tears as she tried to catch her breath. “So _‘Lil’Dragon’_ rigged the system to get a perfect 1000…” she said. “The question is: how?”

“I did not rig it.”

“Right…”

“I am a very good singer, what can I say?”

“Prove it,” the girl then commanded, her voice void of humor as she passed him the microphone.

The smirk quickly disappeared from his face.

“I'm not going to sing.”

“Why not, Mr. Very Good Singer?” Maya replied. “Afraid of making a fool of yourself?”

Asami narrowed his eyes, looking at the microphone and then back at his daughter’s face. Such a silly, childish bait…

Alas, he _did_ have a reputation to defend.

Complaining quietly as he stood up, he saw the girl retrieve her cell phone from her pocket to point its camera at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Filming it,” she said. “Akihito needs to see this.”

“Silly girl…”

When the first notes of the song started playing, he was reminded of how tacky those karaoke songs were, but by then it was too late to change his mind.

Perhaps he should just try and reconnect with his 18-year old again…

Less than a minute later, he was far more into it than he could have expected. To think that he had not sung karaoke in what, almost 20 years? Perhaps he should incorporate it to his late night routine with Akihito… the man kept pestering him about it anyway...

When the song was over, the confirmation he still had it in him: yet another perfect 1000.

“No way!” the girl exclaimed, jaw slackening slightly.

“There you go.”

“That is not possible!”

“I don't do anything half assed,” he replied, tilting his head upwards.

His swagger, though, was quickly countered with a quiet dis.

“Except being a parent…” the girl whispered.

True, unfortunately.

And what a half-assed job he had done.

“Sorry. I--I don't know what I was-- sorry,” he heard Maya add, her face turning pink. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“You're right.”

“No. No, I don't wanna ruin this. Please forget I said anything,” she insisted, picking up the sandwich tray. “Here, let’s—”

“The last thing your mother asked was if I regretted it,” Asami interrupted.

Now that they were at it, he might as well say the things he had been meaning to.

“Regretted what?” the girl asked quietly.

“If I regretted saying that I... that I wished you and her had died at childbirth.”

It didn’t matter how much time had gone by since that one day when he had originally uttered those words: they sounded just as hideous and brutal as ever.

“And what did you answer?”

“I didn’t,” he replied, his heart beating faster, as if trying to fast forward to the end of that conversation. “She died without knowing.”

The way things had ended between him and Mirai, with so much left unsaid, still filled him with the kind of shame he did not want anyone else to see.

He was still staring blankly at the ground when a quiet sob next to him made him look up.

“I’m sorry,” Maya whispered.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry if I was a problem for you,” she sobbed, tears already streaming down her face. “I know I disappointed you.”

“Maya, stop.”

“I’m sorry.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer when her shoulders started to shake.

“Stop. You did not disappoint me, ever,” he said. “I’m sorry for making you feel like you did, you did nothing wrong.”

Even though he had expected his words to be somewhat soothing, Maya appeared to be crying even harder against his chest.

“I brought you here because… I wanted to apologize,” he went on, gently pulling the girl away from his chest so that they could look at each other. “Please stop crying.”

He waited until the girl was done wiping her tears on the sleeve of her coat to speak again.

“You were not a mistake,” he said, holding her hand and squeezing it perhaps a bit too hard to get his own nerves under control. “I’m very proud to be your father, but I’m not good at this. I’m not, so you will have to be patient.”

“Ok.”

As she squeezed his hand back, a small smile curved her lips despite her reddish, puffy eyes.

“Yes,” he then whispered.

“What?”

“I regret what I said to your mother that day.”

He never thought such a short sentence would be so difficult to say. He owed Mirai so much, and yet he had failed to give her the one thing - the only thing - she had asked of him the last time the two of them had been face to face.

“I know,” Maya replied, gently patting his hand as she spoke. “And I think she knew it too.”

It was only when the girl made a face and pulled her hand away that he realized that he had been squeezing her hand so hard his own knuckles had gone white, but the temporary expression of pain on his daughter’s face was quickly replaced by yet another smile.

“I still dream about her,” she said, leaning against the wall and wrapping her arms around her knees. “People say our minds just make those things up but… it's so real, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“So maybe she's still with us, somehow.”

He nodded in agreement. Even though he had never spent much time thinking about what happened to people after they died, he knew for a fact death itself did not have the power to erase memories.

“What do you think she would say if she saw us now?” Maya asked, and the question made his lips curl into a smile.

“I think she would say…” he started, getting to his feet to fetch another microphone before helping his daughter stand up as well, “...that we should sing a duet.”

The smile on the girl’s face made him feel several years younger.

Perhaps some bridges still could be mended, after all.

++++

_Hour 11_

Kirishima, as usual, was in awe of his boss’s apparently unlimited supply of psychic and physical strength.

After a trip to Sapporo that had probably been emotionally challenging to say the least, the man had still found the energy to spend one hour in the sauna with Takaba Akihito, and then returned to the main house to request that he prepared the supplies for a ‘field trip’ with the photographer’s father.

“Here they are, sir, as requested,” he said, after placing a particularly heavy backpack on the coffee table and passing his boss two weapons from his private collection. “A Rimfire... and a Winchester 1912.”

“Where is he?”

“By the river,” the secretary replied. “Do you need... _assistance?_ ”

Over the rim of his glasses, Kirishima gave the other man a look that hopefully made it clear he would have no qualms helping hide the body, if the circumstances demanded so.

“No,” Asami Ryuichi replied with a smirk, apparently finding the whole situation quite entertaining. “Don’t expect either of us to be back before the sun sets.”

“But sir... the weather forecast indicates a blizzard this afternoon.”

“I know,” the man went on, still looking profoundly unconcerned. “A blizzard in May, what has the world come to…”

“Asami-sama, please forgive my insistence, but I should still argue against it,” Kirishima interjected, after clearing his throat. “You have barely recovered, such low temperatures will put too much strain—“

“I was born here. Been through worse. Colder. Far too many blizzards,” he heard his boss mutter in response. “I’ll be fine.”

“Will _he?_ ”

And again, the amused look.

“Who knows…” his boss then whispered. “Don’t let anyone go into the woods until I’m back.”

“Sir, I—“

“ _Kirishima_.”

The obvious warning in the man’s voice made the secretary shut his mouth right away.

“It’s an order.”

Who was he to argue...

“Understood,” Kirishima replied quietly, watching his boss pick up the backpack and leave without further explanations.

++++

Now that he had started ripping off the bandaids of his past, he might as well get it all over and done with.

It didn’t take long for him to spot Akihito’s father looking at the river. Holding his hands behind his back, the man looked deep in thought, and his facial expression was strangely vacant, as if he was experiencing some sort of altered state of consciousness.

That was either the perfect time to approach him, or the worst possible moment to do so.

He would soon find out.

“We never had the chance to finish our conversation,” Asami said, casually announcing his presence as he swung a very heavy backpack over one of his shoulders.

Blinking rapidly, but trying to show no signs of being stunned, Takaba Yoshiro took a step backwards, cleared his throat, and turned to look at him with eyes that didn’t show any amusement.

“We didn’t?” he asked, voice verging on disdainful. “How strange, because I don’t honestly think I have anything left to say.”

“I do.”

Still looking at him with contempt, the older man replied with a shrug.

“I’m all ears.”

“Join me for a walk,” Asami responded, just to receive a suspicious frown in return.

In time, though, the two of them were walking away from the main house, the cabins behind them growing smaller and smaller as they entered the woods and walked further up a hill overlooking tall, snow capped mountains on the other side of a huge crystalline lake.

Every now and then, Asami would pause to describe a thing or two along the way.

“You can see Mount Tokachi from here,” he said, noticing that the older man by his side was running out of breath and taking a strategic break to give him time to recover. “It’s an active volcano but--”

“What are you doing?” Akihito’s father interrupted.

The question did not surprise him. As a matter of fact, he had expected the man to say something at least half an hour prior, when the first moment of awkward silence fell between them, but Takaba Yoshiro seemed to be a very proud man.

He had probably been trying to solve the riddle of Asami’s intentions since the two met at the river, and his question was a likely result of the frustration of finding no satisfactory answers.

“I thought I might as well show you around,” Asami replied, his voice tinted with humor, if only to annoy the man even more.

“Right…” the man scoffed, turning on his heels and getting ready to leave.

Now that would put a damper on his hunting plans.

“I think that for Akihito’s sake we should at least try to put the past behind us,” Asami said, all humor gone from his voice, forcing the older man to stop on his tracks.

“And I think, for Akihito’s sake, that he should run as far away from you as he can,”  the photographer replied, walking back to where he was, his face glowing a fierce shade of pink. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?  What I think, what you think… Irrelevant,” he ranted, shrugging to add more emphasis to his words. “This little tour of yours? Also irrelevant.”

As he watched the man once again turn around, Asami had to concede that his future father-in-law had a flair for the dramatic, and he had been warned about it, both by Akihito’s mother and the photographer himself.

Still, he couldn’t help but be amused by the theatrics.

“There’s a snowstorm coming,” he said at last, while the older man fumbled with his scarf and tried to keep a steady pace as he marched downhill. “I was going to suggest that we keep going up to find some shelter but given your age I will understand if you’re too tired to go on.”

As expected, his words were more than enough to make Takaba Senior whip around, his glare visible behind his fogged-up glasses.

“You…” Asami heard him hiss, lips moving as if he was muttering the worst kinds of curses he could think of under his breath.

The strong, cutting winds that followed only seemed to torment the older man even more, fuelling his anger, forcing him to cover his face with his scarf as he walked back to Asami’s side.

“I bet this is all your doing!” he screamed, battling the impending blizzard and the almost deafening sound of the wind blowing past the trees around them.

“Sadly, the weather is one of the few things I cannot control,” Asami replied, his voice also louder than usual.

“No, but you can control the events that led to our current circumstances!”

“Do you really think I am that kind of schemer?”

“Yes.”

The immediate answer made the corners of Asami’s mouth curl up in a satisfied smirk.

No wonder Akihito had never hesitated to talk back at him; apparently his old man didn't think twice before opening his mouth either.

“The worst kind, I'll tell you,” the man went on. “And since we are going to be part of the same family, you might as well stop treating me as if I were an imbecile,” he ranted, frowning after finally noticing Asami’s little smile. “What is so funny?”

Feeling the urge to laugh intensify when the man huffed and puffed after tripping on a rock, Asami bit the inside of his lower lip before answering.

“Nothing...”

++++

_Hour 12_

“If you have planned this excursion mishap to get to know me better, just know I'm not playing your game,” Yoshiro pointed out, crossing his arms and resting his back against the cold, decrepit wall of an abandoned cabin, where they would need to take cover until the snowstorm was over. “I do not approve of your relationship with my son and that is not going to change.”

“I wouldn't expect you to,” the other man replied calmly, too busy starting a fire to bother to look at him in the face. “Not that soon, at least.”

“Not soon, not later, not _ever._ My feelings towards you are not going to change.”

And then, finally, the almighty Asami Ryuichi stood up and turned around, his eyes filled with the kind of amusement and confidence that only annoyed him even more.

“At least today you are not punching me,” he said.

“Don't think I'm not tempted.”

As usual, his opponent seemed to take no offense even though he had certainly not meant his words as a compliment. There was something strangely compelling in how the man held himself, in how his predatory eyes were at the same time dangerous and wise…

As it was, Yoshiro was beginning to suspect _\- and fear -_  that by the end of that day, his future son-in-law would start growing on him.

Rubbing his arms to try and get more of his blood to circulate, the photographer let out a quiet groan.

_Asami Ryuichi, growing on him…_

The mere possibility made him cringe.

“Now I know where Akihito gets his stubbornness from,” the man said quietly as he retrieved two mugs from his backpack.

“I'm only stubborn when I'm right.”

And he was right when he said the man was a schemer, wasn’t he? Why would he have packed mugs and matches and all that camping paraphernalia unless he had been plotting that detour from the get go?

 _‘Join me for a walk,’_ Yoshiro repeated mentally, making a face. _‘Yeah, right…’_

What a walk that had become.

“You know…” the photographer muttered some time later, when the herbal tea the man had made for the two of them had managed to warm up his freezing hands and relieve some of his bad mood. “I have to say, it makes me so mad that my son is getting married to you, that I even forgot you are a man.”

“That part just pales in comparison, huh?” Asami replied, fishing a pack of Dunhills from one of his pockets to offer him a smoke.

“Don't tell Noriko I'm doing this,” Yoshiro replied, leaning forward with a cigarette dangling from his lips so that the other man could light it. “She thinks I quit.”

“You shouldn't lie to your wife.”

“It's not a lie, it's... more like--”

“A lie.”

The man’s piercing eyes and the calm in his voice as he spoke made the tip of Yoshiro’s ears go red.

“If she thinks you quit but you didn't, you should tell her.”

“What are you, a marriage counsellor?” the photographer finally replied, frowning as he tried to outrun his embarrassment. “Please… you, of all people,” he scoffed, after taking a particularly long drag.  “I cannot even begin to imagine what kind of secrets you keep from my son.”

“You'd be surpr--”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He didn’t want to hear the details. What was the point of receiving information from one source if there would be no means to double check it, not when his own son refused to talk to him…

All of a sudden, he didn’t feel like talking anymore, and his saddened silence only made the man leaning against the opposite wall watch him even more intently.

“Noriko had a sister,” he said at last, staring at his own boots. “Well, Noriko comes from a very big family, she’s the youngest of six siblings.”

“Six?”

“Six,” he repeated, nodding. “But this sister… Her name was Chinatsu. She and Noriko were very close, so much that when Akihito was born she was the first one to show up at the hospital.”

He paused, smiling quietly as he remembered the occasion.

Back then, he had thought Akihito would be the first kid of many. If not many, at least three, because he himself had grown up as an only child and failed to see the appeal of it.

Alas, if he had known Akihito would have been the first _and the last_ kid he would get to raise, he would have spent much more time savoring each moment of it…

“Akihito was very fond of her,” he went on, forcing himself to cut the nostalgia short. “Everyone was, until the day she told the family she had been living with a woman for almost ten years,” he explained, his voice slightly distant as he revisited memories from many years prior. “Things changed. Very subtly in the beginning, and then it just got worse.”

“How so?”

“It started with letters and messages becoming more sparse…” Yoshiro replied, after a saddened shrug. “And then she stopped being invited to family dinners and other celebrations. I mean, Noriko and I didn’t care, of course, she was always welcome in our house and so was her wife, but being shunned from the family was a huge blow, her mental health suffered a lot,” he said, pausing to draw in a deep breath as he cleaned the lenses of his glasses. “As depression became worse, her visits became less frequent… And when we were the ones visiting she would always find a way to make our stay as short as possible…”

At that point, he was so focused in getting to the end of that story that it didn’t even occur to him that perhaps the other man had absolutely no interest in hearing such family tales.

“Then one day, she died.”

When he raised his eyes to Asami’s face, though, he noticed a slight wrinkle on the man’s forehead, his expression so intense that there was no doubt whatsoever he was listening, and listening carefully.

“Akihito was 13,” he continued. “We told him she had died of heart failure, but… she had actually taken her own life. Sleeping pills, dozens and dozens of them, all taken at once.”

After clicking his tongue, Yoshiro took another drag off his nearly-forgotten cigarette.

That had not been a pleasant experience for any of them, but his child was the one that had ended up suffering the most.

“Akihito loved her so much... We thought he was too young to understand, so we agreed we would only tell him later,” he said, voice shaking slightly. “He ended up finding out on his own, though, and I think that somewhere inside him… knowing the pain his aunt had gone through, knowing how unbearable life had become for her after she came out, I think that took its toll on him.”

Those memories, combined with the fact his son probably hated him after everything he had done the day prior, only made him feel like a failure and before he knew it, he was babbling about extremely intimate things to a man he couldn’t possibly dislike more.

He was really pathetic.

“I think about that a lot, you know?” he sniffled, tears clouding his sight when he looked up.  “We should have helped him more, we should have talked more about it, but… Noriko and I were raised by parents that hardly ever talked to us about anything, let alone about… same-sex relationships, so we didn’t know exactly what to do, so… sure, travelling the world helped, meeting other people and other lifestyles taught us many things but… being a parent is never an easy job,” he rambled, barely stopping to catch his breath. “You try so hard to make sure your children will not suffer, and then before you know it… they are suffering and you can’t do anything about it.”

After taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his coat, Yoshiro cleared his throat to buy himself some time.

“You’re not a parent, so of course I don’t expect you to understand but…” he said, after regaining some of his composure. “This fear,” he whispered, pointing to his own chest with a grimace. “This fear that hits you when you think about everything that can go wrong…”

What the heck was he saying, and why to that man, of all people?

As if regaining conscience after a blackout, the photographer blinked, frowned, and put his glasses back on.

“Anyway…” he whispered. “I don’t--”

“Akihito has already forgiven you.”

The unexpected comment made him gasp, the corners of his eyes once again prickling uncomfortably.

“Pfff…” he snorted, more to hide his own surprise than anything else.

“He understands,” the other man insisted, fumbling with the contents of his backpack.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Why would I?”

Again, when he raised his eyes to his future son-in-law’s face, he saw that challenging, outrageously confident smirk that made him want to laugh, scream and punch him all at the same time.

What an insufferable creature!

“Here,” he heard the younger man say, while passing him a shotgun. “I thought we could go hunting when the storm is over.”

_Goodness grief!_

He felt his knees go weak, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as he held the massive, lethal weapon in his trembling hands.

See, that was the reason why Asami Ryuichi could not be trusted. What kind of man trusted a complete amateur with a Winchester? What kind of man walked around with one - no, _two,_ because he was holding one as well? He was positive he was one breath away from pulling the trigger and accidentally sending the two of them to kingdom come.

Inhaling deeply to fight back his profound dislike of firearms even though he had come around many in his line of work, Takaba Yoshiro cleared his throat and tried to look as indifferent as possible before replying.

“I despise cruelty against animals.”

“It’s not cruelty if it’s for survival. The Ainu hunted to eat,” the other man replied. “Used their skin for clothes, their bones for weapons.”

“Yeah, but you're no Ainu, are you?” the photographer retorted. “You're just a billionaire who apparently got bored with your meaningless life in the city, and since this little trip to the wilderness is nothing but a whim…” he said, “...thanks, but no thanks.”

Against his best judgment, he managed to shove the shotgun in a gap between two large stones in the wall and forced it to the side, making the stock crack loudly.

Next to him, Asami Ryuichi let out a quiet but remarkably shocked gasp.

“Looks like you know your way around guns…” he then whispered, his voice vacant and void of anger even though Yoshiro could tell the man was far from happy.

“I am a war reporter.”

“I thought you had retired.”

“I haven’t.”

“That is a… collector's piece,” Asami replied, staring morosely at the broken gun as if it were a convalescent member of his own family.

_The gun-toting lunatic..._

“Oh is it?” Yoshiro replied, stuffing his chest with obvious pride. “Heh.”

“I’m afraid I will have to add the repair costs to your accommodation bill…”

The soft and yet unapologetic tone of the other man’s voice made him frown.

“I will have to pay _a bill_?” he asked.

“Of course,” Asami replied just as calmly as ever. “You thought you were staying here for free?”

When their eyes met, he saw that the golden orbs staring at him were filled with mischief.

“You get a kick out of this, don’t you?” the photographer replied, raising an eyebrow as the other man got ready to step outside now that the blizzard appeared to be over. “Sadist…”

Without bothering to reply, his future son-in-law smirked again, and left.

++++

_Hour 14_

“Nah, it’s not humanly possible to get a perfect score in karaoke.”

“It is. Trust me, he did it, twice.”

“I need evidence.”

He should have known, really.

He should have known, even before Maya pressed play, that once again he would see Asami showing off yet another hidden set of skills.

So the man could sing, on top of everything else.

“Holy shit, why is he like… _that?_ ” Akihito whispered.

“Annoyingly above average in everything? Yeah,” Maya replied, putting her phone away. “Where is he, by the way?”

“I don’t know. You guys got back, we two…” he paused, trying not to blush as the memories of them going at it for many delightful minutes filled his mind, “.. _.talked._..for a while…and then he left again.”

It was not a complete lie, after all. They had indeed talked, only not for the entirety of their stay at the sauna, and the photographer had been genuinely happy for what had happened in Sapporo.

At least in that case, parent and child had kinda sorted their shit out.

“Good afternoon.”

His mother’s voice made him avert his eyes to the kitchen door, but he could not hold her stare for long.

“Good afternoon,” Maya replied.

“Hayashi-kun, could you… give us a moment?” the older woman asked, and even without looking he could tell the girl had turned to look at him.

When he nodded his agreement, she finally replied.

“Yeah, sure.”

Truth was, it had been much easier to face his parents in the heat of the moment the day before. Now that things had calmed down, he couldn’t help but feel bad at how everything had turned out between him and the old man...

“How’s my father been?”

“Unusually quiet,” his mother replied, apparently much more at ease than him. “Probably thinking about the things he’s said and done ever since getting here.”

Was that the reason why he had shown up at the kitchen that morning, to try and put things behind them?

Now he felt even worse for having been so rude and petty, telling his own father to leave him alone...

“Son,” Akihito heard his mother ask, covering his hand with hers when a quiet sob escaped his lips. “What is it?”

“I think I get it. I get why he’s so… angry.”

“Don’t say t—“

“I never did things the way he wanted,” he whispered, wiping away the stubborn tears that insisted on falling from his eyes. “I’m a disappointment to him.”

“Akihito, listen to me,” the woman replied, shaking her head. “You and your father are very, _very_ similar.”

“Nah…”

“Except for the gay part,” the woman muttered, scratching her head. “Which I hope doesn’t apply to him because it’s been almost three hours since he went hiking with your fiancé and that would be very weird.”

“He and Asami went _hiking?_ ” he asked, voice barely audible.

“That’s what his secretary said.”

First karaoke, now hiking. With his father, no less!

It looked like his day had not run out of surprises just yet.

“Son?” his mother whispered, apparently noticing his catatonic state. “Everything will be fine.”

At that point, he could only hope so.

++++

_Hour 15_

_“Kaa-san, what is that?”_

_“A rabbit.”_

_“A rabbit?!”_

_“Yes. Don’t make a face, or I’ll cook bear liver instead.”_

_“Rabbit is fine…”_

It didn’t matter how far away he was from the house he had once shared with his mother: memories of his childhood in Rikubetsu were everywhere, all around him, in the wind blowing across the trees, amidst the branches and rocks of the forest where the woman used to go hunting, in the rabbit he was now carrying to the improvised shelter up the hill.

Which reminded him… had he ever learnt how to make that stew? That one, from that one time his mother had shown up with a bunch of Japanese parsley in one hand and a rabbit in the other… in one of their worst winters, when supplies were scarce and nothing went to waste.

Had he had the time to learn?

There were so many gaps in his childhood memories that he honestly could not tell. How old was he at that time? Ten? Eleven?

He needed to know, but at the same time that was a door he did not want to open, not when so many other ghosts hid behind it, waiting to haunt him again.

Revisiting that past just to remember a recipe seemed too high a price to pay, especially when he knew Akihito’s father would not eat whatever he cooked anyway.

He might as well improvise.

“You might want to wait outside,” he announced, pushing the decrepit wooden door open. “I have to clean it, and it’s not going to be--”

The rest of his sentence died on his lips when he realized the older man was staring at one of the walls, hands moving in strange patterns up and down the stony surface.

“So… pretty…” he kept repeating, his face red as a tomato.

With a frown, Asami averted his gaze to the small bowl on the floor and then to a larger pot near the fire pit, both with a watery concoction of herbs and some kind of mushroom.

“Silly old man,” Asami whispered, inspecting the contents of the pot with a pair of chopsticks. “What kind of mushroom did you cook?”

The answer, obviously, was ‘the wrong kind’, and judging by the man’s state he should probably hurry. Completely oblivious to his presence, Akihito’s father continued to talk to the wall, his face glowing with fascination.

“You’re lucky the snow didn’t burn all of the milk thistle,” Asami said quietly, returning to their shelter after collecting a bunch of herbs and flowers outside. “Or maybe I should say, _I_ am lucky. Not sure Akihito would be amused to see his own father _tripping_ after going on a field trip with me…”

Once again, the man completely ignored his presence, raising his hands to the sky as if communicating with some unseen divine entity.

“Here, drink this.”

“Eh? Two...” the older man replied, his eyes fixated on something way above his head with a delirious smile on his lips. “Two… red… _what is that?_ ”

“You’re hallucinating,” Asami insisted, pressing the cup to the man’s lips. “Don’t be stubborn, just drink it.”

“No!” Takaba Senior exclaimed, pushing the cup away and for once sounding like his usual self. “You want to poison me!”

“You’ve already poisoned yourself, now drink or you will get even worse.”

“As if you cared!”

“I don’t,” Asami responded with as much patience as he could muster. “But Akihito does, and so does your wife,” he said. “They deserve better than you acting like a spoiled baby.”

After a very long minute staring at him with a mixture of contempt and confusion, the man finally capitulated and downed the bitter, greenish tea, giving Asami the chance to finally start his dinner preparations.

Outside, bush warblers had started to sing, and their melody seemed to send him into a peaceful, nostalgic trance.

_The secret is to sear it first…_

_leave the bone…_

_roast it with garlic…_

_add the miso…_

_leave the parsley for last..._

The smell that filled his nostrils when the stew was finally ready left him disoriented for a moment. He felt like he had gone back in time, but the presence of Akihito’s father on the opposite corner watching him as he cooked brought him back to reality.

“It’s good,” the older man said, when the two of them had already sat down to eat.

“Yeah,” Asami replied, taking a full minute to study the contents of his bowl, still lost in thought. “Yes, it is.”

++++

_Hour 17_

“Are you friends with Mikhail Arbatov?” Asami heard Akihito’s father ask, when the sun had already set.

“No.”

“Business partners?”

Pressing his back harder against the wall, Asami squared his shoulders, a frown indicating that he was fully aware that conversation would not end well for him.

“Why are you asking?”

“I was in Kosovo, some ten years ago,” the photographer replied. “And there was this terrorist group, apparently supported and financed by an organisation with some solid contacts in the Kremlin, and they attacked the city where I was staying to cover the conflict.”

The older man, who seemed to have made a full recovery from his intoxication hours prior, re-arranged the scarf around his neck and let out a sigh before speaking again.

“They used Xtero SD. A more potent, lethal version of mustard gas,” he said. “I was there, I saw… children, women, entire families… babies…”

As he listened, it occurred to Asami that the man in front of him had probably seen enough horrors to fill nightmares for an entire lifetime. It would have been bad enough if he had solely investigated criminal activity in Asia, but apparently Takaba Yoshiro had been around and seen things that not many would have been able to stomach.

“Babies…” the photographer went on, his voice distant and haunted as his gaze grew vacant. “I saw the skin just… peeling from their bodies.”

After a long pause, he blinked and shifted on his legs, as if trying to remove himself from the distant Dantesque scene.

“Mikhail Arbatov was there too, when the attack occurred. What a coincidence, huh?” he scoffed, humorlessly. Anyone that saw the city after that would be horrified, would… reevaluate their lives,” he said, before his voice turned into a quiet, hollow whisper. “I know I did.”

“But Arbatov? When he saw the destruction and death, he flew back to Moscow and made a billionaire bid to gain control of Xtero production,” the photographer explained, eyes now gleaming angrily. “One month later, and he was the main supplier worldwide. What kind of person--”

With his lips pursed, Takaba Senior cut himself short. He didn’t have to explain, really - Asami himself knew what kind of person MIkhail was and where most of his fortune came from.

“I joined an operation with the United Nations, it was called protocol Luristan Star Nineteen Hundred,” the older man then added. “We tracked him down, followed the trail of money, managed to force bans and embargos to some of his most profitable businesses… but he kept making political alliances that made our work almost impossible.”

“His family is very close to the Russian Prime Minister.”

“Well, yes…” Yoshiro replied, with a disheartened shrug. “Eventually the operation stopped receiving funds and… now he gets to sell whatever he wants to whomever he wants.”

“I never got involved with chemical weapons,” Asami pointed out, if only to placate some of the man’s fury. “Or any weapons of mass destruction, for that matter.”

“Still, you endorse dictatorial regimes all over the world by providing them with state of the art guns. Do you have any idea what kind of plague you are?”

“If it wasn't me, it would be someone else. We live in a battlefield, all of us.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” the photographer scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “And in the meantime people with half of your resources, power or… half of your intelligence are trying to guarantee the world doesn't go up in flames, that something good is left for our grandchildren.”

 _‘At least he realizes I’m intelligent,’_ Asami thought to himself, even though he knew that was probably not the right takeaway lesson from what his future father-in-law had just said.

“It is a battlefield out there, I agree,” the man went on. “But you've picked the wrong side of the battle.”

After inhaling deeply, Asami let his eyes slip to the decaying roof of the shelter. Maybe they should have walked back to the main house right after the dinner…

He could do without the lecture.

“The ugly one,” the photographer reiterated, his voice showing a strange, honest streak of unhappiness. “Why?”

“Maybe it's just who I am,” Asami replied, his face and overall demeanour completely  unrepentant. “Maybe I just don't believe in world peace, or that there will ever be a better world.”

And then, as if to make sure he drove the message home, he lowered his eyes to his counterpart and spoke again.

“I see men for what they truly are,” he said. “And _that_ is ugly.”

His response, however, didn’t seem to annoy the older man sitting across from him.

Instead, Akihito’s father continued to look at him with an expression that was strangely close to concern.

“What happened to you?” he asked quietly, and the question made Asami frown.

“You will need to be more specific.”

“What happened to you to make you lose hope?”

“I didn't lose hope,” Asami answered, his tone showing little enthusiasm. “It's more like I never had it.”

“Why not?”

The CEO raised an eyebrow.

There were things he was more than happy to endure, like punches, offenses, histrionics. They were all an inconvenient waste of time but at least he could derive some sense of satisfaction from seeing people lose their minds while he remained in control of the situation. But to have his future father-in-law try and analyze him…

That was too tall of an order.

“Oh I see,” he said, his velvety voice barely hiding his annoyance. “Is this psychological warfare? Are you trying to beat me through exhaustion?”

“I'm not trying to beat you. This is not a competition, my son is not a prize,” the man replied angrily, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “I'm just trying to understand. I know Akihito, if anything he's even more passionate about his ideals than I am. Or at least used to be, I don't know anymore.”

“He still is.”

“Oh is he? Then how did he end up with you, the very opposite of what he stands for?” the man asked, sounding - and looking - profoundly confused. “You said you never had hope, well, Akihito _never did not have_ hope!” he exclaimed. “He's a fighter, his optimism sometimes verges on sheer stupidity!”

After a quick pause to regain his composure and calm himself down, Yoshiro spoke again.

“He has… such a big heart,” he went on. “But how long can that last, if he's going to live with you? What kind of life is he planning to have?”

He had to bite his lower lip to stop himself from giving a most inappropriate response, and the few seconds that such self-control required resulted in a startling revelation.

He had no such power over Takaba Akihito. The kind of life he would have or what kind of person he would become further down the road… those decisions were not his to make. After so many years living with the photographer, he had feared the day Akihito would find out about the worst parts of his life and of his personality, he had feared that the grief and the repeated ordeals would have broken him.

But they hadn’t.

Akihito had given him his body and soul but without bending the knee, without sacrificing who he was exactly because of that.

_Because he had such a big heart._

“Say something, for crying out loud!”

“I think you underestimate your son,” Asami said quietly, partly amused by the man’s despair, partly surprised to see that for the longest time he too had failed to see Akihito’s strength. “You worry that I will change who Akihito is but the truth is that he is the one that turned my life upside down,” he went on, after a faint chuckle. “And what makes it so amazing is that he probably doesn't even know the power he has...”

“He doesn't care about power.”

“I know.”

Yet another reason why he had fallen so hard.

Noticing that his future father-in-law was staring at him as if he had just grown a second head, Asami stood up, and offered a hand to help the older man do the same.

“We should go back,” he said, as the photographer engaged in an internal battle to decide whether he should accept the help or not, a few seconds before finally grabbing his hand with an unhappy groan.

  



	78. The chosen one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > _ Even today my complaint is bitter;   
>     his hand is heavy in spite of my groaning. _
>> 
>> _ If only I knew where to find him;   
>     if only I could go to his dwelling! _
>> 
>> _ I would state my case before him   
>     and fill my mouth with arguments. _
>> 
>> _ I would find out what he would answer me,   
>     and consider what he would say to me. _
>> 
>> **Job 23**
>> 
>>   
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: in Japan it *is* possible for women to become CEOs of a kabushiki-gaisha (stock corporation), although very rare, so Kuroda’s line to Mine is pure artistic freedom to somehow draw attention to the very serious problem of gender inequality (which is, unfortunately, very common not only in Asia but pretty much everywhere else in the world).

Three days had gone by since his and Takaba Senior’s adventure in the woods.

_‘What did you two talk about?’_

_‘Why did you take so long?’_

_‘My father looks drunk, what happened?’_

He had insisted on dodging most of the questions Akihito had made upon his return, if only to see the slightly distraught expression on the younger man’s face every time he offered an elusive, concise explanation. Certainly the photographer had expected a much more dramatic event to have taken place the second time he and his father gathered to talk, so the obvious surprise - or disappointment - in his face upon the apparently uneventful day made Asami want to laugh.

With a smirk, he sat up, and raked his fingers through Akihito’s hair when he stirred and moved away from his chest.

“Wake up, kitten.”

“Hmm…”

“I want to show you something.”

One of the hazel eyes finally snapped open at his words.

“Show me what?” Akihito asked, his voice still sleepy.

“Let’s get ready and I’ll show you.”

And so they did, fairly slowly at first and then faster, after a quick shower had made the two of them more alert.

“Have you seen Maya?” Asami asked the man by his side as soon as they reached the cabin, noticing that the girl, usually one of the first people to show up at their cabin to have breakfast, was nowhere to be found.

“Yeah, she’s outside with my father.”

The photographer’s casual tone was a stark contrast to Asami’s surprised reaction. Eyes wide, he squared his shoulders and turned around to look at the window with an awkward, robotic gesture, just in time to see his daughter and his future father-in-law engaged in what looked like a very light-hearted conversation.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, before walking out of the kitchen and making his way to the small porch on the other side of the cabin.

“Oh, hi,” he heard his daughter say, after waving her hand. “Good morning,”

“Good morning,” Asami replied. “Aren’t you going to have breakfast?”

“Yes, I--”

“Then go inside, Akihito is making scrambled eggs.”

His tone of voice seemed to have taken the girl by surprise, but noticing a certain tension in the air, she opted not to argue and excused herself. From the corner of his eye, he could see Akihito’s father open his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance to speak, Asami took the lead.

“I was sixteen years old when she was born,” he said, just to see the other man raise both eyebrows in response.

“That is not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Why are you on the defensive?” Takaba Senior replied, frowning. “I was just going to say she looks a lot like you, that’s all.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean, _‘what else’_? Do you still think I’m trying to find fault in everything you do?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Nah…” his future father-in-law replied, waving a dismissive hand. “How petty do you think I am?”

Asami chose not to answer.

“Anyway, you could have corrected me when I said you had no idea what it was like to be a parent.”

Asami tilted his head up, even though the comment felt like an unintended jab.

If he had ever behaved as a proper parent, maybe.

“Asami.”

Akihito’s voice, however, prevented him from revisiting his own parenting failures.

“Come inside, the food will get cold.”

Without bothering to acknowledge the older man by his side, the photographer spun on his heels and headed back inside.

It was up to Asami, then, to extend the invitation.

“Do you want to have breakfast with us?”

“Ah, no, no, it’s fine.”

But in the fraction of a second that had separated the question from its answer, Asami saw the man’s eyebrows pulling together, an obvious sign of his distress at his son’s cold dismissal.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Noriko is waiting for me,” the man answered, fumbling with his scarf. “Thanks anyway.”

With a raised eyebrow, Asami watched as the man returned to his cabin, and then his eyes shifted to the kitchen window and the younger man behind it. It was not like Akihito to hold grudges and to be so cold towards other people, but he figured he had no right to meddle in that specific situation.

Parents and children had a code of their own, so he should probably give the two of them room and time to sort things out on their own.

“So…” he heard Akihito ask when the three of them were already at the table. “What’s the occasion? Why am I up so early?”

“Finish breakfast and you’ll see.”

“Oh,” Maya responded, taking a large gulp of her coffee before standing up. “I guess I should give you both some privacy.”

“Sit down,” Asami replied, shaking his head. “You’re coming too.”

He saw when Akihito and the girl exchanged a confused look, shrugging before resuming their meal.

The only one who was not doing a very good job emptying his plate was Asami himself, and he was grateful neither person next to him inquired about his lack of appetite.

He could do without the explanations.

“Ok, this is creepy,” Maya whispered half an hour later, when they were already out in the woods, in an area so dense that the rays of sunshine barely made it past the trees.

“You were born in Hokkaidō,” Asami replied with a smirk. “Are you really scared of owls?”

“Not scared, just—”

Her horrified gasp when yet another large bird flew over her head proved otherwise, and that time even Akihito laughed.

“Ha ha, how funny,” she complained. “Where are we going, anyway?”

It was not the first time that she asked, and he could tell from the look on Akihito’s face he wanted to ask the same question. The photographer, however, seemed to have noticed his uncomfortable, almost painful silence as they walked, and merely watched him take the last few steps that separated them from a small cabin surrounded by trees.

“I was born in this house,” he said, holding the door open after unlocking it with an old, rusty key.

As Maya and Akihito walked in amidst surprised “oohs!” and “aahs!”, Asami avoided looking at any specific part of the tiny room they were in. The walls were bare, there was no furniture to be seen, and yet for him everything was alive, breathing, each floorboard that creaked under his feet eliciting a memory and an image full of very rich details.

“I spent my childhood here,” he explained, his voice distant and void of feeling as he tried to distract himself by poking a cobweb hanging on a corner of the window. “My mother and I.”

“Oh, your mother!” he heard Akihito exclaim. “You told me you would introduce me to her, but…”

The photographer’s quiet, almost inaudible voice at the end of the sentence showed him he had finally realized something was off.

“Yes,” Asami replied, unlocking yet another door as he spoke. “You are going to meet her today, the two of you.”

This time, he didn’t step inside. Instead, he just held the door open, waiting for Akihito and the girl to go inside, fascinated by the beautiful flower arrangements adorning each corner, the small statues of Christian saints carefully positioned on the top of marble stands and all the pictures hanging on the walls leading to the altar where the urn with his mother’s ashes had been placed, her face looking at them from a silver picture frame neatly arranged between a glass full of water and three incense sticks.

“Is that…?” Maya began.

“Yes.”

“Was she a Christian?”

“No.”

Soon enough they would end up talking about how those statues had gotten there, as well as everything else.

One thing at a time.

“Wow…” the girl then whispered, staring at one of the pictures as Akihito looked around, his eyebrows arched in a strange, saddened angle.

“Is that you?” he asked, finally stopping in front of the painting Maya was looking at, which showed a dark-haired baby sleeping inside a crib.

“Yes. I was three months old.”

“That hat!” the girl exclaimed. “I know that hat!”

With a faint smirk, Asami nodded in response. No wonder Mirai had grown so attached to it - the woollen hat his daughter had found in their old apartment had been the first gift he had brought her, when he had finally gathered the nerve to go see his child for the first time, and the only item of clothing he knew for a fact had been made to him by his own mother.

“It belonged to me when I was a baby,” he said, averting his eyes to the front door, unwilling to revisit memories of his own childhood.

“Who painted these pictures?” Akihito asked.

“My mother. She was an artist.”

“She looks just like you…”

In the meantime, Maya had already walked to the altar to light up an incense stick.

“Grandma…”

“I will wait outside,” Asami whispered when Akihito walked over to join her.

He needed to get out of that place.

The cold breeze that greeted him when he opened the door and stepped into the porch had the additional advantage of making his tears recede into whatever tear ducts he had. His hands felt cold and sweaty, and he could tell he was on the verge of a ridiculous, childish meltdown.

“Asami?”

Akihito’s soothing voice behind him made nausea give him a temporary break.

“What’s wrong?” the photographer asked quietly, placing a warm hand on his back as he rested his head on one of the arms resting on top of the wooden railing.

“I saw her die in this house,” he replied, eyes squeezed shut as he spoke. “I saw her be raped and murdered.”

Now that he was at it, he might as well let it all bleed out.

“I left this place when I was 11 and I never came back,” he went on. “Not to this house, at least. I arranged to buy the estate, to transfer her remains here, all from a distance.”

He was vaguely aware of the floorboards creaking again, and the flowery scent of Maya’s perfume filled his nostrils when she too approached him.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“I paid a fortune to have it erased from all maps,” he continued, without opening his eyes or moving from his current position. “I didn’t want anyone to find it. And I built secondary cabins if I ever needed to use this area because I didn’t want to be here.”

His hands curled into the fistsover the railing when he tried to draw in a long, deep breath and failed, choking in his own misery. He felt like he had to vomit, even though his stomach was empty, even though everything inside him felt empty, like he had been swallowed by a dark, unending chiasm.

“When was the last time you prayed for her?” Akihito whispered, tucking a strand of dark hair behind his ear.

The question finally made him finally stand up straight, and his eyes were beginning to fill up again when he looked at the photographer’s face.

“Pray to whom?” he asked. “I’m not a man of faith.”

“But you are her son,” Akihito replied. “Here’s what, Maya and I will worry about the rites, we’ll leave the easy part to you,” he said. “Just talk to her.”

“Don’t make me go inside that room.”

“But you want to, right?”

In silence, he averted his eyes from Akihito’s face to the open door behind him, stealing a glance at the other door and the shadow of flowers and statues reflected on it.

Maybe he did, but the paralysing fear of crossing that threshold made his feet feel like two blocks of concrete.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Maya whispered. “We are here.”

“Yes.”

“OK.”

He would have hated himself for sounding so weak, so childish, but the two pairs of eyes looking at him were anything but judgmental and their unyielding trust gave him the strength he needed to open doors he had avoided his entire life.

For the longest minute of his life, he stood by the room’s entrance, the thought of moving forward just as terrifying as taking a plunge into the sea without knowing how to swim.

He knew that if he wanted to leave, neither his daughter nor Akihito would stop him. He could keep avoiding that black hole, those feelings, he could turn around now and his life would continue as he had always been.

Or he could at least try to put those feelings to rest.

After the first step had been taken, the other ones were easy, and by the time he was kneeling in front of the altar, his heart already felt much lighter than it had ever felt. He was vaguely aware of his face and his neck growing damp with tears, but neither Akihito or Maya tried to comfort him and he was grateful for that, too, he was grateful for their silent, almost invisible presence as he let out many years of sadness and guilt.

He was sorry he had never come to visit.

He hoped she felt proud of him, even though he had not exactly been a role model for anyone.

He wondered if she could hear him at all.

And when he opened his eyes and saw both his daughter and Akihito praying in silence, he somehow knew their prayers would be heard.

Maybe that was the meaning of faith.

He was unsure of how much time had elapsed when they stood up. Maybe it had been one minute, maybe one hour, but the fact was that everything felt different, in an unexplainable, soothing way.

“Who brings the flowers?” Maya asked, after a long sigh.

“In the beginning it was Kirishima, but then I hired someone else to take care of it,” Asami answered, his voice strangely nasal. “He brought all the angel statues, the books, hung her paintings on the walls,” he explained. “And fresh flowers, he always brings fresh flowers. He comes here at least twice a month, except for when was with you in Chayama…”

He saw the girl’s eyes go wide when realization sank in.

“You mean...?”

“Yeah,” he answered, holding Akihito’s hand and pressing a kiss to his forehead as he too gasped in surprise. “ _Mine._ ”

++++

In Tokyo, it was late in the afternoon when Mine finally arrived at Prosecutor Kuroda’s office.

“Did you want to see me?” he asked the man behind the desk, noticing that he had barely raised his eyes from his computer screen to look at him.

“Yes. Please take a seat,” Kuroda Shinji replied, without lifting his eyes from his computer screen. “Asami Ryuichi left a few documents for you to sign.”

“What documents?”

“He wants to make sure you have power of attorney to take decisions regarding certain aspects of his business when he finds himself incapable or... unwilling to do so.”

With a quiet scoff, Mine shifted on his seat, taking a moment to study the other man’s face.

It was the first time the two of them came face to face since the day he had learnt they were siblings.

“Like a designated survivor?” he asked quietly, averting his eyes to the floor as he spoke.

“No,” he heard Kuroda chuckle in response. “That would be me.”

The pause that followed made him look up again, just to see the older man with his fingers laced on top of the desk, staring at him with a very serious expression.

“He wants you to be a… successor of sorts.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s not up to us to analyse his decisions.” the prosecutor replied, once again averting his gaze to his computer screen. “Moreover, it’s not as if you would have any direct access to his assets, those would be passed down directly to his next of kin.”

“I still don’t understand why I’m a part of his will, if anything his daughter should be the one to take care of his business.”

“I’m quite sure you remember women are not allowed to become CEOs of a _kabushiki-gaisha_.”

As a matter of fact, he had forgotten about that.

Despite all the changes the steps Japan had taken to rectify certain historical distortions, the truth was that many doors remained closed to a great portion of the population.

”To think that our country can be that medieval…” he said quietly, finally picking up the folders Kuroda had slid across the desk.

“In some aspects, perhaps. But when you put those aside, our legal system tends to work very well.”

“Work very well for whom?”

“Just sign the papers,” the prosecutor replied.

“What if I don’t want it?”

“Excuse me?”

“What if I’m thinking of doing something else with my life?”

His dismissive tone, as well as the careless shrug that followed his words, finally made the older man snap his laptop closed and lean forward to take a better look at him.

“Like what?”

“Travelling.”

“Travelling?” Kuroda repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Where, back to Colombia?”

“No.”

“Then where?”

Mine couldn’t help but shrug again.

As of lately, he had grown even more disinterested in his own future, so to discuss that particular issue with the man in front of him was not something he looked forward to.

“I was thinking of the Czech Republic.”

“Pfff,” Kuroda scoffed, throwing him a bitter, disapproving look. “To do what?”

“Sightseeing.”

“Can’t you take yourself seriously, for _once_? You are one of the most skilled, most talented young law—”

“Lawyer?” Mine interrupted. “I’m not a lawyer, sir.”

The change in tone seemed to take the prosecutor by surprise, if the slight frown wrinkling his forehead was anything to go by.

“You could be one if you wanted to.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should know it by now!”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because I’m your brother!” Kuroda exclaimed, his face slightly flushed, eyes darting back and forth before he cleared his throat and pushed his glasses father up his nose.

“But you already knew that, right? Tanimura told you.”

“No. I know it because I was there too.”

He wished he could understand why he felt so angry just by looking at the man in front of him. For the longest time he had wondered what it would feel like to have a family again, but now that he knew the truth about where he came from, the only thing he felt was disappointment.

“Is that why you hired me as your intern back then?” he asked quietly. “To do me a favor?”

“No. I didn’t know back then, even though you... reminded me of someone,” the prosecutor replied. “I know I should probably—”

“No. We don’t need to do that.”

“But Mine—”

“Here,” he said, signing the last page of documents that had been handed to him without even bothering to read what exactly they were about. “Do you need anything else?”

As he slid the folders across the desk, he wished the corners of his eyes would stop prickling. There was nothing to be sad about, because nothing in his past was worth salvaging and he still hadn’t figured out what he wanted for his future, anyway.

He just wanted to get out of that place.

“That’s all,” Kuroda replied quietly.

“Excuse me.”

++++

“Are you really leaving?” Takaba Yoshiro heard his wife ask as he wrapped his scarf around his neck and got ready to open the door.

“Well, you heard what our son said,” he replied. “I’m no longer welcome at their wedding.”

“After everything you’ve done, are you surprised?”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

After letting out a sigh, he put his suitcase down for a moment.

“I just don’t think that man will be good for him. That’s all.”

“That’s exactly what my parents said when you proposed.”

“Oh please,” he interjected, “the situation here is completely different!”

“How so?”

He felt his eyes go wide at the question.

“I’m not a criminal, for one.”

“You’ve been arrested _eighteen times_ since we met thirty-two years ago,” the woman pointed out, crossing her arms with narrowed eyes.

“It’s still not the same!”

“Still, my parents told me I would always be in harm's way if I stayed with you.”

Yoshiro couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the mention of his in-laws. He didn’t actually need a reminder that neither of them never liked him much, even though they had never actually punched him or anything.

_‘Though that crazy old woman did put sugar in my miso one day… and accidentally spilled an entire bottle of bleach on my only tuxedo the day I became a member of the Magnum Club, just out of spite…'_

“The kind of life you had was not something they agreed with,” Noriko said, as he continued to revisit very old memories. “They worried that my career would suffer, that you would change me.”

When a soft, warm hand touched his cheek and forced his gaze to shift from the floor, he let out a small smile.

The dark eyes staring at him were fierce and loving and make him feel all fuzzy inside, even after so many years…

“An adventurous, reckless aspiring photojournalist and a girl from the countryside who had never even seen the ocean, who had been raised to become a docile young wife and a mother,” she went on, gently patting him on the cheek. “It would never work… And when my parents realized I had too much of a temper, they at least could hold on to the dream that one day I would become a college professor,” she chuckled. “But when I met you... they feared I would need to leave that dream behind too.”

With his eyebrows pulled together, Yoshiro heard his son’s words echo inside his head. Akihito was right… Noriko had indeed given up so much to follow him and hardly ever got the appreciation she deserved.

If it hadn’t been for her huge leap of faith, they would have never become a family.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked quietly, holding her other hand.

“What?”

“Leaving Japan?”

In reality, though, that was not exactly what he wanted to know, and the woman in front of him seemed to understand that very well.

“No,” she replied.

With a knowing smirk, she then leaned closer to whisper something into his ear.

“I had met _my other half_ ,” she said, waiting a moment for her words to sink in. “And if my parents didn’t understand that, too bad.”

“Ah, Noriko…”

“Do you remember, do you remember what happened the first time I followed you to the field?” she asked.

“I was taking pictures of a protest in Vietnam,” he answered, nodding.

“And then people started running when the police arrived, I fell and got trampled by the crowd.”

“Don’t remind me of that, that was…” Yoshiro whimpered, “... the worst day of my life.”

“I thought I would die,” the woman went on regardless. “I broke a leg, both wrists, I was... black and blue all over,” she chuckled. “And then I went to my parents’ place, and they thought I was there to beg them to take me back.”

Still holding her hand, he watched in awe as his wife reminisced, her voice filled with obvious pride.

“But I just wanted to show them that even then... All hurt and aching... I had never felt so alive,” she concluded. “I had the life I wanted.”

“What a crazy woman…”

“ _Yes!_ Yes, do you see it now?”

Shaking his head, he let out a sigh. Of course, they were both crazy, so maybe he should cut Akihito some slack for having a loose screw too.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“I know my parents meant well,” Noriko whispered, when his eyes were already averted to the window so that he could steal a glance at the young man perched on the balcony of the cabin ahead. “I understand their reasons to worry, but... up to this day, I still remember how much it hurt when they didn’t attend our wedding.”

With a saddened frown, he watched as Akihito stared at the trees below, looking immersed in his own thoughts.

Kids grew so fast.

There he was, his only son, about to get married. So what if it was to someone he did not approve? That was not the point, anyway.

Perhaps he was just grieving the end of an era. Even though he and Akihito were at odds more often than not, for the longest time he had figured he could keep the kid under his wing, even if it was from a distance.

But now his boy _had become a man_ and he had not even been around to see it happen.

“Please don’t do the same to our son.”

With a silent nod, he acknowledged his wife’s words.

He didn’t intend to.

++++

Little Asia, as Mine had imagined, was not an easy place to go in and an even harder place to get out of.

Every tiny alley led to an apparent dead end, a room or a kitchen, and the passages hidden behind cabinets or trash bins were not easy to notice against their cluttered, dark background.

As he went down yet another flight of stairs leading to a miniscule hallway near the men toilets on the floor below, he figured it made sense that illegal aliens from all over Asia had chosen that place as their home. Chances were the Tokyo police would never bother to raid that maze, especially when there were rumors that every wall in Little Asia had eyes and ears, recruited to report their presence to triad leaders in exile, or former mafia members, so that they had time to either escape or resist.

And those were some very tiny ears, Mine pondered, watching a very small, very thin boy run into another hallway after spotting him.

The children of Little Asia…

Could it be that the child had run to announce his presence to Tanimura Masayoshi, the patron saint of all those little orphans?

One could hope, but he honestly didn't think he was that lucky.

“Is Tanimura here?” he asked in Chinese to an older boy squatting near a small pile of beer crates. “Tanimura Masayoshi?”

“Masa?” the kid then replied with a confused frown.

“Yeah.”

And then, face slightly more relaxed, the boy pointed to a door at the end of a hallway, leading to yet another staircase.

Walking more slowly than usual, Mine thought of having a smoke before going in. Who knew what Tanimura would say… certainly he was not not exactly dying to see him, what with all his calls getting sent to voicemail.

The cigarette was already dangling from his lips when he frowned, puffed, and put it away.

If he smoked now he would taste like nicotine… wasn't the man trying to quit?

His shoulders slumped when his mind engaged in yet another round of fruitless debate.

 _Taste?_ Who said they would kiss, for fuck’s sake?

From there, it was easy to slide into the muddy territory of worst case scenarios, each of them ending with him leaving that place feeling defeated and humiliated.

Tanimura hadn't answered any of his calls.

Why was he even there?

“Are you going in or not?” he heard the Chinese boy behind him ask.

“Yes.”

But his feet only moved a full minute later, when he no longer felt like throwing up.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, though, a familiar voice coming from one of the rooms got his pulse racing again.

“Did it hurt?”

The question made Mine move closer to the door, which had been left ajar. Stealing a glance inside, he saw a young girl sitting on a small stool. She was probably in her early teens, and her bright clothes, combined with her olive skin and dark, thick eyelashes reminded him of the streets of New Delhi. The heavy framed glasses she was wearing added a melancholic detail to the composition, and so did the eyepatch covering one of her eyes, which made him wonder what had happened to her, where she was from, how she had ended up there, at that moment...

But his thoughts were cut short when Tanimura spoke again, and this time Mine was too distracted to understand the quiet words that had left his mouth. Instead, his eyes merely shifted to the latex-gloved hand resting on top of the girl's head, giving it gentle, soothing pats, before his gaze moved up to the tanned forearm above it.

In his other hand, Tanimura was holding a needle, and Mine watched when the girl squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing quietly when the sharp, piercing metal went past her earlobe.

And then, again, the soothing touch on her head, the tender swipe of a thumb across her cheek to wipe a tear away.

“You did good, Aishah,” the detective said, taking off the gloves and passing her a small mirror. “We are all done, take a look.”

Only when the sound of quiet giggling echoed in the room did Mine notice two older girls were sitting on a small couch by the door, her heads covered by veils.

“I look like a princess.”

The quiet voice made him avert his eyes back to the chair. The tears on the girl’s face had dried and given way to a shy smile as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, turning her head to the side to study the glittering pinkish studs in her ears with very obvious fascination.

“Yes, you do,” Tanimura replied, taking back the mirror as she stood up. “Here, your hijab.”

He kept watching the younger girl’s contentment as she wrapped her veil around her head, until Tanimura cleared his throat somewhere to his left, still oblivious to his presence.

So that was what he had been doing in Little Asia, after surrendering his badge and his gun as he had suggested he would do the last time they had been together.

“What is that, some kind of side job?” he asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against a wall.

Tanimura’s startled reaction would have been fun to watch, but his eyes looked so sad when he finally regained his composure after stumbling on his own feet that Mine couldn’t find it in him to laugh.

“Mine.”

“So you _did_ resign.”

“Yeah,” the former detective whispered in response, still trying to avoid his eyes. “Sorry that I haven’t—“

“It’s okay.”

The interruption caused a strange moment of silence to fall between them, and Mine had to shove his hands into the pockets of his pants to hide his own nervousness. In front of him, Tanimura looked like a caged animal, eyes darting back and forth as if desperately looking for a escape route.

_Perhaps he really shouldn’t have come._

“What’s with the beard?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual to break the ice.

“Heh…”

That time, the silence that followed was slightly less uncomfortable, with the other man finally relaxing, lips curled into a soft, timid smile. As it was, Mine was willing to bet Tanimura hadn’t even bothered to shave for at least a week.

“You’ve lost weight,” he pointed out, noticing that the cop’s cheekbones looked more prominent than usual.

“I’m on a diet.”

“Oh yeah? A depression diet, I bet.”

Perhaps because of the light inside the small room - or lack thereof - the brown eyes staring at him were unusually dark, like two endless tunnels drawing him in. Thanks to the overwhelming lack of sound around the two of them, Mine could hear each shaky intake of breath and each time Tanimura swallowed, the smell of cheap laundry detergent filling his nostrils as he took one step closer, and then another.

When their lips finally met, his hands closed into fists by his side. He had missed the heat of that body so much he feared his touch would give away how desperate he was to feel it again.

In that, though, he was not alone. The hands that touched his face as they kissed were strong; the fingertips, insistent, gliding from his cheeks to the corners of his eyes and down to his chin, then up again until thumbs were resting on his temples. By then, his own hands had already found their way to the man’s shirt, clinging to it as if his life depended on it, pulling him closer until he could feel the gentle vibration of the cop’s heartbeat against his own chest.

His eyes fluttered closed as Tanimura continued to trace an invisible map all over his skin, the tip of his tongue slowly sneaking past his lips. He tasted of stale coffee and bubble gum and Mine wanted to drink it all in, he wanted to open his mouth and urge Tanimura to do the same, even if a part of him actually wished time would stop to keep things just the way they were, with those warm fingers cupping his head and grazing his scalp.

And when gentleness gave way to raw need, he could feel Tanimura moan into his mouth, the moist heat of his tongue claiming his own relentlessly until they were breathless and he had to pull away to recover, just to see the brown eyes snap open, unsteady, unsure, _relieved._

_‘I missed you.’_

The words never left his mouth because before he knew it, they were kissing again, hands and arms bumping clumsily against each other as they both tried to reach for different body parts at the same time, Mine’s fingers grabbing a handful of the other man’s thick, sleek hair; Tanimura squeezing his neck so hard he nearly choked.

“M-Masa…”

“Sorry…”

He coughed when the man finally let go, his hands resting on Tanimura’s sides when he pinned him against a wall, their foreheads touching, in silence. His face tingled thanks to the prickly facial hair that had been rubbing against it; his heart was pounding so fast and so hard he was sure he had a very visible erection, and he was not the only one, judging by the bulge tenting the front of the other man’s pants.

Still, neither made that one move that would take them to the next level.

It would be risky, for sure, to do it in a room that seemed to be accessible from at least three different places, but at that point he was not even thinking about getting caught. Their inertia as they looked at each other, chests heaving up and down, seemed to be a silent conversation their bodies were having with each other, and the soft tickling of Tanimura’s eyelashes against his nose was probably much more satisfying than some quick, desperate fuck.

He sighed when they hugged, and the other man rested his forehead against his shoulder after another soft kiss on his cheek. Who knew what kind of pain Tanimura was feeling, who knew what kind of nightmare he had at night… He would do whatever he could to at least relieve some of that burden, even though he was not exactly sure he would do that much of a great job taking care of another human being, considering how difficult it was to take care of himself, for starters.

After very long minutes of silence, Tanimura drew in a long breath and finally took a step back.

“Come,” he said, grabbing his hand with a faint smile. “Let me show you around.”

And then, Mine found himself outside again, but that time the maze of Little Asia didn’t look as intimidating before.

“So you’ve been holed up here the entire time,” he said.

“Yeah. I need to… find my center again,” Tanimura replied, and under the yellowish sunlight Mine noticed he looked even more pale and exhausted. “I grew up here, did you know?”

Mine chose to ignore the question. He knew it, but just because his stalkerish habits when he was still an intern at Prosecutor Kuroda’s office included looking at files he was not supposed to look at.

“Yeah…” Tanimura then continued, his eyes filled with melancholy as he watched kids play ball in a small yard ahead. “I just want those kids to know what affection is. That not everything is lost.”

“It’s a noble cause.”

When then they stopped, Mine knew that was his chance to say what he had been meaning to ever since entering that place.

“Do you… want to hang out with an adult for a change?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to sound much more confident that he actually was. “I can make dinner.”

The suggestion made Tanimura shake his head with a saddened smile.

“Or we can go out to eat--“

“Mine.”

The interruption made his heart skip a beat.

“I can't do this right now.”

Mine chewed on his lower lip for a moment, trying to remember what he had been planning to say in case he got turned down.

“I wouldn't…” Tanimura continued, looking just as lost and confused. “You know, that time we were together--“

“It doesn't have to be a date.”

“No, no, it’s not— It's not that. I… I don't know how to explain,” he heard the other man say in response, raking his fingers through his hair. “I just can't give you anything good. I'm tired. Everyday it’s a struggle to get out of bed, I’m trying to get myself together, “ he whispered. “I just... I need to be on my own for a while. Sorry.”

“Understood,” Mine replied without missing a beat. “I won't bother you, then.”

The truth was that he hadn’t even heard what Tanimura had said after the “that time we were together” part. Did he regret it? From the way he had made it sound, he was obviously not looking forward to a rerun.

“You're not a bother,” Tanimura whispered in response, but Mine didn’t hear that either.

“Let me know if you... need anything,” he replied, still trying to organize his own thoughts as he looked around, trying to remember where the closest exit was.

After stealing a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Tanimura had lowered his head, and the shadow that covered his face as night began to fall made him look at least ten years older.

++++

Still looking at the cabin where his father was staying, Akihito bit his lip, fingertips mindlessly tapping the wooden rail in front of him.

Now that things had finally calmed down and no one was fighting, now that for once people were not whispering about Liu Fei Long and the Russians and other conspiracy theories, he finally had time to just… breathe.

He was about to get married.

Married, of all things! And to Asami Ryuichi, no less.

How had they come to that?

And then there was his father, that stubborn old man...

To have him and his parents around him at the same time was like two halves of his life coming together in a violent, awkward collision. He had changed, he was no longer the harebrained, careless kid his parents knew. Or maybe he was, but a different version of that kid.

His version post-Asami Ryuichi.

 _‘Asami…’_ he thought, eyes closed as distant memories filled his mind.

The things each of them had gone through before they met each other, who they used to be… There had to be truth in what they said, that loss and love changed you in ways you never expected.

“What’s on your mind?”

Asami’s soft voice right next to his ear made him jump, but he quickly gave in to the man’s touch as he wrapped an arm around his waist and hugged him from behind.

“Family,” Akihito answered after a shrug.

“What about it?”

 _‘Everything about it,’_ he thought of responding, but the idea of a lengthy, philosophical conversation just before lunchtime did not sound appealing.

“That buffoon over there,” he answered instead, tilting his head towards the man walking away from his cabin not that far ahead.

“That buffoon over there cares about you.”

When he turned his head to the side, he noticed Asami was also looking at the narrow path below, and his voice unusually casual and empathetic.

“Tell me again what the two of you talked about?” Akihito asked, narrowing his eyes.

Three days prior, when Asami and his father had returned from their unexpected hiking trip, neither  seemed inclined to talk much about it. Curiosity aside, Akihito had been too glad the two of them had made it back to the main house in one piece to keep trying to extract answers Asami wasn’t willing to give, but now that the man was openly giving his father such a free pass, he felt he deserved an explanation.

“I told you already.”

“Jog my memory.”

With a sigh, Asami took a step to the side and turned to face him, elbows resting on the wooden railing as he spoke.

“Animal rights… career choices…” he said. “Food…”

“All those hours, and _that’s_ what you two talked about?”

“We talked about you too,” the other man calmly responded, dismissing the photographer’s very obvious gasp of surprise. “He is a good man.”

Akihito raised an eyebrow.

“Who are you and what have you done to Asami?”

“Ryuichi.”

“Pfff…” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at the man’s insistence in having him address him by his full name. “Fine, what have you done to _Asami Ryuichi_?”

“No, _Ryuichi_. Call me Ryuichi,” the man corrected, his piercing eyes fixated on his face. “Say it. It’s about time you get used to it.”

Akihito felt his face grow warm as blood rushed to tint his cheeks with an embarrassed pinkish glow.

“Nah…” he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“‘ _Nah’_ , what is that mean supposed to mean?”

“It’s too common of a name,” Akihito replied, eyes averted to some random point behind Asami’s head. “You’re not common.”

“You don’t like my name?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh?”

The photographer clicked his tongue, uncomfortable with the stifling heat of the man’s body as he moved closer, the strong hand on his hip forcing him to turn around so that their faces were a mere inch from each other.

“It’s not… Look, I studied with at least five different Ryuichis in school, it just—“

But then Asami was already sticking his tongue down his throat, stealing his breath away. When his nails grazed the back of his neck to keep his head in place, coaxing his lower lip into his mouth to suck it, Akihito didn’t even feel bad at the realisation his mind had gone completely blank.

It was not as if he actually wanted to finish that lame justification, anyway.

“Say it,” the baritone voice commanded when they parted for air.

“Hmm?”

“Ryuichi. Say it.”

Even without opening his eyes, he could tell Asami was staring at him, waiting for his answer.

What an annoying, obsessive man.

“ _Ryuichi,_ ” he then whispered, his voice coming out strangely hoarse and serious. “Happy now?”

“You’re blushing.”

“It’s because you won’t stop pestering me!”

After Asami bit his neck and chuckled softly against his skin, Akihito pushed him away with a whimper that was aroused and annoyed in equal amounts.

Why was his heart beating that fast? It was just a name, and a rather ordinary name at that.

No need to get so flustered.

“A-sami…” he panted, trying to regain some of his composure as a pair of eager hands moved to the fly of his pants. “Stop.”

Not that he actually wanted him to, but at that pace his body really wouldn’t hold out and he wanted to be in his best shape when they got to Hawaii.

Apparently, so did Asami, because as soon as the words left his mouth, the man cleared his throat, patted his hip and averted his eyes back to the snowy path below.

“Where’s your father going?” he asked.

“Not to Hawaii…”

“You two haven’t talked yet?”

In silence, the photographer merely shook his head. And how ridiculous was that, really? Even Asami had made his peace with the old man at that point...

“What are you waiting for? He’s walking incredibly slowly.”

The words made him look at the path below, just for him to realize that yes, his stubborn father was taking deliberately small, sluggish steps towards the exit, as if asking to be approached.

Without waiting any longer, Akihito made his way down the stairs and rushed to catch up with him.

“Dad.”

The older man stopped on his tracks, shoulders stiff, and slowly turned around.

“Give him a chance,” Akihito then said, opening his arms before letting them fall limply by his side. “He's not the monster you think he is.”

“No. He’s not.”

The response took him by surprise, especially because he realized the man in front of him was looking at the balcony where Asami was, but there didn’t seem to be any trace of anger in his voice, nor in his face.

“If he were... he wouldn't look at you like that,” he heard his father continue. “And he must really care about you, to put up with all my nagging.”

When the two of them chuckled, Akihito felt a lump form in his throat.

“Y-You can stay for the wedding, if you want,” he whispered, blinking fast.

As usual, his eyes were getting moister than they should, even more so now that his father’s lips had tightened in a shaky, childish pout.

By the time the man put down the suitcase and took a step forward to hug him, they were both bawling, much to the dismay of all their fierce ancestors.

Somewhere inside one of the cabins, his mother was probably rolling her eyes. Asami would never let it die down - it seemed that he took great pleasure in suggesting he was too much of a cry baby.

Well… turned out overactive tear ducts were a trademark of House Takaba, and there was nothing he could do about that.

“Let's go back inside,” Akihito said, taking a step back and turning around to wipe his tears with the hem of his T-shirt.

“Akihito, son, wait,” his father replied, grabbing him by the elbow. “When I said I was ashamed of you—“

“Let's forget about it.”

“No,” the man insisted. “No, you—you have to know… It was not true.”

“I know.”

When his father sniffled again, Akihito felt his chest fill with relief.

His old man still loved him, after all.

“I'm not ashamed of you,” his father continued, giving his shoulders a firm squeeze as he spoke. “I'm lucky, so lucky, to be your father.”

“That's good to hear,” the photographer replied, grinning. “I'm glad you're staying.”

“Yeah,” Takaba Yoshiro responded, nodding as he took off his glasses to wipe his tears away. “Me too.”

“Let me carry your bag…”

And as they walked back to the main house, where they would all gather soon to prepare for a very long trip, Akihito looked up once again.

Asami was still watching them, sweatpants and robe shining like a royal gown under the bright rays of sunshine, his dignified posture and the halo of sunlight around his head making him look like a god among men.

++++

With a tired sigh, Mine unlocked the door to his apartment and placed his keys on the coffee table.

_What a rollercoaster of a day._

He should have known things were bound to go downhill as soon as Prosecutor Kuroda summoned him to his office, prompting an interaction for which he had not been remotely ready, not by a long shot.

He still hadn't figured out how he felt about the man being his brother, and to be told Asami Ryuichi expected him to have power of attorney in relation to his businesses only made him even more confused.

Why would his former boss trust him with that kind of position? At what point had he gone from the subordinate in charge of taking flowers to his mother's grave to the one making decisions about his professional future?

If anything, he had proven he was good at keeping his mouth shut, since he was not big on talking about his own past, let alone other people’s...

And then he had gone to do what he had actually returned to Tokyo to do, even though he knew it was risky, even though there were high chances of Tanimura turning him down.

His distant gaze fell upon the table he had set before leaving home. Fresh flowers, two placemats, two sake cups, two everything.

For once he would have a drink, and for once he had cooked a meal that went against all of his diet protocols, but Tanimura liked kamameshi and tofu and for once he wanted to know what it was like to have a normal dinner with someone.

And because that kind of dinner could probably lead to something else, he had even spent an entire week eating pineapple in the hopes that when he finally returned to Tokyo, all the medication he had to take wouldn’t make his semen taste bitter.

Yes, he had planned that much.

Given how the evening had turned out, the empty table was an excellent reminder as to why he hardly ever bothered to make plans at all.

Stealing a last glance at the untouched dining set, he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and headed to the kitchen to get himself something to drink. Inside the fridge, he ignored the trays of food that were neatly arranged side by side, picked a bottle of cold water and dragged his feet to the balcony.

The cool breeze that welcomed him was both soothing and sobering. As he closed his eyes, his lips remembered the taste of stale coffee and bubble gum, his face remembered the prickly beard and the soft fingertips…

Tanimura liked him, he knew it.

Even so, he hadn’t had the strength to stand his ground, he had left when the other man had asked him to leave because he was not good at dealing with that and for a moment he sincerely believed the problem was him.

In a way, he still thought it was, but he figured that was just the malfunctioning part of his brain telling him things that were not true.

He hoped they were not true.

However, as night fell and covered the city below with a purplish glow, he felt loneliness wrap itself around his chest like a cold blanket, squeezing his heart, filling him with a profound feeling of sadness.

After stabbing what was left of his cigarette on an ashtray, he walked back into his living room in search for some reading material, if only to distract him from the gloomy thoughts that threatened to hijack his mind.

“The book of John, chapter two, verses one to eleven,” he read aloud, after clearing his throat. _“Jesus Changes Water Into Wine.”_

The prosaic quality of that particular passage made him feel like he was talking to a friend, even though, as usual, he was the only active participant in that conversation.

 _“On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, ‘They have no more wine’,”_ he read on. _“‘Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. ‘My hour has not yet come.’”_

He paused to take a gulp of water, his eyes gleefully dropping to the part he liked best.

 _“His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you’,”_ he said, before chuckling quietly. “Oh, Mary…”

He put down the heavy, hardcover book, and averted his eyes to the ceiling with a vacant smirk on his lips. The woman’s response, as he saw it, was the perfect definition of sass. Strong-willed, ever loving Mary… Knowing that her son was the chosen one didn’t stop her from being a mother, after all, and she did what all mothers did best…

Driving their kids crazy.

Maybe that was why he kept going back to that passage, even though John was not his favorite book. To see how even the holiest of figures still had their petty moments made him feel at least a little bit better about his humanity… his very flawed, very lonely humanity.

The tears that escaped the corners of his eyes pooled at the hair near his ears and forced him to sit up straight. He wished that one day he would close his eyes and feel peace instead of anger, he wished that once, only once, he could go to bed without swallowing at least five different drugs, he wished he were strong enough to heal on his own.

What still kept him going?

He didn’t even know anymore.

Feeling like he was on some sort of auto-pilot, he got up and walked into the kitchen to wash his glass - he was ready to go to bed and just call it a night. But when the glass slipped from his hand and hit the sink, shattering into shards of all different shapes and sizes, he figured God was giving him another option.

He could check out _now,_ if he wanted.

He could check out just like his own mother had.

And it was that memory that made him grit his teeth in anger, crushing a particularly large shard of glass until it was nothing but sharp crumbles cutting through the palm of his hand, covering the sink with red.

When he finally let them go, he felt like throwing up. The open wounds in his palm made pain shoot through his fingers, his wrist and all the way up to his arm, but at least that kind of pain he could handle.

The meticulous work of removing each bit of glass from his flesh, of cleaning it and bandaging it… that he could handle.

He could handle a lot of things, it turned out, and above everything else, he could handle himself.

His mind could be his worst enemy but he was not going to fall.

He was not going to break.

Saying his prayers as he filled a small suitcase with clothes, his two pistols and a myriad bottles of medication, Mine finally changed into his pajamas and got into bed.

On the bedside table, his first-class ticket to Hawaii, with all the details of a flight he would be taking in less than 12 hours.

He could do it.

If things got bad he could always remember Mary, Jesus, God and Saint George, and hope that at least one of them could come to his rescue if the darkness threatening to swallow him came far too close.

He had to believe that at least one of them was listening.

“Hey, Jesus,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling as he lay on his back, his bandaged hand resting on top of the covers. “If you have something to say, now would be a good time.”

But, as usual, his voice was the only one he heard.

After turning to the side, he reached for his medication, downed it with a large gulp of water, and went to sleep.

++++

**_Kaho’olawe, Hawaii, two days later_ **

 

The sound of waves crashing behind him made Asami Ryuichi’s procurer close his eyes for a long moment before the first guests began to arrive.

Hawaiian springs were a balm to his soul.

To his left, a lonely musician struck the chords of an ukulele, and the quiet, unfamiliar song made Sachi feel like it was only the two of them stranded in that island, even if the luxurious venue half a mile away  was far from deserted. Performers, pastry chefs, security operatives, ikebana specialists… all of them working like little ants, running on very few hours of sleep as they prepared the final details of the great party.

In front of him, his boss’s jet finally lowered its staircase to allow its passengers to disembark, and he urged the ukulele player by his side to play something a little bit more joyful.

“Aloha,” the procurer then said, with a wide smile. “Welcome to Kaho’olawe.”

His eyes darted back and forth when the small crowd seemed far too busy getting out of the jet to pay him any mind, except, of course, for the tall man right next to Takaba Akihito, whose wayfarer sunglasses hid golden, hawkish irises that were probably fixated on him.

The unseen stare made the procurer smirk and adjust his sari, smoothing imaginary wrinkles in the rich purple fabric before leading his finely manicured hands to his hair, checking his ghoonghat veil to make sure his head was properly covered.

That damn cut on his nape kept throbbing painfully, even more now that the tropical heat was beginning to make him sweat.

“And here I was, expecting to see flowered shirts and leis,” Asami Ryuichi finally whispered, taking off his sunglasses and reaching the procurer before anyone else. “What’s with the Indian attire?”

“I take pride in giving people what they least expect.”

“For good and for worse?”

That question, though, was left unanswered. Takaba Akihito had finally caught up with his fiance, joined by two individuals that could only be his parents, and Sachi took that chance to bow respectfully, knowing that his boss’s piercing, relentless gaze had not left his face for a single moment.

“Takaba-sama,” he said, “here we are at last.”

“Wow… this place is really something,” the photographer replied, looking around in awe, like a little kid in a candy shop. “Look at all those tents! Is that a Ferris Wheel?!?”

“It is, brought especially for the occasion,” Sachi replied, lacing his fingers as he looked at the different environments he had created, all of them with very specific attractions. “I’m sure you and your guests will have a lot to explore.”

As he spoke, he could notice a pair of bespectacled eyes fixated on him, showing just as much fascination even though their target was not exactly the festive attractions around them.

“Please allow me to ask,” the older man finally said, “...are you a transexual?”

“ _Yoshiro!_ ” the woman next to him hissed, dark eyes going wide.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I guess the word is transgender?”

“No, sir,” Sachi replied. “I am simply a man who has opted to create a feminine persona for myself.”

“Ah, so you are a drag queen?”

“A crossdresser.”

“But what is the dif--”

“Yoshiro, that’s enough,” the woman, who had to be Takaba Akihito’s mother, interrupted, sounding extremely apologetic. “Please forgive my husband, he can be a bit inconvenient at times.”

“Not at all,” Sachi replied. “It’s understandable, gender identities are indeed a complex issue. I wish more people would ask instead of just making assumptions,” he went on, with a subdued smile. “May I?”

When he took a step closer to Akihito’s father, his  wife looked profoundly confused, but assented anyway.

“You’re very cute, sir,” the procurer whispered, before leaving a very purple, glittery kiss mark on the man’s cheek, chuckling when his face turned a fierce shade of red at the unexpected gesture.

“Sachi, a minute?”

Asami Ryuichi, however, had no time for those silly antics. Having already reached the entrance to the place’s main facility, he was holding one of the doors open, waiting for him as the rest of his entourage headed the opposite direction.

“Your head is bleeding. What happened?”

The procurer automatically led one of his hands to the back of his head, just to find the tiniest of spots moist with what was obviously blood.

Of course, when it came to the man standing next to him, absolutely nothing went unnoticed.

“I fell down the stairs,” he lied, without a single moment of hesitation, raising an eyebrow as he held the stare.

“I guess that also explains the bruises?”

“Yes.”

And that was because he had covered himself in foundation and his makeup was absolutely flawless… He thought he had done a good job hiding the dark marks around one of his arms and neck…

In silence, Asami Ryuichi continued to stare at him, without blinking, telegraphing a very clear message that he had no problems understanding.

“Every couple has their fights,” he then said, voice still calm despite the intimidation techniques being deployed against him.

‘Is this answer what you expect to hear?’ he silently asked himself.

Probably not, but if anything, the idea of a domestic fight seemed more realistic than just him accidentally rolling down the stairs.

After another long moment of cold, calculating silence, his boss finally draw in a short breath and walked towards the couch.

“Sometimes I wonder if hiring you was a mistake,” he said, before taking his seat.

“How come?”

“You're good at what you do. Too good even,” the man explained, as the procurer sat on an armchair on the opposite side of the room. “For all I know, you could be lying to me right now.”

“Lying?”

“Wei wants to eliminate Fei Long,” Asami Ryuichi continued, crossing his legs and reaching for a pack of cigarettes inside the pocket of his pants. “If he asked you to help him do so, what would you say?” he asked, leaning forward after lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag. “What did you say?”

“Fei Long is not coming to the wedding,” Sachi replied, fingers laced on top of his lap as he gently tilted his head to the side.

“No. He’s not.”

And again, silence.

The procurer knew that the man in front of him was noticing every subtle change in his posture, in his breathing, in his pulse: anything that could confirm the notion that yes, he was lying, and should be either eliminated or neutralized immediately.

“Still, Kirishima suggested that I postponed the ceremony.”

“And looked for another wedding planner, I guess.”

“His reasons to be concerned are legitimate,” the man responded. “If circumstances ever forced me to choose between Akihito and my business, which do you think I would pick?”

A small smirk curled the corners of Sachi’s lips.

That was a dangerous round of Russian Roulette, to try and blindside a man who could read the circumstances so well, a man who was usually able to detect lies even when they were still many miles away...

Keeping his head so close to the lion's mouth could be terrifying, but also filled him to with a strange kind of thrill.

“Honestly?” the procurer then replied, leaning forward as well. “I think you would never allow the circumstances to corner you like that.”

“Yes, and I expect the same from you,” his boss quietly replied, his relentless stare still boring into him, trying to pierce a hole past his ironclad intentions. “Don't disappoint me.”

“I won't.”

After stubbing out his Dunhill on the closest crystal ashtray, Asami Ryuichi got to his feet and glared at him one last time before walking out the door.

Such obvious, unabashed suspicions.

He waited a few more minutes before leaving the facility himself, noticing that there were eyes following him no matter where he went. How he had managed to get to the most remote carpark area without a single soul spying on him was a mystery to him, but he wasted no time going down the manhole conveniently obscured by the cars around it.

What no one knew, other than Asami Ryuichi and his closest associates, was that the idyllic island they were all in had once been targeted by Japanese forces during the war, and the plethora of underground passages was a good reminder that those sands had already seen a lot of blood.

“A bunker…” the procurer whisper, leaning against a damp wall as he tried to collect his thoughts and gather enough emotional strength to return to the surface with the same confident demeanour people expected of him. “What a horrible feeling…”

“Talking to yourself?”

A familiar female voice nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“Lord Almighty, Li!” he exclaimed, hand pressed to his chest as he tried to slow down his racing heart. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” the woman replied in a quiet, somber whisper. “All eyes are on you, I take it you know that?”

Without answering, Sachi drew in a long breath, letting his head rest against the wall as he stared at the dark, moldy ceiling.

Yes, he was very much aware of the trouble he was about to bring upon himself, but at least the woman’s presence reminded him he was not the only one whose life was about to take a turn for the worse.

Suoh Kazumi would not be pleased with his baby mama either...

“Isn’t it strange?” he asked quietly, letting his thoughts run wild for a moment. “Above us, nature at its best. White sand, crystalline waters, palm trees…”

With his eyes closed, he let the memories of the soothing Hawaiian breeze calm his nerves.

“And then down here, a reminder of humanity at its worst…” he added, eyes now open and vacantly fixated on a broken chair at the end of a dark hallway. “Interesting choice for a wedding venue, don’t you think?”

It was Li Jiao’s turn to remain silent.

When she spoke again, it was to bring them both back to reality and the task at hand.

“We should go back,” she said, getting ready to climb the small ladder leading to the road above. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

A long day… Now that was one way to look at it.

“Yeah,” he answered, saving his fears for another day and putting on his most convincing smile as he returned to the car park as well..

++++

“So two kids have gone down with measles...” Tanimura heard the other manager of the orphanage say, as the two of them looked at bills that needed to be paid and the latest medical reports.

“I thought we had all of them vaccinated?”

“The younger ones, yes...” Mama Si replied, taking off her glasses and throwing her head back to stretch her neck. “But the two of them are sixteen... No, seventeen. Twins, just arrived from Myanmar.”

“Then we need to start another campaign,” Masa replied, pushing the papers aside and getting up for a much deserved break after five hours of nonstop administrative work.

“Those things spread fast, we can’t take the risk.”

After a long, tired yawn, he grabbed the coffee pot and helped himself to a mug of bitter, semi-cold coffee.

“What’s his name?” he heard the woman behind him ask.

“Whose?”

“The cutie you were with last Friday?”

He felt some of the drink go up his nose when he choked, his eyes filling with tears as he coughed.

“Y-You saw us?” he stuttered.

“I had forgotten to take my keys so I had to come back,” the other manager replied, standing up to get some coffee herself. “So yeah, I saw you two kissing,” she shrugged. “And what a kiss... What a kiss...”

The mischievous smirk curling the corners of her mouth made Tanimura shift on his feet, not so much because of embarrassment but because the memories of that encounter still made his heart race.

“You think the kids saw us too?” he asked quietly, taking another sip of his coffee as he stared at the ground.

“Nah,” the woman replied, pulling on the hem of a leopard print bodycon dress that was a bit too daring for her age, and completely inappropriate for work. “I can’t even remember the last time I was kissed like that. How did it feel?

“It felt...”

_‘Masa...’_

Whenever he closed his eyes he could still hear the man’s smooth voice ringing in his ears, he could see the melancholy ever so present in his eyes, even though they burnt so brightly every time they were together... His touch, his lips, his skin... the scent of sandalwood and saffron that lingered in his clothes even three days later…

“Like my soul had left my body,” Tanimura whispered in response. “And then came back like... fire.”

Next to him, Mama Si sipped her coffee with a resigned little smile.

“So what’s his name?”

“Mine.”

“Mine...” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose we’ll be seeing him very often from now on, am I right?”

“No.”

The manager’s amused expression turned into a confused frown.

“No?”

“I told him I needed some time on my own.”

“Eh?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “But you like him.”

“Yeah.”

“But you told him not to come back.”

Tanimura clicked his tongue, uncomfortable with where that conversation was headed.

“Yeah.”

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“Is he... a serial killer?” the woman insisted.

“No,” he replied, with a somewhat angry scoff.

The truth was that he really didn’t like thinking about how many people Mine had killed on Asami Ryuichi’s orders.

“Is he—?”

“Mama, it's just not the right time, OK?”

“What did he come here for?”

Given the woman’s obstinate expression as she put her hands on her hips, it was clear she was not going to let the subject die down until she got all the answers she wanted.

“I don't know, to see me?” Tanimura answered, scratching the back of his head after an annoyed shrug. “To invite me for dinner, I—“

“What are you afraid of?”

“I'm not afraid!” he snapped back, perhaps much faster than he should.

“You sent him away!”

“Yeah, so?”

“ _So_?”

He had to bite the inside of his lower lip at the manager’s insistence. What was the point of talking about it, anyway? He was going through a rough patch, it was not as if he could bother to look for romance, or to face yet another fiasco in his love life...

“OK, maybe I'm just afraid it's not going to work.”

“Why wouldn't it?”

“It never does,” he said, raising his hands. “Look what happened to Akihito.”

“Akihito was _committed_!”

“He was single when we met,” Tanimura corrected.

“Single, but not available,” Mama Si argued, and he knew she was saying nothing but the truth. “Not him, and not the other ones you brought here either.”

“You speak as if I'm always bringing men here...”

“That's not what I meant,” she interjected. “What I meant is that you are always picking the ones that can't be with you, why do you torture yourself?”

“And can anyone choose who they fall for?” he retorted. “From like... a catalog, that's not how it works!”

“Maybe. But you know what? I was always complaining that the fruit from the mart is bitter, until the day I realized I always went shopping after rush hour, so of course all the good fruit had already been taken.”

“I don't think you're making a valid comparison.”

“ _Aye_!” the woman exclaimed, waving a dismissive hand in front of her face. “You know what I mean!”

“I don't, actually.”

“I mean, sometimes you think it is the universe conspiring against you, but it’s just you,” she explained, hands outstretched in front of her to give her argument even more emphasis. “ _You,_ against you.”

Tanimura blinked rapidly, painfully aware that the manager was about to get to the bottom of the problem.

“Maybe you just need to go shopping earlier,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe you just need to stop sending the right guy away.”

With a defeated sigh, he leaned against the wall, and tilted his head upwards to stared at the ceiling.

Maybe Mine _was_ the right guy, and that was what scared him, after all.

“That's it, isn't it?” Mama Si whispered, and her voice, for once, was soothing and understanding. “You're not afraid that things will go wrong with him,” she said. “You're afraid that they will go right, for once.”

When she patted him on the shoulder, he forced his eyes back to her face, knowing that there was nothing left to say in his defense.

“Woman, why do you pester me?” he whimpered, rubbing his eyes.

“Go.”

“Go where?”

“You know where.”

When he did nothing but stare back at her in confusion, the woman wasted no time in smacking him upside the head.

“ _Go_!”

And because she wouldn’t let him catch a break until he was out in the street heading to Mine’s place, he found himself standing in front of the man’s fancy building half an hour later, wearing a pair of very old sweatpants and a T-shirt, his beard still completely out of control.

Not how he had envisioned he would look like on their second date, but at least Mine didn’t seem to find him that repulsive when they had last met.

After drawing in a long breath to soothe his nerves, he ignored the receptionist’s suspicious looks as he approached the elevator and swiped the card Asami Ryuichi had given him, got into it, and tried to think of what to say the moment Mine opened the door.

A pointless concern, he would soon find out, as he knocked on the man’s door several times and no one showed up to open it.

“Mine?” he asked quietly, pushing the door open after using his spare key.

Once again, there was no response.

The man was not in the kitchen, the bedroom was empty and there was no one in the balcony.

Lost in thought, Tanimura touched the flowers that were beginning to go dry in the centrepiece decorating the dining table.

From the looks of it, Mine hadn’t been home in at least two days.

He had been too late.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some parts of this chapter and the next were inspired by the show The Leftovers, mainly [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBZDj4nTFNY) and [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3qTfWZJa5E) too. 


	79. House Takaba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
>
>> _ But if I go to the east, he is not there;   
>     if I go to the west, I do not find him. _
>> 
>> _ When he is at work in the north, I do not see him;   
>     when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him. _
>> 
>> _ But he knows the way that I take;   
>     when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold _
>> 
>> **Job 23**  
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls from under a rock, AGAIN!* XD I’m back! No long author’s notes because I know you want the wedding so I will not stand in the way.  
> 1) the picture of a man wrapped by flames Akihito takes during the triad war some chapters ago was actually inspired by [the work "Venezuela Crisis" by Ronald Schemidt, one of the most striking, shocking photos I have ever seen.](https://petapixel.com/2018/04/13/this-photo-of-a-man-on-fire-is-the-world-press-photo-of-the-year/)  
> 2) The tantric sex scene has been written but was not included here for editing purposes - if there is demand I might publish it as a deleted scene. XD  
> 3) Asami's past as shown in Finder no Souen makes Asami's background in this story canon divergent but other than differences in his family structure, I am sticking with the events in which he and Kuroda met and they are what the prosecutor refers to as "tumultuous circumstances" in this chapter.  
> 4) YES, I did add one extra chapter because I have decided to split the wedding in two parts: like, during the party and AFTER. Here is the first part, as full of fluff as it can be!

Mine Kyohei adjusted his earpiece, his posture impeccable as he alternated between keeping his eyes on the one person he was meant to protect and scanning their surroundings for any hidden threats. The crowd, albeit not entirely oblivious to the many men in suits that, like him, were stationed in each strategic corner of the venue, was too busy munching on their food or sipping their drinks to realize something was off.

But something _was_ off, and that meant the men in security could not afford to enjoy the party themselves.

“You should eat something,” said the girl he had been looking at, offering a plate filled with small sandwiches and _petit fours_. “You must be starving.”

“I’m okay, thank you.”

“Ah, you can’t eat these things, I’m sorry,” Maya then replied, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

When she reached for the fourth glass of champagne in less than one hour, Mine frowned.

“You should slow down.”

“Eh, I’m fine, what are you, my babysitter now?” she complained. “Plus you don’t have to follow me all the time… I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m your bodyguard.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.”

He watched as the girl led the flute of champagne to her lips, just to withdraw it, them bring it closer to her mouth again, and finally give up.

“There, happy now?” she asked, slightly dragging her vowels as she put the drink back on the table. “Kill-joy…”

“You can still enjoy the party without drinking so much.”

After a dismissive eyeroll, Maya walked towards a chair and sat down.

“Mine…”

‘“Yes?”

“I think it’s time I relieved you of your duties,” she said, after leaning forward so that her elbows were resting on her knees.

“You’re firing me?”

“See, this... This is the problem,” the girl then replied. “I know that this is a job. You’re my bodyguard and all but—” she said, pausing to rub her eyes. “I might suck at many things but if there’s one thing I’m really good at is... getting attached to people.”

“Minami used to be my bodyguard when my mother was alive, but to me he was always a friend,” she continued. “He still is, although now we barely see each other. But, uh... Well. I don’t know, maybe it’s because my mom was yakuza?”

He tried to keep a neutral expression even though his instinct was to frown. There seemed to be a certain disconnect between what Maya was saying and what she was thinking, her eyes were dull and distant and her body language was just as detached.

He had been there before, so he could tell from experience that it was _not good at all._

“We are not good at following rules. Lower your head... behave... don’t make eye contact, don’t engage…” the girl went on, apparently unaware of his concerns. “I was raised by people that couldn’t give two shits about status. The man you fell in love with doesn’t give two shits about status…”

Her pause, this time, seemed to be geared more towards him, to give him time to let the words sink in.

_The man you fell in love with…_

That was not the time, though, for him to dwell on his romantic misadventures.

“Maybe that’s why he’s always in the shit himself,” Maya chuckled quietly, before clearing his throat. “But anyway... uh... I like you. I... I know you’re my bodyguard and all but I like you. As a friend,” she said, the corners of her mouth pointing downward, as if she had been filled with the kind of unexplainable sadness he too felt sometimes. “And, uh... I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. If I’m going back to college in Japan or out of Japan, I’m... still trying to figure things out.”

When she raised her eyes to look at him, the golden orbs were bleak and resigned.

“And I don’t know what your plans are, and it’s not right to drag you along, you know?”

“I don’t mind being dragged along.”

It was the truth, after all. What was the big plan he was supposed to pursue? He didn’t have one. What was his aim, his purpose? He didn’t even know.

He would simply go where life took him.

“Really?” she asked, narrowing her eyes for a moment.

“I don’t have any plans.”

His voice showed no hesitation, but the girl continued to stare at him as if waiting for him to admit he was lying.

When it didn’t happen, she shrugged, and rubbed her palms on her thighs.

“Okay,” she said, a faint smile curving her lips. “But you have to promise that the day when what I want is not what you want, you’ll tell me.”

With a slow nod, he accepted the girl’s condition.

“You have my word.”

++++

After greeting an endless wave of old friends and relatives he hadn’t seen in years, Takaba Akihito excused himself and resumed his stroll along the island, quietly taking in the multitude of attractions hidden in every corner. Tables covered with silver trays and food that looked too pretty to be true, flower arrangements, fire pits, fire eaters, fireworks.

The scent of jasmine mixed with burning charcoal was strangely pleasing, and he closed his eyes for a moment to appreciate the faint smell of saltwater that also filled his nostrils the closer he got to the ocean.

All of that had been put together for him and Asami and yet his head was in the clouds, far, very far away. He felt serene, and was blissfully unaware of what and when they would, in fact, get married, and just as oblivious to people’s reactions around him.

It had been a very long time since he had last had a moment to himself, and now that he did, his mind was too busy roaming freely for him to pay much attention to his surroundings.

_Peace._

Perhaps that was what peace felt like.

As if following an invisible map drawn on sand, he walked past the Ferris Wheel and the last of the three stages, noticing that the music coming from them was loud enough to get guests roaring when one moved too close, but thanks to some miracle soundproof device, all it took was a five minute walk away from the small crowds for one to hear nothing but the sound of waves crashing on the shore.

“Oh…” he gasped, when he reached the last small area set up for the event.

Ahead of him, a multitude of totems displayed some of his best pictures - a private exhibit he did not remember approving when Sachi showed him the plans for the event.

“I really like it how you captured the clouds on this one.”

The familiar voice came from a totem removed from the others, further ahead.

“It’s not easy to take good pictures of the sky,” his father continued, nodding his approval as he continued to stare at a picture Akihito had taken in Tsumino, showing Asami in the bottom left corner of the frame staring at the ocean below, at the top of a hill, hands clasped together behind his back.

“Thanks,” he whispered in response, glancing at the reddish streaks cutting through the clouds in the picture before his eyes dropped to its title.

_‘Man at the top’_

“What camera were you using,” the older man asked, pushing his glasses down his nose to read the small print under the image. “Ah, I see. A Nikon D750, excellent choice.”  
Unable to find anything relevant to say in response, Akihito remained quiet, and the silence between them lingered for a long, strenuous minute before his old man asked the question he knew was long overdue.

“Your mother told me you can’t see very well,” he started, turning away from the totem to give him a concerned look. “What happened?”

“Brain injury.”  

“How?” 

“The Omi Alliance.”

“The syndicate?”

“I got caught in the middle of their conflict with the Tojo and... Asami,” Akihito added. “He saved me. I take it my mother told you that as well?”

“She did.”

Akihito himself was surprised at how easily the words flowed from his mouth, as if those memories belonged to a very distant and almost fictional part of his life, perhaps because what had happened at the occasion had come to him in the form of a narrative told by others. The attack that had put him in a coma, being buried alive and rescued by Asami, Fei Long and Tanimura, what had happened before, during and after Majima Makoto’s residence had gone up in flames… none of that were things he actually recalled.

Asami’s role in the entire situation, though, had been reported to him by different interlocutors and in different circumstances, so he knew that if there was anyone not to blame for his loss of vision, it had to be the man he was about to marry.

“Anyway…” he then continued, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans - the denim brushing against his fingers a reminder that he hadn’t yet gotten into his outrageously expensive wedding attire, much to Sachi’s despair. “It’s much better now but it was tough in the beginning.”

“What’s changed?”

“Everything is blurred. I can’t make out distances or depths very well. Colours seem to have gotten brighter, though,” he shrugged, as they slowly start walking towards another totem. “But it varies a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Depends on the day.”

“And still your pictures have never been better.”

“I know.”

“I did tell you one day, though…”

“It’s not about seeing but feeling. Yeah. You did.”

With a faint smile, he turned to the side to steal a quick glance at the man talking to him.

Back in the day, that had been the one thing he had aspired to: to be as famous a photographer as his father.

“This one here... _This one_ can get you into the Magnum Club.”

“Pfff…”

“What? I’m serious.”

Akihito shook his head after another scoff, watching as his old man continued to point at the picture of a man wrapped in flames running with his face covered by a T-shirt and a Molotov cocktail firmly secured in his hand.

“Really?” he asked at last, a strange mix of hope and guilt filling his chest as he too averted his gaze to the totem and its caption.

_‘War’_

“Why, I’m sure it crossed your mind at some point,” his father replied. “You know what they are looking for. This is raw, brutal. It lingers on you. It tells a story.”

Akihito’s gaze quickly dropped to the ground. He hadn’t even been able to give that picture a proper name. In fact, he didn’t even like looking at it. The circumstances in which it had been taken did not make him proud, and the fact he had been shot in the leg minutes prior, with a triad war breaking all around them, made him think that the adrenaline pumping through his veins might have clouded his judgment.

“Is that what we do?” Akihito asked quietly, eyes still fixated on his own sneakers. “Tell stories?”

When his father said nothing in response, he figured he might as well continue.

“When I look at this picture I feel so guilty,” he explained. “Who was that man, could I have saved him?”

To make matters worse, he had barely been able to see what had happened afterwards. Much before he had the chance to return to the battlefield, Shinada had pushed him into a car and confiscated his camera.

“What if I had... run and rolled him on the ground instead of snapping a picture? Why didn’t I?” he went on, his voice low and uncertain. “What is a picture, compared to a life?”

“A picture can save many lives.”

With a bitter snort, Akihito shifted on his feet.

He had heard that line far too many times, but the more pictures he took, the less convinced he was.

“You remember the pictures Nachtwey took in Somalia, don’t you?” his father then asked.

“Yes.”

“Without them, the Red Cross would have never gotten the donations they did. Wouldn’t have been able to save lives.”

“Yes, but this was a triad war. This,” Akihito retorted, pointing at the photo on the totem, “... this saves no one.”

“You might not be saving lives in the literal sense of the word, but you are saving stories, Akihito,” the older man replied. “This is what we do, we document things that no one else would be able to see if it weren’t for us, things that no one else is willing to show.”

When he raised his eyes to his father’s face, he was hit with the obvious realization that his old man had seen and been through hell up close far too many times, what with being a much more experienced investigative reporter than him.

And if he had not lost faith in his job even after everything he had been through, then he had no right to drop the ball either.

“Our work is an act of resistance, son,” Takaba Yoshiro added, and although his voice was calm and soothing, his eyes carried a hunted shadow that even Akihito’s blurred sight was able to capture with perfect clarity. “Don’t take what you do for granted.”

After clearing his throat, the man gave him two soft pats on the shoulder and moved on to the next totem.

_An act of resistance._

Following closely behind, Akihito let out a relieved sigh.

It was easy to lose sight of what his purpose was when everyone around him seemed to sort out their problems with a stash of money and guns. He hadn’t been trained to use either properly, so he was tremendously grateful to his father for reminding him that his power and strength actually resided elsewhere.

++++

_“She needs help.”_

_“What about you?”_

_“What about me?”_

_“You are Mine Kyohei, aren’t you?”_

Sitting on a small stool inside a rest tent, Maya heard the exchange between her bodyguard and her father’s counsellor in silence.

 _“Asami promised to introduce me to you, but alas…”_ the woman continued.

_“It has been a busy year.”_

_“If you don’t mind me asking, are you seeing a therapist?”_

After a brief pause, the girl heard her bodyguard reply.

_“No. I don’t have the time.”_

_“Well, then, aren’t you lucky? I specialise in patients with a busy life.”_

_“I don’t know if I’ll be in Japan for much longer.”_

_“Oh… Well, take my card, just in case.”_

When the woman entered the tent to join her, Maya helped her find a place to sit.

“Oh thanks, that’s very kind,” the counsellor then whispered. “New places are always a challenge. Plus sandy terrains…”

“Not the easiest ones to walk on with a white cane.”

“No, no,” the woman chuckled. “But your father has made arrangements to make things easier for me, I’m very grateful.”

“Yeah.”

“So, how have you been?”

Maya scratched the back of her neck in response.

What was she expecting to hear? What had Mine told her?

“I’m fine,” she answered with a shrug.

“Are you? Your bodyguard is pretty worried.”

“He’s always worried.”

“That’s his job, isn’t it?”

The girl forced out a chuckle, but it came out dull and lifeless and contributed very little to her case.

Maybe that was the problem.

 _Lifeless_.

That was how she felt.

“I don’t know why I feel like this sometimes,” she said, lacing her fingers on top of her lap. “My father and Akihito are getting married today. I should be happy and all but I just don’t… feel anything.”

“Have you been drinking more than usual lately?”

“Is that why he was worried?”

“About the drinking? Not exactly.”

Maya suspected she knew where that conversation was going, but she didn’t know if she was ready to talk about it.

“He must think I’m a weakling,” she said, chuckling again even though her eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

“No, he doesn’t,” the counsellor replied, her voice low and soothing. “But he worries that you might be giving up.”

When the first tears streamed down her face, the girl averted her gaze to her own feet, even though the woman next to her couldn’t see anything, anyway.

“People sometimes misunderstand the concept of suicidal ideation,” the woman went on, and the mere word made Maya sob quietly. “The truth is that it can come to us in all shapes and sizes, and not everyone affected by it resorts to grand gestures of despair.”

How could have he known, how obvious had she been?

Mine… _Do you ever think about that too?_

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Instead of consoling her, though, the counsellor remained immobile, her eyes fixated on the ground, her face still showing the same amiable, open expression of some minutes prior.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you been taking antidepressants?”

“I was, but they made my blood pressure drop so I stopped.”

“I see.”

The lack of questions and probing gave her the strange sensation she was having a monologue.

Perhaps that was the point?

“Do you…” Maya whispered, after clearing her throat. “Do you have to tell my father about this?”

For very long seconds, the counsellor did not respond.

“Give me a yen,” she then said.

“I don’t have any coins on me.”

“Give me a bill then. Any bill.”

With a confused frown, Maya rummaged in her pocket until she found a crumpled one thousand yen bill, smoothed it out, and passed it to the woman in front of her.

“Congratulations, Hayashi-san,” Majima Makoto replied. “You are now officially my patient.”

Despite the heavy, thick fog clouding her own judgment, the girl understood what those words meant, and smiled.

“Same time next week?” she asked quietly, but once again, there was no response.

Instead, the woman stood up and she did the same almost automatically. Before she knew it, the counsellor’s arms were wrapped around her, and Maya noticed that she smelled of cinnamon and honey and that she was soft, warm, _welcoming_ , her hug filling her chest with relief, reminding her of home, quietly letting her know that there was still a way out.

++++

Treading the narrow path leading to the top of a small hill, Takaba Akihito continued to snap pictures of the island, thoroughly ignoring the slight flutter at the pit of his stomach and the fact he was actually supposed to be either getting married or entertaining his guests in the gigantic arena down below.

“How do you like it?”

Asami’s voice behind him would have been reason for great surprise - as he suspected the other man wanted it to be - but his keen sense of hearing had detected his fiance’s presence much before he announced himself.

“It’s perfect,” Akihito replied quietly, smiling as he put away his camera and turned around. “It’s better than I imagined.”

“Then why are you not downstairs with everyone else?”

“Same question applies to you.”

With a smirk, he raised his eyes to the golden orbs fixated on him.

“I’m a private person. _You_ , on the other hand...” Asami replied, his tone reticent as he extended one of his hands. “Come.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Despite the vague answer, Akihito chose not to complain - he was far too happy with the fact Asami had chosen not to pester him about his obvious nervousness.

“Wow…!” he found himself saying, not even ten minutes later.

At the very top of the hill, a spa had been built to accommodate two massage tables, a hot tub and another handful of facilities the photographer had a hard time identifying.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to what looked like a small pond surrounded by rocks.

“It’s a mud pool,” Asami replied, swiftly pulling his polo shirt over his head and dropping it on a nearby chair.

“A mud pool? No way.”

Despite his curiosity, his eyes didn’t rest on the greyish surface for too long: right next to it, Asami had just stepped out of his pants and now Akihito had no choice but to salivate, watching the toned muscles of the man’s thighs come into full display.

“Brand new white boxers…” Akihito whispered. “Bad choice for a dip in the mud…”

“I am taking them off,” Asami replied. “And so are you.”

“Who says I’m wearing boxers?”

“Would you really be that bold, to go commando on your wedding day…”

“I go commando more often than you imagine,” the photographer replied, losing his T-shirt and unbuckling his jeans with a raised eyebrow, his lips curled up in a mischievous smirk as his privates came into view.

“Oh, I know that,” Asami whispered in response, moving closer to him once they were both inside the pool. “And I am not complaining.”

He was chuckling when the man’s hand closed around his balls, eliciting a surprised, high-pitched gasp.

“It’s hot!”

“It’s about as hot as a Jacuzzi,” he heard asami respond, pulling him farther in. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah…”

Not only the mud itself, but the body sliding against his and the warm breath tickling his ear.

”The minerals from the volcanic rocks are supposed to be very good for the skin.”

“Right…”

It was strange - not to say completely unexpected - to hear Asami blab about skin treatments while pinning him against one of the edges of the pool, his entire body covered in a dark layer of slime.

“What are you laughing at?” the man then asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, biting his lower lip. “It’s just… It’s very good.”

His own laughter died on his lips when the golden orbs languidly dropped to his mouth and then moved back to his eyes.

That stare…

He surrendered to the kiss that followed, ignoring the steam and the metallic smell of the minerals that came with it, his hands gliding over the other man’s slippery shoulder blades, feeling warm, mud covered fingers cup his chin and move down to his neck.

Could it be that Asami knew his nerves were getting the best of him? Was he doing that on purpose, just for him to relax?

If so, then it was clearly working.

How much time had gone by until his head started feeling lighter than usual, he did not know, but before long the two of them were standing under a shower and he had absolutely no qualms letting the other man rinse mud off his body, his hands exploring every inch of his skin with the dexterity of someone who had navigated that territory far too many times.

From there to the massage tables, it was a matter of seconds, and Akihito could feel every knot of tension melting under the masseuse’s skilled fingers.

He suspected he had even dozed off by the time Asami spoke to him again.

“Akihito?”

“Hmm?”

“Wake up.”

After rubbing his eyes, the photographer forced himself to sit up.

“Is that... _incense?_ ” he asked groggily, his eyes still closed when Asami pulled him into his arms again, his tongue once again teasing the corner of his lips.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Someone once told me they had learnt about tantra…”

The comment made his eyes snap open.

He had brought up the whole tantric sex thing such a long time ago… Of all days, the man had to choose that day to give it a shot?

“How much time do we have?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“Plenty,” he heard Asami reply, and even without looking he could tell he was already hard, if only for the husky quality of his voice. “Plus our guests can wait.”

“They might have to wait a very long time,” Akihito replied, his hands slowly moving to the throbbing warmth between the man’s legs.

“Fine by me.”

When they kissed again, Akihito was smiling. Tantric sex, with a ceremony and an entire wedding party waiting for them...

_Count on them to do things backwards._

++++

It was way past midnight when Sachi was finally able to get a break.

The guests, at first intimidated by the magnitude of the event and the exceptional quality of the entertainment provided, had finally eased into their roles, dancing, eating and drinking as if there were no tomorrow.

The grooms, however, were nowhere to be found, but that was not exactly a surprise, not after his boss had told him to help set up a private spa at the top of Mount Kawakamou…

Kudos to him for knowing how to seize the day… and the night…

“Carpe Diem,” the procurer whispered, taking a timid gulp off a can of energy drink.

Around him, he was aware of eyes following his every move, probably expecting to pull out a gun or detonate a bomb when no one was looking.

 _‘Idiots,’_ he thought to himself, his forehead wrinkled with an annoyed frown.

But, it was as it was, he pondered, dropping the empty can into a trash bin before walking back to the crowd with his best smile back on.

That brief stroll would give him the chance to finally observe what everyone was wearing, if only to keep himself busy with more trivial affairs.

Takaba Noriko, impeccable in the light blue dress the procurer himself had ordered from the Comme des Garçons fashion house, making sure the woman never found out its five digit price tag in British pounds…

“Thrifty as her son,” Sachi whispered. “Spicy, rebellious hippie hidden under the obedient housewife…”

Her husband was a case study of its own.

Torn between his fascination for exclusive vintage clothes and the ideological principle of not contributing to the greedy market of brands, Takaba Yoshiro had put together his own attire without any supervision - a recipe for disaster. And now, there he was, with a pair of second-hand greyish cotton chinos, a white dress shirt and a tweed blazer that looked horrendous on its own.

Surprisingly, though, the three things put together had a strange, fascinating synergy.

“Hats off to you, dear sir…”

“Excuse me, are you the wedding planner?” he heard a familiar voice ask, before he had the time to move on to the next victim of his fashion patrol.

“That I am.”

“I’m Kou, Akihito’s friend,” the young man then continued, before pointing to the gentleman by his side. “And this is Takato, he’s--”

“Akihito’s friend too,” Sachi completed, “How’s little Hiroto doing?”

With an amused smirk, the procurer watched them both gasp, jaws slackening slightly.

“Are you enjoying the party?”

“Yes,” Takato replied. “Listen, we have been meaning to ask… Are the singers here… like… are they for real?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Are they the real artists?”

“Oh. I see,” the procurer chuckled in response, his long red hair falling like waves of fire down his shoulder as he tilted his head to the side. “Yes, they are all the real deal.”

“But… how?”

“Well, let’s just say that the invited artists were certainly the most expensive part of this party.”

“Wait, is that why Akihito asked us to make a list of our favourite singers?”

“We asked all the guests, yes.”

“Wait, no, you’re saying all of them are here?” Kou asked, his eyes wide. “Like, _our_ favourite singers?”

“Pretty much,” Sachi replied. “Except the ones that are already dead.”

As he spoke, the procurer looked around to check everything in that party was being delivered according to plan. Waitresses with trays kept coming and going, bringing food and ensuring glasses were replenished even before the people holding them noticed they were empty, artists following the strict schedule that had been imposed to them, acrobats performing within the area they had been designated, the Ferris Wheel moving as smoothly and silently as possible.

He had been given a task and he would execute it with the most absolute perfection.

Nothing would ruin Asami Ryuichi’s wedding day - that had been the deal.

“The ones that were on tour cost a small fortune, but... Still nothing much compared to what we had to pay Ed Sheeran,” he said, averting his gaze to the designer.

“E-Ed Sheeran is here?” Kou stuttered.

“Stage three.”

The loud shriek that followed was not exactly surprising, given the young man’s obsession with pop culture.

“I didn’t even know Kou liked Ed Sheeran…” Sachi heard Takaba Senior whisper somewhere behind him, when the designer had already disappeared from sight.

“I didn’t even know you knew who Ed Sheeran is,” his wife replied.

“I would have to be living under a rock not to know who Ed Sheeran is.”

“Who is Ed Sheeran?”

A short haired girl wearing a very conservative green dress had materialized next to the procurer, and it took him a minute too long to recognize her as Kou’s plus one.

“Really?” he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “Girl, where have you been in the past... say, five years?”

“I’m not into American pop.”

“He’s British.”

“I’m not into British pop.”

“Right…”

Her buttoned-up demeanour made the procurer ponder whether there was any truth to the “opposites attract” thing or if Kou was really just blatantly lying to himself.

“Well, there is a taiko drums presentation at 8, I’m sure you will enjoy,” he whispered.

“Ah! Yes, that would be nice.”

Coincidentally or not, when Sachi looked away, his eyes landed on the very opposite of stoic, boring and flavorless.

Hayashi Maya, The Heir, troubled princess of the commoners, was standing near a table, chewing on a tuna sandwich and looking morosely at a bottle of bourbon.

Whereas most of the people in that island would look pathetic under such circumstances, the girl looked like lightning personified, hair slicked back and golden eyes so bright and deep one could easily drown in them: a demigod among humans, her sleek, exclusive Yohji Yamamoto white suit making sure she stood out in the crowd even though she seemed intent on hiding behind a small palm tree.

“Excuse me, milady,” the procurer said, taking a step closer to Asami Ryuichi’s daughter. “Are you enjoying the party?”

For a moment, he saw her shoulders tense, like a tiger ready to take a step backwards to better study its prey.

“Yeah,” she then replied, amber eyes fixated on his face. “It’s all very good.”

“Excellent.”

“You’re Sachi, yeah?”

“Yes,” he replied, bending forward with an extravagant flourish of his hands. “At your service.”

“How did you do this?”

“What?”

“Everything,” the girl whispered, looking around. “The food, the music, this... place. It’s just not possible to give everyone what they want.”

“With the kind of money your father has, everything is possible, sunshine.”

“This is not about money. I mean, it’s not _only_ about money.”

Sachi’s smirked, and his long, glittered eyelashes fluttered for a second.

“It’s what I do for a living,” he replied, before bowing again. “If you will excuse me.”

A little faster than he would have wanted, the procurer found himself walking towards the main hall, the palms of his hands clammy and cold.

It was good not to think about what he would have to do _after_ the party was over, but his mind was far too restless not to send him a reminder every now and then.

“Excuse me, when is the wedding itself going to take place?” someone asked him as he marched past stage one.

“Whenever the grooms decide to,” he replied quietly, forcing a smile in order to sound and look more friendly.

“The program says sunset but.... well, the sun set a long time ago.”

“It did…” the procurer replied, averting his eyes to the starry sky above them. “Let’s wait for sunrise.”

With a wink, he took that chance to excuse himself.

_I like sunrises better, anyway._

_“Boss,”_ he heard through his earpiece many minutes later. _“Prosecutor Kuroda has been summoned to Mount Kawakamou.”_

“Excellent.”

Drawing in a long, deep breath, Sachi squared his shoulders and looked around.

And so, it began.

++++

Not far from there, Takaba Yoshiro shifted on his feet.

“Noriko, I don’t know how much longer I can stand this…”

“Someone is getting old…”

“Pfff… This is not about being old,” he complained.

Honestly, what kind of wedding was that? The reception was supposed to happen after the ceremony, what were those two even doing?

“I thought you were enjoying the food.”

“I am,” he explained, crossing his arms. “But we’ve been here for what? Eight hours?”

“You need to--”

_“Ladies and gentlemen, please proceed to stage one.”_

The delicate, feminine voice that echoed around them made him blink.

_“The ceremony is about to start.”_

“Looks like someone heard your prayers.”

“Finally…” he whispered.

Trying to look as calm and unaffected as he could, Akihito’s father rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants and cleared his throat. That was it. The time had come. He had not been told what to do or what to expect. He had not taken part in any rehearsals, and that was assuming rehearsals had taken place at all…

He had literally _no idea_ what to expect. His only son was about to get married and he simply _did not know._

“Noriko…”

“What?”

“Where are they?” he asked quietly, eyes darting around frantically as they reached the appointed stage.

“I don’t know, I don’t see them…”

 _“I would like to ask all guests to take their seats,”_ said a much stronger male voice, one that he recognized as belonging to the red-haired man who had welcomed them to the island. _“The grooms are presently at an undisclosed location…”_

A wave of murmurs swept across the audience, and Yoshiro lifted his eyes to the man on the stage with a deep, confused frown.

_Undisclosed location?_

_“...but worry not, because the appointed officiant has been given a… hidden… camera…”_

Within seconds of those words, the image of a cliff started showing in the screens on either side of the stage.

 _“Not that he knows of it, of course,”_ the man then snorted. _“But well, let’s hope he doesn’t take off his glasses or anything…”_

Akihito’s father felt his jaw was about to hit the floor.

“Noriko... “ he whispered. “Did our son… did he… did he just…?”

“Elope his own wedding?” the woman completed. “It would appear so.”

Still flabbergasted, Takaba Yoshiro averted his gaze back to one of the screens.

Why wasn’t he surprised….

++++

 _“Are we really going to do it?”_ Prosecutor Kuroda heard Takaba Akihito ask as he and the man he was about to marry approached him in the area designated for the improvised wedding ceremony - a small, mahogany podium near the edge of a cliff, overlooking the entire island below.

 _“Elope our own wedding?”_ Asami Ryuichi replied. _“Yes.”_

_“Won’t people get mad at us?”_

_“It was your suggestion.”_

_“I know, but… Ah, whatever. They’re having fun, right?”_

_“Of course.”_

In silence, the prosecutor watched the exchange, noticing that the couple had picked a set of identical - and very traditional - black kimonos, much to his surprise. Given how much of Asami’s lifestyle seemed to be ruled by Western standards, he had expected the man to select another kind of ceremonial attire.

But then again, he had also expected Asami Ryuichi to choose a much different spouse, so what did he know…

“Good evening,” he said, before clearing his throat and opening one of the folders resting on the podium. “Although at this point it is almost good morning, I suppose…”

He stole a quick glance at the photographer over the rim of his glasses, and saw his lips curled into a malicious, proud smirk.

“Yeah, there was a… holdup.”

“I’m sure there was,” Kuroda replied.

He suspected he knew very well the kind of ‘holdup’ Takaba Akihito was referring to, and he really did not need to hear any details.

“Heh…” the younger man then snorted, crossing his arms when Asami walked away for a moment. “I bet you never thought you’d live to see this day, huh?”

Kuroda inhaled deeply, trying to ignore a very annoying twitch on his eyelid. It was no secret to anyone that he had never been a member of the photographer’s fanclub, and that he was still in awe of the unexpected proportions of his relationship with Asami Ryuichi. For a man who had dated princesses, movie stars and all kinds of celebrities, he had figured the CEO would eventually settle down with someone of significant social standing, at the very least.

Alas… there he was, officiating the man’s civil wedding with a commoner that had not even attended college.

“Excuse me,” he replied quietly, before turning on his heels to join the other man at the edge of the cliff.

“You seem awfully concentrated,” he said, as Asami continued to stare at the island below, its trees and shapes bathed by the first reddish rays of sunshine cutting through the dark sky.

“I’m just appreciating the view.”

“Not a new view though, is it?” the prosecutor responded. “When was the first time you were here?”

“Maybe eight years ago,” he heard the CEO reply, his golden eyes still fixated on some point many miles ahead. “But they say you see things differently when you’ve found love.”

He would have cringed at the mellow comment, if only he hadn't learnt to keep his own emotions in an incredibly tight leash.

With a casual, resigned sigh, he adjusted his glasses before speaking again.

“I don’t think they mean it litera—”

“It’s true,” Asami interrupted. “Things do look different.”

“What are you two talking about?”

By the time the photographer joined them, Kuroda was sure he was gaping, or at least beginning to.

Could it be that, at the end of the day, Asami Ryuichi was just a closeted romantic?

“Nothing,” the CEO replied, one of his hands moving to Akihito’s lower back.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

 _‘What are we, really…’_ the prosecutor mentally asked himself, walking back to the podium and hoping to get things done as quickly as possible so that he could go back to his hotel.

Asami, however, seemed intent on taking his time.

“What’s with him…?”

The photographer, who had already joined him at the podium, looked thoroughly puzzled.

“You’re about to marry him, so you tell me.”

“Asami!”

When there was no response, the photographer cast a sideways glance at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of embarrassment and irritation.

“Don’t tell me you still call him by--”

“ _Ryuichi!_ ”

Only then did the man turn around to look at them.

Within seconds, Asami had approached the podium as well, looking calm and strangely contempt, much like a dog wagging its tail as it got closer to its owner.

“Very well, let’s get started, then,” the prosecutor announced, pushing his glasses farther up his nose as if their slim frame were the only things keeping him afloat amidst a sea of nonsense. “As you two know, this is a non-religious service and I am only qualified to act as a legal authority to celebrate your civil contract as a married couple.”

“Yes,” the CEO replied.

“The state of Hawaii does not require the signature of witnesses so we may proceed,” Kuroda continued. “Are there any vows you’d like to read?”

When both men shook their heads, the prosecutor averted his attention to the papers carefully arranged in front of him, selecting the one entitled _‘short, no frills’._

He had just opened his mouth to start reading the proceedings when Akihito decided to speak.

“Can’t you at least pretend that you are happy for us?”

“Akihito.”

“Seriously though, it looks like he’s officiating a funeral.”

“That’s the way--“

“No,” Kuroda interrupted, raising a hand to show he appreciated Asami’s attempt to defend him but that he actually deserved the heat he was getting. “He’s right. I should apologize, I--”

He then tapped his pen on the podium and shut his mouth, creating a moment of awkward, suspenseful silence. Takaba Akihito kept looking at him with a slight frown of irritation; Asami’s face was as emotionless as possible but he knew he too wanted to know how that sentence would end.

“I guess that for the longest time…” the prosecutor explained, staring vacantly at the papers. “I took solace in the fact I was not the only one to walk through life alone,” he said, finally raising his gaze to the CEO. “I looked at you and I thought that was just the way things were.”

And by that, he meant not engaging with people, not connecting with them, not caring too much. He was a man of reason and so was Asami; they liked the same books, enjoyed talking about the same topics, even shared the same preferences in food, drink, lifestyle.

For the longest time, he had thought the two of them were kindred spirits, if not for the tumultuous circumstances in which they had met, but because, like him, Asami was as emotionally inept as one could be.

The fact the man had welcomed someone else into his life without reservations, the fact he seemed to be so openly and so wholeheartedly invested in a relationship - something that the prosecutor himself had never succeeded in doing - made him feel bitter and inadequate.

To him, it did feel like he was officiating a funeral, in a way.

“Maybe that’s why I never liked you much,” Kuroda admitted, his eyes shifting to the photographer. “You’ve changed things. He’s changed.”

When he looked at Asami again, his expression was as hard to read as always, even though the golden eyes seemed to have softened a little.

“He’s not on his own anymore,” he added, before returning his attention to Akihito, this time with a much more friendly expression. “Neither are you.”

That was not the time to be selfish, or resentful.

After clearing his throat, the prosecutor rearranged the papers on the podium, and started reading from a different script.

_‘Long, very romantic.’_

“Takaba Akihito, do you take Asami Ryuichi as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

“I do.”

“The contract of marriage is one not to be entered into lightly, but--”

“I know,” the photographer interrupted, but this time his voice was nothing but casual and amused.

“Right,” Kuroda replied, his eyes darting from the paper to Asami’s face. “Do you--”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor paused, and pondered whether or not he should ask the two men to follow the protocol for once.

He opted not to.

“Do you have rings?” he asked instead.

“Yes.”

“Let these rings always be a reminder of the promises made here today. Repeat after me,” the prosecutor continued, when the younger man picked one of the wedding bands inside an elegant black box. “Asami Ryuichi, I offer myself to you today. I will always love you, respect you and be faithful to you and I give you this ring, in--”

“You don’t need to overdo it.”

The photographer’s comment made his widen slightly.

 _‘Not one for romance, apparently…’_ Kuroda mentally told himself before shifting back to the _‘short, no frills’_ script.

“Then,” he said, before clearing his throat. “‘Asami Ryuichi, I give you this ring in token of my love and commitment.’”

“Asami Ryuichi, I give you this ring in token of my love and commitment,” Akihito said, sliding the ring down the other man’s finger. “Your turn.”

The prosecutor didn’t even have time to speak.

“Takaba Akihito, I offer myself to you today. I will always love you, respect you and be faithful to you and I give you this ring, in token of my commitment and love.”

“You’re just trying to embarrass me…”

“Maybe so.”

With resigned silence, Kuroda put aside the papers and shook his head.

_Protocol, what protocol…_

“Well then. I declare you… married,” he said. “Congratulations. You may kiss--”

When he averted his eyes from his hands to the two men in front of him, he realized they were already very busy with that particular part of the ceremony.

“Right…” he whispered, raising both eyebrows.

It could have been seconds, but he suspected a full minute had elapsed when the newlyweds finally decided to break for air.

_Just to start kissing again._

After a slow, very obvious eyeroll, Kuroda found himself coughing loudly, if only to remind the other two that much as he would have liked to take a leave, they still had papers to sign.

“And here are your updated family registries…” he said some time later, when all the paperwork had already been taken care of.

Before he handed in the updated document, though, his eyes fell upon a particular annotation that could not be right.

“Oh, hold on, there is an error,” he whispered, frowning.

“What error?”

“Your name--”

“There’s no error,” the CEO replied, gently but firmly snatching the paper from his hands. “Thanks for being our officiant. Why don’t you take a break, stay for a while?”

The sudden change of subject made it clear Asami Ryuichi owed no one an explanation, even for decisions of that magnitude.

“I should probably go back to my hotel,” Kuroda replied, shortly after stealing a quick glance at the hustle and bustle of the island below.

Give him corpses and serial killers, but don’t make him attend parties.

“At least have something to eat,” Asami insisted. “I’ll join you.”

Takaba Akihito showed no surprise at the suggestion. Perhaps they had already arranged how and with whom each of them would spend the next couple of hours, and so, the prosecutor was left with no option but to comply.

++++

“Are you really wearing parachute pants on your wedding day?” Maya asked, when Akihito finally decided to show up at his own party and join the crowd - now, as a married man, as the ring on his finger made evidently clear.

“Well, yeah!” he replied, with a wide smile. “I wanna dance too!”

“Right…”

“I was wearing a traditional kimono a while ago, just so you know.”

“Yeah, you looked great.”

The frown her words elicited made it clear the photographer wasn’t aware of the whole secret footage shenanigans.

“Wait, how did you--?”

“There was a hidden camera.”

“Where?”

“In the officiant’s glasses?” Maya shrugged in response. “I don’t know, but we could see the whole thing.”

She saw the exact moment the hazel eyes illuminated with mischief and realization.

“Asami.”

“Maybe.”

“I bet he planned the whole thing, including this part.”

“Which part?”

“Coming back and finding like…” Akihito explained, looking around as he spoke, “...three quarters of our guests already passed out or too drunk to stand up.”

Indeed, at that point, the last ones standing other than a few wobbly guests were his parents, Kou, a semi-awake Takato and his wife, and the people that had to be awake because they had work to do: Kirishima, Suoh, Sachi and their respective teams.  
“That is called survival of the fittest,” she chuckled.

“You might be right.”

“To you.”

With a smile, she raised a flute of champagne and watched the photographer do the same. When their eyes met, it was almost as if they were both thinking of the same thing: who would have thought that they would get that far, despite the troublesome beginning, the hurdles along the way, the fights, the struggle.

Her gaze then shifted to a face that was watching them closely from the other side of the tent, and when gold met gold she raised her glass and nodded.

Her father, who hardly ever smiled, looked many years younger when he raised his glass too.

“Hey guys! Let’s ride the Ferris Wheel!”

The sudden flutter at the pit of her stomach only confirmed what she already knew: the voice coming from somewhere behind her was unmistakably Kou’s.

One by one, they took their seats. Akihito got into one of the cabins with Kou, Takato and his wife went into another, and she sighed with relief at the realization she would be taking that ride on her own.

“May I join you?”

That is, until Kou’s fiance materialized by her side.

“Of course,” she said, after a second of stunned silence.

No, really, what were the odds?

As they gained height and the lit-up island came into view under them, the girl decided to break the ice.

“This is quite the party.”

“Yeah,” Maya replied, forcing a smile.

And then they were silent again, as if neither of them could think of anything to say next, the only sounds around them the gentle, quiet clunking noise of the machinery as it moved.

“Do you know who that guy is?” Emi asked, a few minutes later.

“Who?”

“The guy with the mauve suit.”

“And the tattoos?” Maya whispered, raising an eyebrow as she looked at the familiar face near the entrance of a tent close to the ocean.

“Yeah.”

“Minami. Why?”

“Nothing.”

She could tell, though, that there was a certain intent behind that question, only by looking at the girl’s blushing face.

“I wonder what it is like,” Emi then explained, staring at her own hands. “To… be with a man like him.”

Maya’s face probably gave away her shock. What shocked her the most was hard to tell: the fact that the buttoned-up, well-behaved finance girl was hitting on a guy like MInami, or the fact she was hitting on a guy while engaged to another.

“Oh, I should have told you, Kou and I are not together anymore,” Emi was quick to add.

“Eh?”

“Oh my, you must have thought I’m really a horrible person,” the girl chuckled, “looking at another man like that when--”

“No, no. I was… I was just confused,” Maya responded, her heart beating so fast she nearly choked on her words. “When did you… why? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Break up with him?” Emi replied, before shrugging. “I guess we just want different things from life.”

“How so?”

“See, in theory it is easy to talk about settling down and having a family, but in practice…” the girl explained, pointing at the cabin were Kou and Akihito were dabbing like two teenage idiots. “Just look at him. He looks like a child having fun in an amusement park for the first time in his life.”

“He’s celebrating with his best friend. What did you expect?”

The slightly surprised look she got in return made her realize that perhaps she had sounded harsher than she had meant to.

“I’m sorry, I must be coming across as mean and heartless,” the girl went on, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But… that’s not it. Kou is a great guy, but I don’t think he wants what he says he wants. Not yet, at least,” she whispered, before lifting her eyes back to Maya’s face. “Not with me.”

The minutes that elapsed between that line and the Ferris Wheel finally coming to a halt felt like the longest ones in history.

“Hayashi-san,” the girl then said, bowing respectfully when they got out of the cabin.

“Ehh…”

Maya, however, did not remember what Emi’s family name was, but the faux pas was abbreviated when Minami walked past them and the girl’s head turned without any subtlety.

“If you will excuse me.”

“Sure.”

“What’s his name again?” Emi asked quietly.

“Minami.”

“Thanks.”

“He’s the Chairman of the Tojo Clan, by the way,” Maya whispered to herself as she watched Kou’s ex pursue her target.

“Maya?”

“Oh gee,” she muttered, recovering from the startled jump she gave when Kou touched her shoulder. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the designer replied, some of his sweaty hair sticking to his temples.“So you already know?”

“What?”

“That Emi and I are not together anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“Did she tell you that I’m leaving Japan?”

She gulped, and her pulse raced once again - this time, though, for completely different reasons.

Was it okay for her heart to beat that fast, by the way? How much more information could she deal with?

“No,” she muttered feebly, avoiding Kou’s eyes for a moment. “Not that part. Where are you going?”

“Boston. Your father is opening an office there and wants me to be in the Marketing team.”

“Oh. That’s… excellent. I think?”

“Yeah.”

“How long until you go?”

“I got the visa yesterday, so… anytime.”

“Great,” she replied, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her pants to hide her trembling fingers. “Great!”

That was her cue to say something. He was looking at her, she knew he was waiting for her to say something.

_Say something._

“K--”

“Dance with me?”

They both ended up speaking at the same time, and before the designer had the chance to ask what she was going to say, she smiled.

“Yeah.”

“Ok, hold on,” Kou replied, running towards the DJ and leaving Maya alone with her own thoughts for a moment.

Not that she was thinking much. Actually, her mind seemed to have frozen, as well as her feet, and she was sure she looked pretty stupid just standing there, waiting.

But then, the music finally started playing, and she felt a soothing, nostalgic warmth spread across her chest.

“Ooohh, that song!”

_Do you recall, not long ago, we would walk on the sidewalk_

_Innocent, remember? All we did was care for each other_

“Kou!”

“I know, right?” he replied. “I will never forget that night!”

She covered her eyes, laughing. She was not exactly proud of how their story had started, but still… she had to agree…

_But the night was warm, we were bold and young_

_All around the wind blows, we would only hold on to let go_

She would never forget that night either.

“Look at Akihito’s face!” Kou chuckled.

When she looked at the photographer, she saw he was grimacing, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck.

“Let’s bring him here!” she said, laughing.

“Hey, Akihito!” the designer yelled.

“What?”

“How drunk are you?”

“Not drunk enough!” Akihito replied.

And in fact, the photographer resisted bravely when Maya and his best friend tried to drag him to the dance floor, but capitulated when Kou reminded him that might as well be their last time hanging out together for a while.

_Blow a kiss, fire a gun_

_We need someone to lean on_

For many, many minutes, the three of them danced and laughed and forgot about everything else.

The night was young, after all, but nothing lasted forever.

When Akihito finally walked away and left her and Kou alone, she was forced to remember.

Kou was _leaving._

“You should come visit sometime,” he whispered into her ear, hugging her before she had the chance to walk away as well.

“I will.”

“Promise me?”

Her fingers pressed harder against his shoulder, bringing him closer, letting the faint scent of his cologne fill her nostrils one last time.

_Blow a kiss, fire a gun_

_All we need is somebody to lean on_

“I promise.”

++++

“Have you seen his face? His eyes?”

Unaware of his presence, Akihito’s mother sounded beyond pleased as she looked at the photographer talking to his friends near another tent.

“Ah, Yoshiro… Our son looks so happy!”

“Yes, he does,” the older man by her side agreed, even though his voice did show the same enthusiasm. “But...House Takaba…”

“House Takaba, House Takaba! You and this ridiculous obsession with your own name!”

“It's easy for you to say! You have a handful of siblings! You don't have to carry this burden--“

“Burden, what burden? There are plenty of Takabas in Japan, in case you don't know.”

“Not directly related to me, no.”

“So what? Stop living in the past, it does not matter.”

Asami remained quiet even when the exchange taking place in front of him got louder and angrier, waiting for Akihito to find his way through the crowd to finally address his in-laws.

“Good morning,” he said, when the photographer was already by his side.

After a startled jump, Akihito’s mother was the first one to speak.

“Oh. There you are, Asami-san.”

“Noriko-san.”

“Why so formal?” she chuckled, her tired eyes glowing happily as she smoothed her light blue dress. “I’m your mother-in-law now.”

“Then you probably should drop the honorific as well.”

Tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear, Takaba Noriko let out a small, slightly inebriated smile.

“He is very handsome,” she then whispered to her son, maybe louder than she had meant to.

 _‘The alcohol goes in, the truth comes out,’_ Asami thought to himself, stuffing his chest a little. Truth, the woman had plenty of reasons to dislike him but perhaps she didn’t dislike him that much...

Not far behind her, Akihito’s father looked like he had just been forced to suck on a lemon.

“Mom…” Akihito replied, blushing.

Luckily for all of them, the photographer was still in his first beer.

 _‘Say the same thing a few hours from now and he won’t be so coy…’_ Asami mentally remarked, feeling a sudden urge to give the man’s butt a squeeze. _‘My shameless Akihito…’_

“Say, do you like soba?”

Noriko’s question made him blink himself back to reality.

“He doesn't--”

“I like it very much,” he answered, before the photographer could finish his sentence.

“Good,” the woman then said. “Akihito makes the best soba.”

“Mom, you don't have to--”

The piercing glare the younger man got in response to his whimpering made Asami smirk.

“My Akihito… Such a good boy,” she continued, her eyes still commanding respect even though her voice was very friendly. “You cook for him, yeah?”

“I-- well, sometimes, he, uh--” the photographer stammered.

“No, no. You two are married now. Cook for him.”

“His hours are irregular, I don't see him every night.”

“Oh?”

“And I work, too,” Akihito argued. “You know, it's not as if I'm going to be the _wife_ , just so you know.”

His words were immediately followed by a moment of extreme silence. Even the photographer’s father, who had remained quiet and indifferent to the conversation, now looked like a fish out of water, his mouth in the shape of an ‘o’ as he waited for his wife’s reaction.

“That’s… I didn’t mean…” Akihito tried to explain, after realizing that he had something very stupid. “It came out wron--”

“You think being a wife is _bad_?” the woman then asked, after a chuckle that was amusing and defiant at the same time.

“It's not bad, it's just--”

“What?”

If anything, Akihito was the only one that looked profoundly distraught.

“I'm a _man_!” he finally exclaimed.

“Oh, I know you are,” his mother responded. “And the man is the head of the household.”

As they talked, Asami found himself wondering what Akihito had been taught as a child. What with being part of what was apparently a very nuclear and traditional Japanese family, he would have expected the Takabas to follow the usual route of raising their boys to conquer the world and their girls to rule the household, but for some reason the photographer seemed to be very confident in both domains, despite the very obvious gender bias.

“But see, the wife is the neck, and can turn the head whichever way she wants,” Noriko explained, casting a mischievous glance at her husband, who merely replied with a shy nod. “Being the wife is better.”

“I think she missed the point,” Akihito complained quietly, after turning to look at him.

 _‘And what was the point?’_ he thought of asking, if only to see the photographer even more flustered.

Before he had the chance, though, the woman spoke again.

“My apologies, my husband is feeling unwell,” she said, probably noticing that the other two men had started looking at Takaba Senior, whose eyes seemed to be fixated on some distant, invisible point across the ocean. “It’s way past his bedtime.”

“So…” the older photographer said, finally turning around to look at them. “I guess you’re now Asami Akihito.”

With a very obvious eyeroll, Akihito’s mother took another sip from her glass.

No wonder Akihito had been so desperate to keep their family registries as they were. Whether or not he valued his family name as much as his father, he had been visibly bothered by the idea of losing it when they first started talking about it.

“I told Akihito that I wouldn’t bulge when it came to the name change,” Asami explained.

“I… I wanted to leave our family registries as they were, but—”

“As if we had never gotten married?”

“It's not as if Japan will recognise it anyway,” the photographer replied, visibly miserable.

“Some districts already do.”

“Some--”

“That’s enough,” Asami interrupted, just for another moment of very uncomfortable silence to settle between them.

Noriko continued to drink, eyes averted to the ground; Akihito had blushed at least three different shades of pink, mortified with his obvious defeat; Takaba Senior let out such a dramatic sigh that Asami felt like laughing.

“He is still Takaba Akihito,” he then explained. “I am the one who subscribed to his koseki.”

Noriko choked, Akihito gasped, Takaba Senior looked like a man who had just risen from the dead.

“You did?” the older man asked, his eyebrows going so far up that his glasses slipped to the tip of his nose.

“Yes.”

“You did?” Akihito whispered, voice filled with shock and disbelief.

“I did,” he answered, after a reassuring nod. “I am part of the Takaba family now.”

The news, however, were not received with the enthusiasm he had envisioned.

For a very long, awkward minute, none of them said a word, and merely resorted to staring at him as if he had grown a second head.

“Takaba Ryuichi.”

It was Akihito’s father who broke the silence, the syllables slowly falling from his lips as if he was enjoying every tiny bit of them.

“It’s a good name,” he added, tilting his chin up.

“It is,” Asami replied. “Though, of course, for business purposes I will continue to sign Asami Ryuichi.”

“Of course.”

Much to his concern, though, Akihito remained quiet, his eyes darting back and forth, a deep frown wrinkling his forehead.

“Huh.”

Takaba Senior, on the other hand, couldn’t find it in him to stop talking.

“I guess I got an extra son,” he said, voice filled with contemplative confusion. “Even though he's almost... my age.”

“I'm quite sure I'm not that old.”

By his side, Akihito’s mother made a funny noise and the expression on the photographer’s face finally softened.

“Did you really...?” he asked in a whisper.

His disbelief was endearing and amusing in equal amounts.

“See for yourself,” Asami replied, retrieving a neatly folded copy of his family registry from the pocket of his pants.

After inspecting the document at least four times, the hazel eyes finally shifted back to his face.

“Why?” Akihito asked.

“Why not?” he shrugged in response. “I knew it mattered to you, to keep your family name,” he explained, putting the registry back into his pocket after the photographer returned it to him. “And it matters to me that we were part of the same koseki, for all kinds of reasons. I found it would be a good compromise.”

“Tsk…” Akihito replied, after a chuckle. “You could have told me.”

“And you could have told me that your great-great grandfather was one of the leaders of the Revolution.”

The corners of his mouth curled up when Akihito’s eyes went wide.

“I don’t believe this.”

“What?”

“ _Takaba Akitoshi_?” the photographer asked, eyebrows arched in a strange angle. “Is _that_ the leader you’re referring to?”

The foreboding question made the little, knowing smirk disappear from Asami’s lips.

Clearly, he had missed some part of that story.

“Dad, what did you tell him?”

“The truth,” Takaba Senior answered with a disinterested shrug.

“What truth?”

“I don’t understand why you are so skeptical.”

“My great-great grandfather was _not_ a leader of the Revolution,” Akihito then explained, turning away from his father to look at him. “He used to sell fish in Kanazawa when he was not getting into trouble with the law.”

“That’s not—”

“Then one day, he pickpockets a man in a brothel, turns out that man was the _real_ Kido Taisuke,” the younger man continued. “Kido Taisuke disappears after a fight, the man steals his identity to receive the indemnity from the government.”

“What a _blasphemy_!”

“It’s not a blasphemy, dad! He left his own wife a letter telling her the truth,” Akihito retorted. “And the truth was that Takaba Akitoshi was a petty thief and a con man.”

“ _How dare you_ say such a thing!" his father continued to splutter. "How can we know for sure his wife was telling the truth?!”

After waving his hand dismissively, Akihito approached him again to whisper something into his ear.

“I truly hope that the whole… 'Restoration ancestor' story was not your main motivation to join our family,” Asami heard him say, “...because there’s _none_.”

And so, apparently, he had adopted a surname that couldn’t be farther from royalty.

Takaba Akitoshi was fake news, and he had fallen for it.

“It could be that his wife resented him,” he said, crossing his arms as he took Takaba Senior’s side of the debate.

“Thank you!” the older man said, spinning on his heels to look at his son again. “See, even he agrees with me!”

He didn’t, actually, but that was a better option than admitting that he had been fooled.

“Oh, come on!” Akihito exclaimed. “You can’t be serious!”

Asami merely shrugged in response, smiling quietly when father and son started arguing again.

By his side, Noriko had raised her glass.

“Welcome to House Takaba.”

 

 

 


End file.
